#Spencer Reid fluff

[blluesiide]

A quiet sigh escapes your lips. Something is not right. You can't quite pin point it, but you feel unsteady. Not unwell, but not right. You can almost hear Spencer's voice in the back of your mind, reminding you of your own anxiety. But no. Something isn't right, you're sure of it.

By the time you're dipping into thoughts of having a genuine medical emergency, you feel it. The slight cramping in your abdomen, the tense hold on your lower back. That icky sensation from your stomach to the back of your throat. Your period.

After you've taken care of yourself to the best of your ability, you hear a shift in the living room. Keys, a bag, a coat hanging up. You softly rub your abdomen as you pad quietly from the bedroom, catching site of his curls, short from his recent haircut. He stands upright, eyes landing on you, the softening of his expression matching his voice as he softly calls, "Hey."

It melts through you. You blink a few times, "Hi." Then, your feet propel you forward, floating until you land in his arms, relaxing fully against him in a way that makes him chuckle, tightening his hold on you lest you fall.

"I missed you, too." He chuckles, and you nuzzle into him, mind quickly growing tired now that it's surrounded by his scent, his warmth. He tracks the cycle in his head, already privy to the signs over the last few days. It takes one warm swipe of his hand along your lower back to pull a soft sigh from your lips, and he chuckles again, lifting you up and carrying you back to bed.

Cuddled together, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, smooths a hand over your arm, and ponders how lucky he is to be the one you seek out during these tiring days.

[gf2bellamy]

love — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer accidentally reveals your secret relationship by kissing you in front of the whole team—oh, and blurting out “I love you” for the very first time, too. content warnings: secret relationship , mention of a case , spencer being very worried about the unsub and case but its mostly fluff !! a/n: haiiii !!!!! hope you didn't miss my secret relationship fanfics too much </3 also i finished writing this like 10 minutes ago but i was too excited not to post it

Things were heating up.

You were getting closer—so close—to catching the unsub. The map was sprawled across the table in front of you, dotted with red circles.You traced another location with your marker, murmuring quietly under your breath, a habit you'd most definitely picked up from your boyfriend.

Spencer was nearby, slouched in a chair, mumbling to himself in a similar fashion.

His brows were furrowed. You could tell this case was hitting him harder than most. Maybe it reminded him of something—or someone.

Whatever it was, it weighed on him, and that meant it weighed on you, too.

You took care of him as much as you could—though it wasn’t easy with your relationship still hidden from the team. Last night, you’d slipped into his hotel room after everyone else had turned in, finding him already buried in files.

You didn’t ask if he was okay—he wouldn’t have answered honestly. Instead, you’d wordlessly sat beside him on the bed, running your fingers through his hair until his shoulders finally relaxed.

“Want to cuddle?” you’d murmured, and he hadn’t even hesitated before nodding, letting you pull him down against the pillows. He’d tucked himself under your chin, his breath warm against your collarbone, and you’d held him, fingers carding gently through his curls until his breathing evened out.

Of course, sneaking out at 6 a.m. had been its own mission. It took you twenty minutes to escape Spencer’s sleepy, koala-like grip. He kept murmuring thank-yous against your skin—kisses trailing from your collarbones to your jaw, like punctuation marks of affection. It had taken everything in you not to crawl back into bed with him.

Now, back in the briefing room, you had even more reason to catch this unsub.

"I got it." Spencer’s voice broke through the silence.

His head snapped up, and the words came pouring out of him like a dam breaking. Facts, patterns, dates, connections. The rest of the team, who had been working in exhausted silence, immediately turned their attention to him, hanging onto every word.

“Okay. Morgan and Reid—I want you with me,” Hotch announced the moment Spencer finished unraveling the unsub’s pattern.

Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, sending the coordinates to their phones in a flurry of clicks. This was one of those rare, high-stakes cases where even she had to join them in the field. “Location’s live on your devices,” she said, her usual bubbly tone subdued.

Hotch gave her a curt nod of thanks before striding toward the door, Morgan right behind him.

Spencer, however, seemed miles away as he snatched his brown coat from the back of his chair. His mind was already elsewhere, locked onto the unsub.

Then, just before following the others, he turned to you.

You were still standing by the board, capping the dry-erase marker with a soft click and watching him with a soft, worried smile. He seemed exhausted.

“Be careful,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping back into himself for just a second, and mumbled, “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you later.”

His fingers caught your chin, thumb beneath your jaw, index curled gently under your bottom lip. Time stuttered. His kiss was fleeting, achingly tender, and then his lips brushed yours again as he whispered, "I love you," like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

A pin drop would’ve echoed like a gunshot.

And then—

“Oh. my. god.” Garcia’s shriek could’ve shattered glass.

Your fingers flew to your lips, still tingling from the ghost of his kiss. The rest of the team was frozen—Rossi’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline, JJ’s mouth was slightly open, and Emily looked like she was torn between laughing and demanding an immediate explanation.

But you barely registered any of it.

Because Spencer had just said I love you.

For the first time.

And he’d done it in front of everyone.

Garcia was already flailing her hands, rapid-fire questions spilling out of her—“Since when? How did I not know? Oh my god, the touching, the lingering looks, the—!”

But all you could hear was the echo of his voice, playing over and over in your mind like a broken record.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Your face burned. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t even notice Emily waving her hand in front of your face until her voice cut through the haze. “Earth to lovergirl,” she teased, grinning.

Blinking, you turned toward the team—all of them staring at you with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and sheer anticipation.

“What?” you managed, voice still breathless.

“That’s all you have to say?” JJ asked, plopping onto the edge of the desk in disbelief. She grabbed a Cheeto from an open bag, crunching loudly.

Garcia was still gaping at you, hands pressed dramatically over her mouth. Behind her colorful glasses, her eyes were massive. Rossi sipped his coffee slowly, clearly judging the entire situation.

“Huh?” you repeated dumbly.

Emily’s smirk softened just a fraction. “You okay?”

You stared at her, still dazed, before muttering, “He said ‘I love you.’”

Another beat of silence.

Garcia gasped. “That was his first time saying it?” Her hands flew away from her mouth, gripping the sides of her head like she might explode.

And then chaos. Again.

“Oh my god—”

“Since when—”

“Wait, wait, wait—that was the first—”

You spent what felt like hours fielding an avalanche of questions, barely able to catch your breath between them. At first, you tried to dodge them—played dumb, gave vague smiles, busied yourself with the files on the table—but it was pointless. Garcia saw straight through you, pinning you with a look that practically screamed, You’re not getting out of this, sweetheart.

So you caved.

“Six months,” you said quietly.

The collective gasp could’ve knocked over the coffee pot.

Garcia clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. ( She was. ) “Six?! Six whole months? And you didn’t say anything?”

You winced. “We were trying to be subtle.”

“You failed!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

Emily laughed. “Okay, next—who made the first move?”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “He did.”

Another round of dramatic gasps echoed around the room. Even Rossi raised his brows, murmuring, “Didn’t peg him for the bold one.”

“He’s… not. Not usually,” you admitted with a smile you couldn’t quite suppress. “But with me… I guess he was.”

And on it went—question after question, as if they were making up for six months of missed gossip in a single sitting. But despite your initial resistance, you couldn’t deny the warm buzz beneath your skin. It was messy, chaotic, borderline embarrassing—but it was also kind of nice. Being known. Being happy.

Then came the final question.

JJ’s voice was quieter than the others, softer. “Do you love him too?”

You froze.

For a moment, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Even Garcia stopped typing.

You looked at JJ—then down at your hands—then back up again. And nodded.

Garcia screeched, practically launching herself out of her chair. “I knew it!” she howled.

Emily beamed, her smile so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes, and even Rossi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like a proud, mildly exasperated uncle.

You were a little overwhelmed—okay, maybe a lot—but underneath the chaos, you also felt a sheer amount of happiness that you've never felt before.

Hotch interrupted the moment by calling Garcia. “Unsub’s in custody. We’re on our way back. Everyone’s okay.”

Your breath left you in a rush. Spencer was okay.

Your heart, though—it hadn’t quite gotten the message. It was still thundering in your chest, hammering against your ribs with every second that ticked by.

The others must’ve noticed the way you kept glancing at the door, because JJ finally nudged you gently toward it. “Go wait. We’ll clean up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Garcia waved a dismissive hand. “Honey, please. You’ve got heart-eyes so intense it’s blinding. Go stand dramatically in the doorway like you’re in a movie or something. We’ve got this.”

And so you did.

You found yourself hovering in the doorway of the conference room, a half-hearted folder in your hands, pretending to sort through paperwork as you stared through the glass. Watching. Waiting.

Then you heard it—the low rumble of the SUV pulling up outside.

Every head in the room snapped up like it was choreographed. Honestly, for a team of professional FBI agents, they acted like a bunch of high schoolers most of the time.

You glanced back over your shoulder. Sure enough, all of them were watching you, wide-eyed and waiting like you were the final act in a romantic drama. You rolled your eyes with a half-smile, dropped the stack of files onto the table with a soft thud, and walked out of the conference room.

As you left, you heard Emily mutter, “Garcia, don’t follow her.”

You didn’t wait to hear the response.

The moment you reached the main hallway of the precinct, the doors opened—and there he was.

Spencer stepped inside, his curls slightly mussed, cheeks flushed from the cold, and as soon as his eyes found yours, he smiled. That gentle, crooked smile that always made you smile.

You barely registered Derek behind him, hand gripping the cuffed unsub and throwing you a confused look when you didn’t even acknowledge him. Even Hotch glanced over in surprise as you made a beeline for Spencer.

“Hey—wait, what—?” Spencer managed, eyes widening as you grabbed his arm and all but dragged him down the corridor.

You shoved open the nearest empty office, tugged him inside, and closed the door firmly behind you, leaning back against it.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice urgent, breath a little uneven.

Spencer blinked. “Mean what?”

You stared at him in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” he said again, completely baffled. “What did I do? Did Morgan tell you about what happened in the field? I know I wasn’t supposed to go near the unsub without backup, but I swear, I had it under control—”

He started to ramble, hands gesturing as he pouted in that way he did when he was simultaneously nervous and a little too proud of himself. “He had a weapon, but I de-escalated him. You would’ve been proud.”

“You did what?” you interrupted, your mind now juggling two emotional crises.

Spencer blinked again. “Wait—so Morgan didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you muttered, your voice flat with disbelief. 

You shook your head slowly, trying to process it all. The nerves, the kiss, the I love you—and the fact that Spencer genuinely hadn’t realized what he’d done.

Spencer’s expression shifted from confusion to concern in a heartbeat. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Did I do something wrong?”

His voice was careful, gentle, and far too kind for how scrambled your brain felt. “Can you tell me what it is?” he added, tilting your chin up just enough so your eyes met his.

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words were stuck. How could he not know? How could he be looking at you like that—all wide eyes and soft brows and worried lips—and not know?

“Spencer,” you said finally, his name sharp on your tongue.

“Yes?” he replied immediately, those puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours like he was bracing for impact.

“You kissed me.”

His brows pulled together. “I’m—I’m sorry?” he said, clearly confused.

If you weren’t so worked up, you might have laughed at his face. But your heart was hammering, and your nerves were tangled in knots.

“You did it in front of everyone,” you clarified.

And then you said it—softly, barely above a whisper. “And then you said—”

“I love you.” His voice cut in before you could finish.

You watched as the memory clearly snapped back into place. Realization washed over his face like a wave, followed immediately by a bright, burning blush that crept up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding slowly, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you studied his reaction.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide, flustered in a way that only made you want to kiss him senseless. “Oh,” he breathed, glancing away for a second before meeting your eyes again. 

“Yeah… oh.” you repeated. Both of you stayed silent for a second.

“I did mean it,” he stammered out.

A smile tugged at your lips—finally. After an hour and a half of bouncing knees, chewed lips, and an anxiety storm running circles in your chest, the words you’d been dying to hear had finally landed.

“I love you,” Spencer repeated, a little firmer this time—like he needed to hear it aloud again to make it real. Like maybe saying it twice would help his brain catch up to his heart.

The warmth that bloomed inside you was instant. Like sunshine pouring into your bloodstream. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt this happy in your entire life.

Then, of course, Spencer kept talking.

“Did I say it too soon? I’m not sure. On average, men say it around three to three and a half months into a relationship, while women usually wait closer to four months,” he rambled, already blushing furiously, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “And I know we’ve been dating for six months, so technically it took me twice as long, which isn’t statistically ideal, but honestly I almost said it on our first date, which definitely wouldn’t have been optimal and—”

He was spiraling. Fast.

So you did the only thing that would shut him up.

You stepped forward, gently grabbed his face in both hands, and said, soft but certain:

“I love you too, Spencer.”

He stared.

Just stared—like he was trying to memorize this exact moment, burn it into his brain with all its warmth and disbelief and wonder. You watched his expression shift—first stunned, then relieved, then something so bright and boyish it made your heart lurch.

You’d never seen him so happy before.

Well—once. That first time you kissed him. He’d looked a little like this, dazed and blissed out. But now? Now he looked like his whole world had just clicked into place.

“Yeah?” he breathed, voice shaky with excitement, his grin stretching so wide it practically crinkled his entire face.

“Yeah.” You laughed through the word, nodding, the emotion bubbling up in your chest and spilling into every part of you. Your smile was a mirror of his.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh and pulled you into him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you anymore. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, grinning against his skin.

“This is real, right?” he asked into your hair, voice muffled. “I’m not dreaming? Because sometimes I do dream about you saying that and then I wake up and it’s just—”

You cut him off with a kiss to the warm skin of his throat.

“It’s definitely real,” you mumbled against him.

Spencer let out a shaky breath and held you tighter. You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, both of you grinning like idiots. It felt absurdly, wonderfully perfect.

Then you muttered into his neck, “You do know you outed our relationship to everyone, right?”

Spencer’s arms stiffened around you just slightly. “Yeah. Totally. I knew that. I did it on purpose,” he lied, too quickly, voice pitched a little too high.

You giggled and pulled back, hands still resting on either side of his neck. “You’re a terrible liar, Dr. Reid.”

He didn’t even bother to defend himself, just gave you an adorable, crooked grin and leaned in to peck your lips. “Yeah, I am,” he mumbled, brushing his nose against yours.

You kissed him back, just once, then poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Also, we’re going to talk about your little superhero stunt at home.”

Spencer blinked. “Right,” he echoed, suddenly very aware of his earlier reckless attempt to talk the unsub down without backup. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not not mad,” you replied, giving him a look. “But I love you, so I’m saving the full lecture for later.”

He winced slightly, then smiled. “Fair.”

You let your fingers drift through the curls on his forehead, brushing them back gently. “Well,” you sighed, “for now, we have to go out there… into the land of chaos and gossip.”

Realization dawned slowly on Spencer’s face. His eyes widened. “Oh no. Garcia definitely filled Morgan in already.”

“And Rossi’s probably already told Hotch,” you added grimly.

“And JJ and Emily—”

“—were there when it happened,” you finished.

You both stood there in mutual silence for a moment, dread creeping in.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Maybe we could… go out the window?”

You laughed, smacking his chest lightly. “Nice try, genius.”

He gave a helpless little shrug. “I had to try.”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the handle of the door behind you.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Absolutely not,” Spencer said without hesitation.

You squeezed his hand anyway. “Come on, lover boy.”

To say that the conference room was chaos would’ve been an understatement.

Garcia let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal-gasp hybrid, immediately launching into a breathless, high-speed barrage of questions that involved timelines and pet names.

Morgan clapped Spencer on the back so hard he nearly stumbled, muttering something about “my boy finally growing up.” JJ just smirked from the corner, quietly sipping her coffee.

Hotch had walked by at one point, muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “About time,” and kept moving without missing a beat.

The jet ride was somehow worse.

You’d sat next to Spencer, hoping for a quiet, post-case decompression. Instead, you were subjected to Garcia and Morgan playing twenty questions from across the aisle. Rossi, pretending to read, chuckled behind his wine glass the entire time. At one point, you tried to rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder, and he’d blushed so hard you thought he might combust.

You weren’t sure if he was embarrassed from the attention or just overwhelmed from finally saying what he’d been keeping in for months. Probably both.

But the days that followed?

Even worse.

Because the teasing never stopped.

Emily sent you heart emojis during briefings. Morgan kept calling Spencer lover boy—which you regretted giving him the vocabulary for. Garcia had created a mood board on her computer and refused to delete it.

Even Hotch raised an eyebrow when you asked to share a rental car with Spencer.

But through it all, Spencer stayed by your side. Every awkward joke, every embarrassing comment, every not-so-subtle glance—he never flinched. If anything, he leaned into it. He held your hand in the bullpen and he kissed your cheek at the end of the day.

It was domestic chaos.

Romantic disaster. Beautiful, awkward, completely perfect hell.

[drewswife]

summary — spencer tries your prego cravings

warnings — fluff, a lil tears

a/n — can yall tell i have baby fever yet, also not edited sorry :/

Spencer blinked awake, the morning light a soft haze filtering through the blinds. He stretched, a contented sigh escaping his lips, and then his eyes landed on you. You were sitting up in bed, a jar of pickles precariously balanced on your bump, and a spoon dipped into what looked suspiciously like peanut butter. You took a bite of the concoction, a thoughtful expression on your face.

"Morning," he mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Morning!" you chirped, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Want to try something amazing?"

He squinted at the jar and the spoon. "What exactly is that?"

"A culinary masterpiece," you declared dramatically. "Pickles and peanut butter!"

Spencer's brow furrowed. "Pickles and peanut butter? Together?"

"Don't be a scaredy-cat," you teased, wiggling the pickle. "Just one little taste?"

He hesitated, a look of mild disgust washing over his features. "I– I don't know, honey. That doesn't sound very good."

"Please?" you pleaded, your lower lip starting to tremble just a tiny bit. "Just one little bite?"

He couldn't resist the hopeful glint in your eyes. With a sigh, he took the offered spoon. The moment the strange combination hit his tongue, his face scrunched up.

"Oh, wow," he said, his voice a little strained. "That's certainly something." He swallowed with a visible effort. "It's quite nasty, actually."

Your smile faltered, and your eyes welled up. A tear escaped and traced a path down your cheek. "Nasty?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "You think my special snack is nasty?"

Spencer's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no, sweetheart, don't cry!" He reached out, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb. "It's just an unexpected combination. My taste buds were simply unprepared " He pulled you close, holding you tight. "It's okay. You can like whatever snacks you want. I still love you."

You nuzzled into his chest, a small sniffle escaping. "But I wanted to share my favorite thing with you."

He kissed the top of your head. "And I appreciate that so much. It's sweet that you wanted me to try it. How about, to make up for my boring taste buds, I make us some proper breakfast? Something we can both agree on?"

🏷, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics

[miedei]

what can i do for you?

hiding your relationship doesn't exactly go according to plan, not when you have two good-natured coworkers armed with a magazine. (aka the love languages fic i've been neglecting)

a/n: this has been in my drafts since december omfg. not totally sure how i feel about it but i like it i think!! title's from what can i do by penelope road :)

cw: reader has she/her pronouns, established relationship, sneaking around, lots of fluff, garcia and morgan being super nosy and oblivious at the same time, also reader collects shot glasses in this one because i do that too and what i say goes

wc: 3.3k

mlist

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

His hand in yours is warm, warmer than it should be considering the cool breeze that hits as you walk out of the metro station. A rush of giddiness rolls over you, scrutinizing the domestic comfort of this moment.

Four months of whispered affirmations and nights holed up in either of your apartments have led you to feeling more in love with him than you thought was possible. Even just contemplating it brings a rush of blood to your face, forcing you to huddle closer to him, leaning your cheek against the puffy exterior of his coat. 

Without looking, you can feel his shoulders shake in silent laughter, your mind conjuring the image of his lips pressed together, suppressing the giggles you know are threatening to burst out of him. 

“Cold?” The amusement bubbles up in his tone, and you both know that your uncharacteristically shy demeanour has nothing to do with the temperature. His hand comes up to rub at your shoulder comfortingly. He’s awful.

“I hate dating profilers.” Despite your words, your mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Well, I love dating a profiler. And as a profiler, I can tell you do too.” A mock-exasperated sigh leaves your mouth at his words, but you make no move to part from him.

It’s only when the imposing Quantico buildings come into view that you finally step away from him, hand slipping out of his. His lips quirk up as he eyes you. 

“You think they’d be suspicious, us showing up in the elevator at the same time every day.” 

“Don’t jinx it! We’re lucky they haven’t been insinuating themselves into every part of our lives yet.” You step into the elevator, leaning against the wall and staring him down.

“Hey, if they figure it out, did you know it’s statistically more likely that it’ll be because of you? You touch my shoulder on average 17 times a day. Even when we’re on a case.”

“Oh, don’t start. How many times did you almost call me ‘angel’ yesterday? I can’t believe Hotch hasn’t noticed, especially that one time in his office.” It’s gratifying to see the apples of his cheeks redden with embarrassment. 

Stepping into the bullpen, you step away from him, striding to your desk and calling out greetings.

“Morning, guys. What’s that?” 

Emily and Derek are huddled over Garcia, who’s sitting in Derek’s desk chair with a magazine in hand. 

“Well, sweetheart, someone’s missing their monthly Teen Vogue, it’s accidentally been delivered here instead. We’re just catching up on what the young female populace is doing these days.” Garcia answers absentmindedly, their eyes all fixed on the glossy pages.

“Teen Vogue? Need I remind you, we’re in the FBI. Surely you’ve got work to do.” You stare pointedly at the stacks of paperwork piling up on Emily and Derek’s desks.

“If you must know, this is research, kid. How are we supposed to do our jobs if we don’t know the interests of such a huge potential victim pool?” Derek croons over to you, voice sugary-sweet.

Garcia calls out to you. “Did you know that, apparently, even unconsciously, if a person is in love, they will always demonstrate the 5 love languages to whoever they’re into?”

She holds up the magazine, open to a glossy blue page with ‘LOVE LANGUAGES’ etched on it in swirly handwriting.

You can see Spencer tilt his head at his desk, and beat him to the punch. 

“Are you sure that’s true, Penny? Doesn’t seem very statistically sound.”

“There’s actually been very little scientific research done into the concept of love languages as they’re considered colloquially, and what little there is really doesn’t support it as an actual concept that strengthens relationships.” Spencer chimes in, swivelling back and forth in his desk chair as he muses. 

Emily chuckles, wisely retreating to her desk as Penelope and Derek begin to puff up like irritated cats. 

“Yeah? And what would you know about that, pretty boy? Had some experience lately?” 

It’s clearly meant in a joking way, no real accusation behind it, but Spencer’s eyes widen just a fraction. Enough to bring their attention to it. Enough to get them to pounce. 

You shake your head softly, turning to your desk as Derek and Penelope descend on him, peppered questions being met with resolute silence (and occasional sputtering).

It’s a solid 30 minutes before the two of them let up on Spencer, and that’s only because JJ sweeps through with a case for the team. As you all file into the briefing room, it’s clear Penelope and Derek are still scrutinizing Spencer from across the round table. 

As JJ explains the details of the case, you can’t help but smile at the sight of Spencer patting his reddened cheeks, trying to come down from the mortification and stress of fending off the others. 

In a lull in conversation, you rise from your seat, crossing the room to the pot of coffee sitting under the window. Snatching up two distinctive mugs, you set about pouring coffee, adding copious amounts of sugar into one and considerably less into another, as you muse aloud about the case. 

“Sounds like the victimology is pretty clear. Young men in their 20s, all successful academics who have relatively small social circles,” With the two mugs in hand, you return to the table, setting the FBI logo-emblazoned one in front of Spencer with a discreet brush of your knuckles to his shoulder. 

He looks up with a soft smile, nudging his shoulder back into you, mouthing thank you.

“Should help us narrow down who would’ve interacted with them all.” You finish, settling down in your seat in between Rossi and Emily. 

Hotch nods. 

“The local PD’s already got a few people of interest in mind, but they’re holding off on questioning until we arrive. Garcia, you’re coming with us, the victims’ tech is proving difficult for the local experts to get into. Hopefully this will be a quick one. Wheels up in 30.”

There are multiple decisive nods around the table, most of you standing to grab your go-bags.

Notably, Penelope and Derek stay behind, watching you leave the room with unreadable expressions on their faces. 

If you’d stayed, you might have caught her pulling a glossy, torn-out piece of paper out of Derek’s pocket, crossing off a phrase.

The police department you find yourselves in is more sparse than you’d expected. The police force spread thin, there are only a few officers still in the building. The setting sun filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the conference room. 

“...So, we’ll spend this evening going through the details, and I’m confident we’ll have a profile by tomorrow morning. Based on that, we can see whether any of your suspects fit.”

Hotch’s no-nonsense voice cuts through the light chatter in the room, and the local captain nods. The two superiors walk out of the room to the captain’s office, leaving you with the rest of your team and a local officer. 

Nodding politely at the officer, you walk over to the large table, digging into the copious boxes of evidence stacked on the table and murmuring your initial thoughts to Emily. 

“The victims were all part of the city’s chess league, save for the second one. That seems significant.”

Before she gets the chance to reply, a brutish officer in uniform butts in, shouldering past Emily to take the seat next to you. 

“So, you guys get a lot of these murder cases, huh? This is pretty huge for us, but I guess it’s everyday for you.”

There’s a glint of morbid curiosity in his eye, leaning into your space as he waits for your answer. 

“Um, yes, we’re assigned to murder cases from time to time. But we also consult on all sorts of crimes, like—”

He waves a hand in the air, as if dismissing your statement.

“Yeah, uh-huh. What’s the craziest murder you’ve seen? You know, the real gory ones.”

He’s scooted closer to you now, his face lit up with excitement. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Spencer start towards you, but you’d rather shut this down yourself.

“I mean, yes, we do see quite a bit of violent crime. But the aim of our unit is to shut it down, not sensationalize it. So, we kind of need all of our attention on this case right now. You understand, right?” You try not to, but a hint of exasperation creeps into your tone.

A flash of irritation sparks in his eyes, but the officer backs down, rising out of the seat and tossing a half-hearted agreement at you. 

You sigh as he leaves the room, and Spencer makes his way over to you with a wry smile. 

“I’m glad you dealt with him, I wouldn’t be able to do it as quickly. You’re always so good at dealing with people like that, ang—” He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes darting around the room nervously. 

Holding in a laugh at his slip up, you nudge his foot under the table.

“Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate that.”

After he not-so-discreetly attempts to see if anyone noticed his failure to maintain the facade, the two of you settle in to the casework.

Notably, Derek only gets to work after holding a hushed conversation with Penelope at her laptop.

Presenting a profile is always exhausting, but doing it first thing in the morning after basically pulling an all-nighter is worse.

You stand in front of the gathered crowd alongside the team, alternating with explaining different aspects of the profile. Once you’re done waxing poetic about the presumed trigger that set off the string of murders, you get to sit back and let Derek do the last bit (thank god).

Leaning against the edge of the desk behind you, you put a lot of effort into looking stoic and professional, hoping the gathered agents and officers can’t see the exhaustion oozing out of you. Although it seems an eternity, it’s probably another five minutes of talking until they’re dismissed, and the team gathers in the conference room. 

Hotch looks surprisingly alert, standing at the head of the table and gesturing to different points of interest on the map mounted on the wall. His voice drones on, your drowsy ears registering each sentence a few seconds after. 

“Prentiss and Rossi, you two stay here and question the suspects that the uniforms are bringing in. There’s probably nothing to it, but give it a try anyway.” 

Resting your hip against the table, you stare bleary-eyed at the various faces tacked on to the whiteboard. Despite the coffee in your hands slowly bringing you back to life, you can’t help but muffle a yawn, your upper body swaying with the force of it. 

“Morgan, JJ, you go down to the local news station, see if the tips they’re receiving are actually any good. One of their reporters has been into the PD every day asking for updates. Find out if it’s anything more than journalistic curiosity.”

Spencer steps up next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. Without saying anything, his eyes lull you into a sense of ease. Looking around to see that everyone’s staring at Hotch, you can’t help but lean into him slightly, the lines of your upper arms melding together until your bodies press against each other pleasantly. 

 A soft sigh leaves his lips, and you’re inclined to agree with him. Just this level of touch has you melting, the tension in your body slowly seeping out of your bones. 

“L/N and I are going to meet with the families of the first and second victims. Reid and Garcia, go to the workplace of the latest victim. His computer system needs your expertise, Garcia, and Reid, you take the time to interview his coworkers about his behaviour before the murder.”

Hotch looks around for everyone’s assent, then nods once more, dismissing everyone to their tasks. 

You and Spencer make sure to part from each other quickly, hoping to evade suspicion. Flashing him a smile, you brush past him, catching his pinky with yours for a split second before you follow Hotch out the door. 

Spencer is left in the conference room, brushing his thumb over his pinky with an absentminded smile, oblivious to the shit-eating grin that’s found itself on Penelope’s face. 

Spencer and Penelope are the last to get back from their assignment, the rest of you gathered in the PD before the sun begins to set. Derek’s sitting at the display along the wall, currently showing the live feed of the suspect in the interrogation room along with Hotch. 

The case is shaping up to be a relatively short one, so if the interrogation goes well, you might be able to spend the night at Spencer’s.

Rossi’s voice joins the soft haze of conversation, and you finally snap out of your head in time to hear the tail end of his statement. 

“...Hotch is pretty sure that Reid will be able to crack him. He’s putting on airs, the only way we'll get him to confess is if he doesn’t perceive any threats to his ego.”

Emily nods from her seat beside you, chiming in. 

“They’ve been gone for a while, has Garcia called?”

JJ grins softly, unlocking her phone to display a message full of angry emojis and very little text. 

“I’m assuming something held them up, but she says they’ll be here pretty soon.”

The room falls into an amiable silence, all of you alternating between getting a headstart on your reports of the case and watching Hotch glare at the suspect. Emily lets out multiple heavy sighs, the the last two days catching up to all of you.

It’s probably another fifteen minutes until Spencer and Penelope finally burst through the doors, the latter looking very huffy.

Rossi throws his hands up in mock exasperation, questioning the pair.

“About time you showed up! What took so long?”

Penelope groans, rolling her eyes and plunking herself down into a chair. 

“I was ready to be here a while ago, but Boy Genius over here felt the urge to browse multiple novelty stores, for god knows what reason, before he deigned to let us come back!”

Her cheeks are flushed, and Derek and JJ quickly devolve into poking fun at her vexation. Rossi quickly stands, grabbing Spencer by the shoulders in preparation to steer him into the interrogation room. However, Spencer slips out of his grasp with a lithe finger held in the air. 

Apologies on the tip of his tongue, he paces across the room to where you’re sitting, hand delving into his pants pocket and emerging with a small object wrapped in brown paper. He comes to a stop next to your chair, bending over your shoulder to snatch up a folder from the desk (one that you know has nothing to do with the interrogation he’s about to perform). As he does so, he takes the opportunity to slip the object in your palm. 

Straightening up with the folder in hand, he moves back over to Rossi as if nothing happened. 

Turning the small, solid object over in your hand, you watch the two of them leave the room with a soft smile on your face. You have an idea what might be in your possession. 

The first time Spencer stayed at your apartment, he’d taken a particular liking to the collection of souvenir shot glasses that you had on your mantelpiece. Once you explained your goal of buying one in every city where you’ve had a case, he’s taken it upon himself to help you. 

Just as you’d suspected, when you sneak a glance at the object under the table, a tiny shot glass with a cartoon cat stares back up at you. 

A rush of affection runs through you, slipping the glass into your bag as you attempt to hold in a smile. 

Among the many sounds currently coming from the frustrated Penelope, one seems to be less angry, and more triumphant.

Thank goodness, Spencer gets through to the suspect in an hour, extracting a confession that will more than nail the suspect in court. Because of that, the entire team now finds themselves on the jet once more, in various states of sleepiness. 

Rossi is knocked out, head leaned against the wall, mouth agape. Hotch is similarly asleep, with JJ and Emily across from him, sharing wired earphones as they both try and get some shuteye. 

Derek and Penelope are sitting on the couch, leaving you and Spencer to claim the table. 

You’re not complaining, not when Spencer’s foot is pressing against yours from the seat across from you, and you can use the excuse of taunting him about the chessboard to hear his melodic voice float over to you.

“What was it Gideon always told you? I don’t think you’re exactly thinking outside the box right now, Spence.”

His eyes dance as he looks up at you, hand hovering over the board. 

“You think so? I think I’ll be done with you in 5 more moves,”

A glint of cockiness reflects in his irises, forcing you to shift in your seat, cheeks flushing. 

The two of you quickly duck your heads though, both of you sucked into the game. 

Low voices murmur compliments and jabs, and his ankle hooks around yours before long, sending a tremor of fondness through your body. 

You’re so focused on the game and Spencer, that you don’t notice how Derek and Penelope have fallen silent. It’s only when Derek scoffs loudly that either of you acknowledge them. Shooting you a look loaded with meaning, he gestures to the kitchenette on the other side of the cabin, motioning for you to follow him there. 

With a confused glance at Spencer, you rise from your seat and trail after Derek, watching Penelope slide into your vacated seat with a determined look on her face. 

Turning to Derek, you’re met with teasing eyes, his eyebrows waggling as he looks at you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“What’s up, Morgan?”

He chuckles, the sound coming from low in his chest as he stares you down.

“Sweetheart, you’re not exactly being subtle.”

A silence follows, as you try and discern what he means. Seemingly getting sick of it, he sighs, launching into speech again.

“If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been acting mighty close to Spencer recently, don’t you think? Making him coffee, playing chess, nearly falling asleep on him. You know what that sounds like to me? A crush.”

He brandishes his phone, the grainy screen showing a familiar blue page. The list of love languages has been marked up, each item crossed out and scrawled handwriting marring the image. 

Barely hiding your disbelief, you stop peering at the phone to stare up at Derek instead.

“You’re bringing up Teen Vogue again? What is this supposed to mean?”

He laughs at your incredulity, slinging an arm around your shoulder to tug you into his side, his other hand coming up to ruffle your hair. 

“Fine, fine, you don’t have to say anything. But I’ll help, sweetheart. If you need to convince the kid to man up and ask you out, I’ve got some strategies.”

You can’t stifle a giggle, not when you look over your shoulder to see Spencer with a harried look on his face, trying to listen to Penelope’s frenzied chatter (she’s louder than she thinks she is, you can hear her say get some flowers, and just ask her!). 

Whatever else she’s saying, you’re sure the two of you will laugh about it later, when you inevitably end the night in his bed.

[burymagdalene]

Take What You Need - S. Reid x Reader

After going full hermit mode during finals, you reach out to your relatively new boyfriend for a textbook he might be storing in his apartment. Or, Spencer putting you through his mattress for the first time as finals stress relief.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut! Fluff? (18+ pls pls) tags: Softdom!Spencer, sub reader (bet you thought you'd never see the day I did this), pet names in Russian, finger sucking, fingering (fem!receiving), established (new) relationship, your first time together, praise kink, pinv sex, creampie, teasing!!! overstimulation. wc: 6k a/n: I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY! Writing this during my finals felt like method acting. I imagine many of you are just now finishing or in the throes of finals- here's a treat!

Your head is hurting in places that you don’t even think have been identified in the anatomy of the brain while you continue to type away at your final essay. 

You had thought you’d given yourself ample time to begin and finish the essay without any stress-induced cramming. Yet, here you are, halfway through with the deadline a couple days away.

Phone on do not disturb and your social life coming to a screeching halt– you have forced yourself to go awol in order to get everything you need done.

Which worked. For a bit.

Now, you’re panicking over a Russian literature textbook you didn’t even know was on the syllabus that you’re supposed to reference in your final. 

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

The first time you left your apartment in the last 48 hours was to check your university library for it– no dice. You drove to your local library after, out of luck there as well. Who on earth is using the 9th edition Russian and Comparative Literature text you need so horribly? They do not need it as much as you do.

Dejected and sighing from your pounding headache, you rest your forehead against your steering wheel, the sun is going down on another day without finishing your paper. Then it hits you. The biggest distraction in your life, is also the smartest person in your life. If the library doesn’t carry what you need, you might just have to put your pride aside and call Spencer.

You had promised yourself to use him as a form of reward once you completed everything, but you just have to ask him now. You can’t possibly get too distracted. 

One of your rings sounds off in your car before he’s picking up.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. How’s the studying?”

Even through the tinny speaker of your phone his voice releases butterflies in your stomach.

“Spencer! Hey. Umm. It’s not going very well, actually...”

“Oh hon,” his voice drips with remorse from the other line, “I told you how breaks would make it all go more smoothly than whatever guerilla method you decided on.”

You smile to yourself briefly, before a surge of emotion comes over you. Of course, he was right. Your stomach is growling, head aching and going stir crazy in your apartment these last couple of days has not turned out to be the picture perfect portrayal of self-care.

In a small voice you reply, “I know. I’m sorry. I just- I was wondering if you had a textbook I need for my final. Russian and Comparative Lit? Or something adjacent?”

“Hm? Oh, please don’t say you’re sorry. I honestly might. Would you like to come over and look with me?”

Your fingers come up nervously to play with your bottom lip, “Yeah, please, if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Zayka.”

Whatever it is, he says it smug enough that you roll your eyes, starting your car back up to finally get to the next step in finishing your paper.

Of sorts.

Like some heightened form of sensory deprivation, once you’re stepping up the staircase to get to Spencer’s unit, you can smell his scent from the bottom of the steps. The aged leather on his clothes and hand soap he uses that clings to him all day circling around your dizzy head as you give one, two knocks at his door.

His slight stubble and loosened tie catch your eye first. You want to run a hand where the sliver of his collar bone is revealed. 

You give him a shy smile instead, Spencer pulling you into a hug in his doorway with a kiss on top of your head where he speaks against it, “I missed you. Come in, come in.”

Sighing as he pulls away you beeline towards his bookshelf. Seeing it’s a stack of differing Russian texts on the floor he must’ve pulled out on your drive over.

“Oh, Spencer, thank you. Even if it’s not here, I seriously owe you one.”

He gestures his hand in an oh stop motion and walks over to where you’re reading the spine of each ridiculously long book.

“You don’t owe me anything. Happy to help. You’ve been pretty stressed out, huh?”

This pauses your flicking through titles like a cue in your system to spill out every detail you haven’t shared in the last couple days.

A deep sigh, then, “Yeah. It’s been really tough. I thought I’d be able to crank everything out, but. I just feel so burnt out. And the library by me is always so busy that I have to study at home, and my room is a mess and I haven’t bought any groceries, I just. I feel horrible. I have this headache,” you rub your face with your hands, “I’ve been getting no sleep and my body does not know how to handle this anxiety, it’s… it like, physically hurts.”

You’re on your knees by his coffee table and before you’re finishing your onslaught of complaints Spencer is sinking to his knees beside you.

“Oh, honey. That sounds miserable. You’ve drained yourself.” His hand comes to your lower back to rub at soothingly. “You need to regulate your nervous system. Let me feed you or-”

“This is it!”

You cannot believe your eyes. A perfect condition of the exact textbook you need to finish your paper. You owe Spencer all the stars in the sky, that big beautiful brain of his. Leaning over, you peck his lips swiftly. Which was your first mistake. You always need another.

“Mm,” he hums, “I’m glad. However, I do think you should embark on whatever journey reading through this will take you tomorrow.”

“What? But I’m so close,” another kiss is being pressed to his soft lips, “I just. I just need to-”

The way he’s looking at you. The pressure of his kiss lingering on your overactive mouth. The warm light of the lamp coming from his bedroom. You know if you keep pressing, you actually are going to have to leave, Spencer not being the type to force you in any capacity. 

You have to shut your mouth.

Spencer pulls your hand into his, lifts up to press a kiss to your knuckles, “Well. If you got everything you need…”

A panic-inducing sentence. 

“I d-didn’t.”

“Oh? Is there something else-”

“I, um. What did you say earlier? On the phone, in Russian. I… was wondering, actually.”

His lips pull into a genuine smile, one that makes you ache. You missed it so much. 

“Ever so curious. It just means bunny, it’s a common nickname. Could also translate to baby.”

Embarrassment heats up your neck. 

“I’m not even! I’d argue I’m more of a cat than anything else.”

“Hm. Kotik. I’d disagree though. I could practically hear the scrunch in your nose when you called me.”

“Ugh! Whatever. What does that make you then?”

“Whatever you want.”

Is he doing this on purpose? Is he being extra impossibly irresistible because he’s trying to make you stay or because of your distance from him? Either way, you hold your breath. 

“I-if I’m a bunny you have to be one too, that only makes sense.”

“Of course. Cross-species breeding can get weird.”

He has to be doing this on purpose. You haven’t done it yet. But Spencer is no stranger to working you up. The pet names, the fucking insinuations. Spencer is nothing but careful with his words around you. He’s being a tease out of his own volition. 

Knees starting to get achy where they’re pressed into his hardwood, you shift a bit. Nothing more than a shift, but given the context, lets Spencer know exactly what’s keeping you chained to his apartment. 

“Um. I think I’ll stay.” you blurt nearing a socially awkward delivery as you break his eye contact.

“Oh thank God,” he laughs out through a sigh of relief, “I don’t think I could’ve morally let you go home.”

“I just think I deserve a little break.”

“Mhmm,” Spencer rubs your jaw lightly with his thumb, “you’ve been working so hard, you deserve more than a little break.”

“Yeah? What should my big break be? Travel somewhere warm… should we go to Mexico?”

“I’ll take you to Mexico. You look so exhausted I’d just about take you anywhere.”

You giggle and nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “How about your bedroom?”

Not even having to look up to see it, you can feel the way his eyes widen. Having made out with Spencer a fair share on his couch, more than playful sleepovers at your apartment, and even an instance where Spencer had fingered you under your skirt in the parking lot of an AMC (before turning around to drive back home, skipping the movie) you’ve built up enough confidence to tell him you’re ready to feel him this way now. 

“Wh- yeah. Yeah, course.”

With Spencer’s whole neuroses around germs and “outside clothes on the bed” you actually have not gotten the privilege of laying down in there. Sure, you’ve picked through his closet and rummaged through some bedside books, but nothing wrapped up in his silky white sheets.

Your knees feel wobbly as you stand up before Spencer, gazing softly down where he’s criss-cross on his floor. He smiles up at you softly, reaching his hand up to rub your hip with his thumb over your jeans.

“What should I do to help all that stress?” He trails off, if spoken by another person, this could seem like a bit of a sarcastic remark, but Spencer continues to live and breathe sincerity.

Laughing slightly you shrug, “Come up here first, please.”

Sluggishly, Spencer gets up on his feet, his hand remaining on your hip now that he’s face to face with you. 

After kissing you gently he rubs his nose softly against yours, “I could give you a massage- you know stimulating the parasympathetic nervous system will help your cortisol levels a lot. You also just seem tense, sitting a lot in front of your laptop?”

“I mean,” you laugh and kiss him while pausing your sentence, “I’d like that. But. I want you in a different way. More than that... ahem, in your room.”

“I kind of just wanted to hear you say it.”

Once Spencer was able to pry his hands from your waist and lips from your mouth (with difficulty, he really missed you) he takes your hand into his to walk to his bedroom.

Of course you’ve been in here before, but right now every detail in his room; every book on a desk, every folded line in his bedding seem to have a shining glow around them. Through rose-tinted glasses Spencer's belongings cast an easy feeling over you. 

Being led to the bed you’ve never been in doesn’t incite any fear because you’re so familiar with the surroundings. Already in-tune with him and how he’s so particular about the things he owns, proves just how encapsulated by all-things-Spencer you are right now, completely safe and in your element. 

Warm hands bring your arms around his broad shoulders, kissing you against his bedframe. The cool carved wood pressing indents into the back of your thighs as you allow your full body weight against it. 

In your school-induced mania, you’d nearly forgotten how obsessed you are with kissing Spencer. His pillowy lips against yours, tasting him. He’d nearly get irritated at you for kissing him too hard in public. Now, after locking yourself away you're savoring how his tongue skims your bottom lip as he’s asking for access into your mouth. 

You whine and pinch your eyebrows together when he slightly pulls away to talk, “Darling, you’re so lovely, so beautiful,”

Pouting, you pull him back in by his collar. Before, you had been so adamant about focusing on your work and now you’re falling fast into the mess of hormones he typically makes of you. A total 180 in the past hour.

Allowing yourself to give into what has been simmering the last few days has you jittery and clumsy. Tightening and loosening your grip on Spencer’s shirt you’re tugging him closer and pushing him away when the whining from your throat becomes too embarrassing. Desperate and determined.

Your open-mouthed whining is coming from an understandable place though. Mouths melding together and a taught thigh wedged between your legs, you’re losing yourself in the way he tastes. 

Spearmint toothpaste that you both use on his breath. The shared taste you two have after you bought Spencer’s (out of a moment of weakness) when you happened to run out of your own while he was away on a case. A girlish, silly pining that now has your eyes rolling back as you taste yourself on him and consequentially, Spencer on you as well. 

Spencer curls your tongues together, grabs your hips flush against his and you whimper out a small final plea of a moan against his lips before he’s pulling away again.

“You’re being a little siren,” Spencer grins and places a kiss underneath your jaw where he knows you’re the most sensitive. 

“Sorry- was I? I missed you so much,” you trail off and kiss the warm skin of Spencer’s neck before he pulls you off him slightly.

Unabashedly staring directly at your bitten lips while replying, Spencer falls into an easy grin, “Don’t say sorry. How many times have I said I love your sounds?”

Shame creeps up in a gentle heat across the back of your neck, “Um. Too many!”

You get a simple tsk from Spencer in return. Not having the energy to argue with you over the shyness around moaning, he settles on a simple noise of disapproval.

Gently taking both of your wrists, he pulls you up from where you were propped against his bed frame and maneuvers you till the back of your knees are being tickled by his lush bedding. Maybe it's a tickle or just your skin's hyper awareness of what's to come.

Having tasted him earlier, there has been a discovered pining demand for Spencer you cannot keep at bay anymore. His sweet lips, a sugary glaze to the sour week you’ve had. Like the time you licked a dribble of honey off his finger when he was making you a cup of tea and you had to perch yourself on his lap for an hour kissing him senseless. You have no control over that dam inside you once broken. 

Cradling the back of your head while he guides you to his bed, you instinctively wrap your legs around his narrow hips, hoping to do anything in your power to keep his body weight on you for as long as humanly possible. 

“Babe- baby,” Spencer whines out, having to wiggle away from your grasp if any clothes were to be shed tonight, “let me undress you, please.”

Fine, you think, separating for that, should be livable.

Teasingly, Spencer rubs his hands up and down your waist, pulling your shirt up slowly as he massages into your skin. A wiggle in your hips has him smiling in acknowledgment but continues to toy with your top.

“You’re giving me goosebumps,” you pout.

“Good goosebumps?”

“Mmf. Yeah.” You turn to hide your face defiantly into his bedding.

“Always good goosebumps with you.” He smiles and pulls your shirt off, wiggling and arching your back, you help him even through your faux sulking.

Spencer’s sheets meet your bare skin (no bra, you couldn’t manage something so menial during your studying) and glide over your torso like a flat pebble skipping over a lake.

The seam of your jeans between your legs are pushing into your center as Spencer’s thigh remains pushing in small intervals while kissing over your chest. Approaching an overwhelming stimulation, your hips writhe as you grab silently at Spencer's tie. 

“T-take my pants off too, Spence, wanna feel you.”

“Aww,” he pulls up from your chest, “they look so good on you though.” He relents still, sitting on his knees as he fiddles with the band of your jeans.

A playful flicker in his eyes and he’s gently pulling up and down at it. You scrunch up your face, subconsciously aware of his bunny comment, and grab at his wrist. Only a small fuck falls from your lips.

“Mm, too much, huh? I’ll get them off of you, my love.”

Your hands reach up to tug off his barely knotted tie to fling it off while he slides the rough fabric down your legs, placing a kiss to a bruised knee on the way. Once your jeans are making a home on his floor he continues moving down further so he can take off your socks, kissing over the fabric of your panties.

You giggle a little, they’re not your sexiest, moreso cute; cotton with a little bow. 

“These are my lucky panties.” You explain through your laugh. 

“Yeah? Did you put them on in hopes they’d help you find your textbook?” His hands are holding the sides of your thighs now and he bends down to take the small bow between his teeth tugging up before letting it go in a snap against your belly.

“Mm-mm. I just decided that now.”

“From now on they’re your lucky underwear?” He looks up at you between your legs with a lopsided grin.

“Yup,” you pop out the “p” sound, “but you can still take them off even though they’re lucky.”

Spencer hums into a kiss against your inner thigh, “This is great news. May I?”

“Yes, you may.”

You can feel how wet you are by the slight resistance there is while peeling your panties off. Spencer hasn’t made you cum in quite some time, busy schedules and all. Now with finals, you can’t even remember the last time you got yourself off. The dripping into your panties reminding you of how long it must have been.

All that time not thinking about it is catching up to you as you feel more deprived than you have in your entire life.

“God- Spence. I want it… really bad.” These are the begging eyes you give him when you have to pull out your biggest trick in the books. When you’re making him drive you to the mall or begging to leave a hickey on his neck when he has to leave for work in thirty minutes.

Safe to say, they work pretty well.

“Baby, you can’t look at me like that,” he laughs, “I’m not in any mood to tease you.” His voice fills with a teasing tone anyway, the dirty liar. “You’ve been through enough already, huh?”

“Mhmm…” Your affirmation melts into a hum of pleasure as Spencer very gently runs his thumb over your entrance. With the coat of your slick on the pad of his thumb, Spencer brings it up to his mouth for a moment before sucking it off. You can’t help but shoot him a jealous look as your thighs close to rub together.

“Needy,” Spencer mumbles while pulling his thumb out, shifting up towards you so he can bring it to your lips. Sucking in happily, you bite down gently on his thumb, smiling around it as you hear a little groan coming his way. 

Thumb now covered in both of your saliva, he uses it as extra lubricant to rub circles over your already wet clit. Another reminder of how long its been hits you with how you already feel close. With just a few circles on your clit, you’re already clenching around nothing, hoping to be filled.

A squeak topples from your throat as Spencer switches his thumb to two fingers against you.

“Y-yeah, like that-”

Spencer is your boyfriend- he’s sweet and attentive and genuine. But he is also evil and horrible. He takes his hand away.

Your shocked gasp makes him laugh and move to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m mean. I’m sorry I’m sorry,” his laughter tickles your neck, “you’re so much fun to tease.”

You can barely hear him, not laughing along. Solely focused on wiggling under his weight, trying to gain any more friction on your clit.

No fight left in you, you want to politely take what Spencer gives you, but a slight panic fills your mind at the thought of having to wait much longer.

“Please- I’ll be good…”

“I know angel, you always are for me.”

Before the praise can affect you to its fullest potential, his fingers are returning against you. Three of his long perfect fingers dance across your clit as it thumps pathetically against them.

“Mmm! Shit, thank you, thank you-“ you babble softly. 

“Want them inside?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Really?”

“Really!” 

You’re not above this. Giving into every prompt easily as if you’re made for it. With all the planning and studying and working this week you have no issue with surrendering control over to someone else for a change.

Spencer flips his wrist so the inside is towards you and he’s positioning his ring and middle finger against you. You’ve never felt so spoiled, your clit is still throbbing painfully the second he removes his fingers to put them inside you, you never can get enough. 

The stretch of two fingers has you preening, accommodating his digits in a way that makes you so excited for the stretch of his cock soon.

“God, I missed this,” Spencer pants, “you’re so stunning, so warm.”

You allow the new wave of wetness to pool around his fingers with little to no guilt. If he says he likes it so much, what’s a little more?

He curls his fingers up and your jaw drops. He can find your sweet spot faster than you or any toy you have can and it makes you hate him and love him more and more each time. Moving languidly, you perch yourself on your elbows, wanting to gaze down between your thighs. 

Your eyes trail to the soft skin of his inner wrist, pretty blue veins, the network of his life, on display as they lead down to where you’re the most sensitive. The snap of his slender wrist as he speeds up, goes deeper and deeper until your hand instinctively comes down to pet your clit in tandem with his thrusts. 

Pushing your hand away, Spencer replaces it with his hand that’s not working at your g-spot, silent with his full attention on making you cum. You appreciate this, but if he’s trying to tip you over, he’s going to have to keep talking to you in the dirty sweet way he’s mastered.

“B-baby,” your voice is shot, “talk to me, talk to me.”

“Mm. My pretty baby-”

“Can you call me that again… t-the Russian?”

Bending down and dragging his lips across your neck he hums out, “Moy Zayka,” coming up he traces his tongue against your bitten lips, “Say it…”

Two bats of your wet eyelashes and you’re muttering “Zayka,” in the softest voice you can muster, shyness drying your speech.

“Mhm. Good. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”

“God, don’t talk like that or I’ll cum right now, fuck.”

“You said-” he begins, but you cut him off with a moan. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right.”

Five more seconds of Spencer's warmth radiating off him along with the sensation of his taking you apart between your legs and you realize you have to warn him you’re about to cum. Like seriously, about to.

“Spence! Close!” You muster, legs shaking slightly as proof.

“Yeah? Good girl.” He continues his movements until black spots dance behind your eyelids and you’re coming hard against his fingers. 

Working you through it until your chest is rising and falling, he takes his fingers out, but two fingers remain on your clit.

Shit. All that fucking begging got you here.

Moans increasing, your thighs clamp together around his wrist. Trying to stop him, but just making the sensation more intense. You gasp and try to open your legs back a bit. It’s torture, but it’s the least you’ve been able to think in the past week, which is exactly what you needed.

Sitting back on his knees, dick making a tent in his trousers, Spencer smiles at you squirming. “You okay?”

Are you? Yesyesyesyesnononono. You find yourself nodding anyway.

“M… ‘ore.”

“What’s that?”

Toes squeezing, your clit starts up that heartbeat again, reviving itself at his words. Ready to cum again.

“More!” You whisper, hoping he won’t ask again.

Spencer kisses your knee sweetly, rubs his cheek against it. “You’re doing so well. Really, making me so happy.”

Your entrance flutters at his words and the overstimulation has gotten to a point of just brain melting pleasure, and your legs fall open easily, allowing him more mobility once again.

The second time you orgasm on his fingers today you’re jolting upright. Hand pressed into the mattress while the other one clamps over your mouth as you tremble watching him rub your clit and pull away at the first whine he hears from you.

“Holy shit,” You sigh out, head falling down to his pillow.

Spencer’s face to face with you again, kissing your heated skin gently. 

“How are you feeling? Can you give me another one? We can stop here, sweetie.”

“Noooo,” your lips spread into a grin at the thought of coming around his dick for the first time. How good he must feel, how it will literally melt your brain into a puddle. “I want you-”

He kisses your lips like he would when picking you up to take you to dinner. Sweet and innocent like you weren’t just painting his fingers with your release. 

You trail a trembling hand up to begin undressing him. A shameful fumble with one button that takes two times as long to unbutton than it normally takes you. Spencer’s hands cup yours to steady them and finishes off the rest of his buttons with ease.

Maybe that’s another reason to call him Dr.- the steady hands he usually has. Unless you’re giving him head, but he definitely wouldn’t be experiencing that during a procedure. He’s also not even that kind of doctor. Maybe you’ll ask him to roleplay-

You look down and Spencer is in his underwear. You could thank God. His dick is the hardest you’ve ever seen it and it’s still under its confines. The tip has leaked enough to turn the fabric slightly see through and you can make out the details of him. Your mouth is watering. 

Without a second thought you trail a nail over his bulge. As Spencer sucks in a breath you snap the band of his underwear against his lower stomach, causing him to suck in his lips and his dick to twitch.

Almost as affected as you are, Spencer breathes shallowly and looks at you expectantly till you’re lowering the band and revealing all of him. Thick and long and covered in his precum you immediately grow hazy, giving him a few pumps to gauge how he might feel inside you. He’s going to split you open.

Spitting in your hand (not that you even needed to, he's already wet with precum) you continue to jack him off, his stomach curling in when you shift into a reverse grip on him and stroke his head a few times. His hands finally grow shaky as they reach down to stop you from making him finish too fast.

Momentarily Spencer stands by the bed to remove his underwear fully, you watch his dick as it bobs in the air, wanting to give it a steady place to move into until it’s-

“Spence, please.”

“Yeah, pretty.” He nods in understanding, his tough resolve breaking down more now as he also realizes how you’re going to feel around him for the first time.

Laying down, he positions himself between your legs. He wraps his arms around your head pulling you into a kiss before moving them to cage you in while staring into your eyes. You’re trying to keep eye contact but you can feel his cock brush your stomach and you could die.

“You still want this? You’re not feeling dizzy or anything?”

“Y-yes. Not dizzy. I just really want you inside.”

He laughs and kisses your neck, “Yeah. I really do too.”

Warm palms are positioning your hips against his bed and move to break you apart. He swipes his dick, wetting it with you, before he makes any moves to penetrate you. It feels really good- you’ve heard your friends mention it, but this feels… super good. 

Going down to collect more wetness, he draws his head back up to circle your clit again. It’s probably a form of torture for him- but with the way you’re nearly giggling with pleasure, he figures it won’t hurt to do it a few more times.

“Baby,” he shudders out a breath against your forehead, “This feels really good, but I’ll cum like this, and I’d rather it be inside you.”

You laugh and wrap your hands around his neck (Spencer is polite enough to ignore the way you squeeze it slightly), giddy with happiness.

“Kay. Can you fuck me like that until we both cum next time, though?”

The way you say it, so conversational and wholesome makes Spencer clear his throat. You’re going to be the death of him. 

“Anything you want, angel.”

Then he’s moving his head against you with intent. Eyes flickering between where he’s entering you and to check your face for pain (which remains in a blissed out expression throughout the entire thing). 

Pushing the tip fully in, both of you gasp with a newfound lucidity that hasn’t overcome you since you were in the living room. There could be a LED light sign on both of your foreheads that flashes oh fuck in pink shining blinks with hearts surrounding it.

“Oh baby-” He whispers over your repeated ah, ah, ah’s.

“F-feels so good,” You squeak out, knowing he’s gonna be a worried mess to make sure you’re not feeling any pain.

With that confirmation he allows himself to rest his head down, chin against your forehead as he moans into your hair while bottoming out. The stubble is sort of scratchy against you but in a way that’s beckoning your legs open wider.

Your legs automatically wrap around his hips to keep him at the deepest point, wanting to feel the way he’s first opening you up forever. Lips gasping and closing to place a kiss at your forehead he whimpers out, “Baby, gotta let me move.”

So you let him move. You would probably do anything he suggests right now. A comical dizzy swarm of birds circling your head with a dumb smile on your face. He wants to move, your legs spread open on the bed. He wants to cum inside you? You’re gonna let him.

His first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. You make a note to yourself never to spend longer than a day away from him again. Then, another note to do this every day with him the rest of your life.

Spencer repositions himself so that his arms are straightened, alleviating some of his weight off you (sigh), but allows him to move into you at a better angle. 

Moaning, you turn your face to the side, looking at the inside of his wrist again. The intense thrusts combined with his delicate skin and fragile veins right there, you get dizzy. Shifting a little, you place a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then another, a wet mess of a kiss that delivers the message of complete infatuation. 

Spencer groans and realizes how far away from your lips he is right now and moves to his forearms again. He pets the top of your head and whispers into the air, “You feel so perfect- just like I thought. You’re so perfect everywhere.”

In his vulnerable state, you’re right in front of his perfect, untainted neck, and you want to lick and suck at it to work through the mind numbing pleasure, like it would ground you to reality. Usually, he needs more coercing, with the team and all, it’s very hard to hide hickeys. Yet,

“Spence, baby,” you whine, putting that lilt in your voice that tears him apart, “can I kiss your neck, please?”

Immediately, “Yeah, honey, take what you need.”

And your tongue immediately licks a stripe up his skin, salty and sweet with sweat. Sucking the skin between your teeth you leave a fresh deep mark for him to parade around the next few days. You say sorry in your head looking at it, but it doesn’t make it to your lips.

He laughs and shakes his head, knowing exactly what his skin is going to look like tomorrow and in retaliation he moves your thighs overtop his shoulders, hitting a spot inside you that has your mind fuzzing. 

Your hips thrash a bit, not used to being unable move and wiggle around the pleasure like you typically do. Especially with this new stretch inside you, you’re keening.

“That feel good, baby?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, “God. Yes.” 

“Tell me I feel good.”

“Spencer,” you whine, dragging out the syllables, “you feel so good. Fucking me so good.”

He moans high, then, “Now, tell me you love me.”

With an even smaller pause than before, “Fuck, I love you.”

“Mhm. Again.”

“Baby- I love you-” You whimper out, realizing instantly he’s about to make you cum once more.

“I love you.” He replies gently, juxtaposing his thrusts again, which are now growing sloppy with his nearing orgasm.

Pulling him into a harsh kiss, you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, trembling with his skin between your jaws. Having the power to draw blood but keeping yourself at bay. Ever a good girl for him.

Without having to ask, he brings a hand to rub your clit again. You let go of his lip with a groan, head falling back against his pillow with your back arching into him.

“C-can I cum?”

“Of course you can. Baby, ‘need to feel you coming around me, I know you feel so good.”

Who are you to deny that? Biting the inside of your cheek, you're coming for him again. It’s better than you could’ve imagined, the unstoppable stretch inside you while your walls flutter for reprieve around him. Better yet, Spencer is spilling into you. 

You whine high in your throat feeling him cum inside you, somehow making more room for this alongside his cock inside you. Overwhelmed, you grab for his hand, he interlocks his fingers with yours instantly, a whimpering mess alongside you.

When his hips are still against yours, you cannot think a single thing, you only feel. The slow slow slowness of him pulling out of you with a pop. The drip of his cum out of you like a sedative. The kisses against your face and lips.

Nails scratching lightly at the base of his neck convince him enough of your coherency, nothing to panic over. Spencer is giving you space to be fucked out of your mind.

“My sweet, pretty bunny, I wanna clean you up. Can I? I’ll be gone for just a moment.”

You groan, that does not sound like something that should happen. 

“Coming with…” You mumble, barely legible.

Spencer laughs, “Yeah. Right. You’re not walking on those two legs again today. See? I’ll run.”

You smile back and close your eyes, shooing him away with a wave of your hand. He’s right too, you barely even notice the time pass before he’s back with a warm rag.

He’s cleaned you up, positioned you to lay on top of him and is pulling teasingly at your earlobe, muttering something about a takeout order he placed for you both.

You eat cuddled up on his sofa, watching some new space documentary perched on his lap. You’re sitting right by the textbook you pulled out earlier and you haven’t even noticed, your essay so far from your mind that the only thing you could possibly learn right now is the pattern of Spencer’s breath against the back of your neck.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

doctor doctor - s.r.

pairing: casual sex!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary: on the way to the hospital you call the only doctor you know (and the only person you want to see) - though you may have misunderstood what kind of doctor he is, exactly

word count: nearly 4k

masterlist // this is a continuation of 'the agreement'

contains: florist!reader, mugging, violence, allusions to potential SA attempt (no actual attempt made), allusions to smut, two cuties who are down bad for each other but refuse to admit it to themselves, they really don't know that much about each other's lives, mentions of no contact with family, reader refuses to put their own safety first and Spencer isn't living for it

Spencer has never known you to contact him during the day. 

In fact, he’s never known you to initiate contact, only ever reply to his texts. These messages consist only of logistics. Your place or mine? What time? That kind of thing.  

So at first, his expression is that of confusion as he reads your text.

BABY: What hospital do you work at ???

Spencer thought back over your first ever conversation. It was the only time you had ever discussed his work. He supposed he had only referred to it in an abstract sort of way. It wasn’t a leap that you would have assumed that Doctor Spencer Reid was in the medical field when he spoke of being unable to shake the memories of those he couldn’t save.

Beyond that first encounter, the point of your arrangement had been that it was an outlet for him to forget his work, so Spencer had never brought it up again and you had never pushed him to share. 

Spencer’s chest tightened. He considered the probability of you asking him this question innocuously. Given past instances of casual text conversation (zero), he knew the chances were not good. 

“Spencer, are you with us?” Hotch asked.

Not at all, he nearly said.

They were at the tail end of a case briefing, everyone’s eyes trained on Spencer as he stared at his phone. It didn’t take a profiler to know that a technophobe staring that intently at their phone spelled trouble.

“I need to step out for a sec.”

Spencer didn’t wait for a reply, already halfway out of his seat. He wouldn’t have even heard it if one came, his thoughts altogether consumed by you.

You picked up on the second ring. Spencer’s stomach dropped. He could hear the ambulance sirens loud and clear through the phone.

“Spencer?”

You sound slightly out of it. He ran through the potential reasons within a nanosecond. Pain, shock, blood loss, painkillers, a blow to the head.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you slurred slightly, unaware of the panic in his tone. “It’s just a scratch. They’re just being cautious.” If that were true, there would be no sirens for you to raise your voice over, but Spencer doesn’t say as much. “His knife was just very sharp. But I’m going to be okay, they told me so.”

The room tilted. His knife. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Spencer knew he was reassuring himself more than he was you, but he hoped you didn’t notice. “What hospital are they taking you to?”

“Um,” you thought for a long second, “I don’t know.

“What hospital?” you asked someone other than Spencer. You repeated what the paramedic told you, though Spencer had already heard.

“Okay, I’m going to be there really soon, okay baby?”

“That would be nice,” you hummed.

The team emerged from the conference room as he hung up the phone.

“Wheels up in thirty, Reid. You with us?” Hotch asked.

“I need to take some personal time. I’m not sure how long yet. All of today at least.”

Spencer’s feet itched to be on the move as he stood and explained himself to his boss. Every second spent not on the way to you was a waste. If he did not consider these people his family, he’s not sure he would have had the restraint to stand here and have this conversation.

“Of course,” Hotch nodded, understanding and unquestioning. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Spencer turned to leave, yelling a quick, I will, over his shoulder.

“Reid!” Garcia called as he left.

Spencer didn’t stop walking, heard her heels clacking and figured she would catch up.

“Is your mom okay?”

“She’s fine,” he didn’t look up as he grabbed his bag from his desk. A thought occurred to him. “I might need some information from you later,” he said, the words his knife echoing in his mind with every move he made.

“I’ll await your phone call,” she told him, earnest. 

Spencer didn’t even think to thank her, already running out of the office. 

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It had been a rough morning for you. 

You were in the worst point between Spencer visits. The glow of the orgasms had faded, the memories of the sex becoming further from the front of your mind. More difficult to hold onto with clarity. It would be several days yet until you could expect a visit from him again, thus the thrill of anticipation seemed miles away. You were in the middle period, left with one thing and one thing only: frustration. 

You found yourself becoming crabby during this period. If you weren’t enjoying the sex so much, you would find it embarrassing. Your mood had become dependent on the frequency of visits from a guy you were seeing casually for sex. (You refused to acknowledge the fact that the influence was perhaps not exclusively the sex but the company you were enjoying and at this moment, missing).

You tried not to let your bad mood dominate your day, but it certainly infiltrated your enthusiasm for work, or rather created a lack thereof. You dragged your heels through your morning routine, spending more time than you should daydreaming about what (or who) you would rather be doing and found yourself running to make the train on time. 

Normally, you would never cut through that alley to get to the train station, but you did so out of sheer necessity to catch your train. 

It was broad daylight, you told yourself. It would be fine.

It was decidedly not fine. 

You heard them before you saw them. Her cries. His harsh and low, “Hurry up, bitch.”

His back was to you, so much larger than her that you couldn’t even see her behind him. 

You didn’t think, just reacted.

You don’t even remember running up, just the moment you yanked his shoulder away from her, towards you. He spun with the force of it. You hadn’t checked to see if he was wielding a weapon, barely even saw the flash of the knife as it sliced up your arm in the scuffle. 

He was young. Maybe nineteen. 

Luckily for you, your bold move was enough to spook him. He didn’t hesitate for a second before he took off running. 

Your damsel in distress was around your age, shaking and still with her open bag in hand.

“Are you okay?” you asked, not yet seeing the blood dripping down your own arm.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look in your direction. Just stared after her retreating assailant. Despite the mounting distance between herself and danger, her shaking took on a more ferocious edge as shock set in. The girl’s back hit the wall behind her, in a second she was on the ground and folding in on herself.

You bent down and reached for her hand. That was when you saw the blood. It had slid down your arm and covered your hand already. Your stomach lurched at the volume. You steeled yourself and looked beyond it, focused on the girl’s face.

“You’re okay. Don’t worry, lovely, it’s over now,” you gripped her hand as best you could as you plied her with assurances.

The throb of your wound registered like a kick in the gut as your adrenaline began to crash. Your butt hit the cement with a thud. Your vision started to swim but you tried not to think about it but rather the girl in front of you. She needed you to hold tight just a little bit longer. That much you could do.

“What’s your name, lovely?”

Her teeth clacked together but she managed to tell you, “Grace.”

“Grace, I need you to take a deep breath.” You led with an exaggerated inhale, and to your relief she followed your example. 

She settled some after three deep breaths together. Shakily, you used your good arm to pull your phone out of your pocket. You passed it to Grace and asked her to dial 911, unable to make out the numbers as your vision blurred. As you listened to her on the phone you couldn’t help but think again of the doctor who had been on your mind before your morning went to hell. Your doctor.

Despite everything, you huffed a laugh. You might see Spencer sooner than you thought.

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Of course you hadn’t anticipated him dropping everything to come see you.

Just like you hadn’t anticipated the somewhat drunk, woozy feeling blood loss would create within you. Without it, you were sure you wouldn’t have texted him at all. 

You didn’t have anyone else to call, so you hoped you would just happen to be headed to the hospital where he worked. 

The paramedics on scene seemed very serious about your injury. You thought they would maybe just stitch you up on scene. They wouldn’t even let you walk to the ambulance, demanding you lie down (and remain) on a gurney. It overwhelmed you, and in a moment of weakness you reached out to Spencer.

But you were secretly glad you had done it. 

When you saw his face as he burst into your room (rather, your curtained off bed), you smiled despite the needle going into your arm. 

He was frazzled, hair an unkempt mess and slightly out of breath. There was relief in his eyes as they locked onto yours. Then he clocked the doctor stitching up your arm. In two quick strides he was there, eyeing both the injury and the doctor’s handiwork. 

Spencer could see the way the blade had swung out, slicing you first shallowly in your lower arm and catching some air above your elbow before slicing deeper into the flesh of your upper arm, creating a long broken line up your arm. 

“Did the laceration on the upper arm nick any arteries?” he asked the doctor, all business. 

“Luckily not, but your girl here was sitting in the cement bleeding for a while before the paramedics got there,” your doctor replied smoothly, unbothered by Reid’s probing. “Once I finish stitching her she’ll receive a transfusion. She’s a bit loopy from the blood loss right now.”

On cue, you pout at Spencer. “You’re not wearing your scrubs.”

He peeks at your displeased expression and he is overwhelmed by a desire to plant a hundred kisses all over your face. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding to see you talking and okay (well, half a breath, he’ll release the other half when you get your blood transfusion and stop looking so ashen).

Distracted by another thought, he only half looks at you as he says, “I’m not that kind of doctor, angel.

“What was the ambulance response time?” He asked the doctor. 

“I would have to ask to find out the exact time but I don’t believe it was longer than normal. I heard from the nurses that she scared a mugger off from some poor girl. Didn’t call an ambulance until she could get the girl calmed down some.”

The doctor turned to you. 

“Just remember next time, Supergirl, that paramedics can settle down people in shock too. Leave something for the rest of us to do,” the doctor winked at you. 

“I left the arm for you to stitch, what more do you want,” you joked, but your eyes were half shut. 

They opened quickly as a thought registered. “What kind of doctor are you then? A psychiatrist?”

The doctor’s brows shoot up, obviously wondering as to the nature of your relationship with Spencer if you don’t even know what kind of doctor he is. 

Spencer is surprised by the itchy feeling it gives him inside. It had given him pleasure to be perceived as your person, the one you count on. He didn’t like this new perception the doctor would have of your relationship. That you didn’t really know each other. Even if it was a lot closer to the truth. 

Spencer’s pleased to be spared having this conversation in front of the doctor as he finishes up the last stitch and says, “I’ll be back with a nurse to set up the transfusion in a minute.” 

Spencer thanked the doctor and pulled up a seat beside you, no longer needing to supervise anyone’s medical handiwork. He sat on your good side so he could hold your hand without causing any discomfort. 

“How are you feeling, honey?”

“Confused.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “How does your arm feel?”

“It’s fine, Spence. They gave me the good stuff, I promise. Now tell me what kind of doctor you are because I’m feeling silly.”

It occurs to Spencer then that you may share a commonality. Neither of you enjoy being wrong. Surely that is the explanation for the crease between your brows and the downturn of your mouth, something he is so unused to seeing. 

“You’re not silly. You made a reasonable deduction based on the information you were provided.” 

“The wrong deduction.”

“Well, yes,” he concedes. 

“So?” You look at him expectantly.

“My doctorates are in mathematics, engineering and chemistry, but I work for the FBI in the behavioural analysis unit,” he explained.

You stared at him blankly. This new reality was perhaps too much for your brain to comprehend so soon after a traumatic event.

“I catch killers by creating profiles of who these criminals would likely be based on the behaviour of known offenders,” Spencer attempted to simplify. “Well, not just me. Me and my team.”

“Sure,” you snorted.

Spencer just looked at you. Waited a beat for you to process. 

Realisation dawned upon you. “Oh. You’re serious?”

“I’m not exactly well known for my jokes.”

You laughed. “That’s true.” 

You sat back in your bed and sized him up, considering him within this new context. Reshuffling the picture you had formed of his life outside of your dalliances. 

“Maybe it’s the drugs or the blood loss but I can actually kind of see it.”

It was Spencer’s turn to snort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I might still ask to see your credentials later. I’m not sure I would know the difference if you handed me your driver’s licence at this point.”

“I don’t have my driver’s licence.”

You shuddered. This is who we’re entrusting the safety of the public with?

“Hey!”

Oops. You hadn’t realised you were talking aloud in your hazy state.

“I’ll take you for a driving lesson one day okay? If you can figure out a way to have so many doctorates you can figure out how to drive under my tutelage.” 

Your eyes started to droop shut as you spoke, and your voice took on a sort of dreamy quality as you pictured the two of you in a car park somewhere driving around in circles. The thought made you feel warm and cosy inside. 

“Come on, baby, stay awake just until they hook up the blood transfusion for me, please?”

You did as you were told with a pout. 

“You and I need to have a chat about your vigilante behaviour.”

“Ah, Mr FBI is here to tell me off. Sorry, Doctor FBI.” You attempted a wink at him, trying to keep the mood light, but all you managed in your exhausted state was a kind of exaggerated blink.

Spencer would remember the moment later and smile, but right now he was too focused on the issue at hand. 

“Baby, I’m serious. What were you thinking? Your life isn’t worth someone’s wallet.”

You grimaced. You wished he had just taken a hint and dropped it. “I didn’t think, okay?”

“That was obvious.” 

Spencer’s clipped tone caused his words to land across your face like a blow. He wanted to stuff them back into his mouth as soon as he said them. You withdrew your hand from his.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I just- I got so worried when you called me from the back of that ambulance. Scared me half to death. Now I’m scared half to death that this won’t be the only time you go looking for trouble.”

“I didn’t go looking for trouble, Spencer. I stumbled across them and I thought,” you sighed and looked away from him. “I thought he was going to take more from her than her wallet, and I just reacted, okay? I didn’t go looking for trouble. It found me.”

You sat in silence together for a moment. Spencer could feel some history behind your words and the heaviness in your eyes. He wanted to ask. Wanted to know. But he knew now wasn’t the time or the place.

“That makes sense. I’m sorry I didn’t think. Didn’t try harder to put myself in your shoes.”

“Didn’t you just tell me that was your whole job or something too?” You teased, trying to break the ice that had frosted over between you. 

“Kind of.”

Normally he would dive into a spiel about the exact ins and outs of the process of behavioural analysis but he is interrupted by a nurse. 

“Knock knock,” she chimes.

Spencer stands, allowing the nurse access to you. She works quickly, and with expert ease, unfazed by Spencer’s watchful eye. 

You go quiet as she works, the events (and injury) of the morning catching up with you. Spencer kicks himself internally for not letting you rest. He should have waited to bring up his concerns. Asked about it in a more delicate manner. The panic had a tight hold on him though, and he is unsure there is any version of events in which he would have been able to keep his mouth shut.

The doctor stops by to check in and make sure you’re good to go, and then Spencer can finally breathe a (full) sigh of relief as your blood transfusion is underway. 

“Can I nap now?” Your voice is small, your eyes barely open.

“Of course,” the doctor says, but you’re looking at Spencer. He’s never seen you look so young and vulnerable before. 

Spencer nods. “Let’s get you comfortable, baby.”

He fusses over you, fluffing your pillow and tucking you into your blanket. Once satisfied, he sits back down and reclaims your hand in his. 

“Is there anyone else you want me to call for you?”

Embarrassed, you shake your head no. Sliced open on the street and the only person in the world you have to call is the guy you’re having casual sex with. 

“No family?”

Spencer kicked himself for asking such a sensitive question. Your agreement not to discuss personal issues was in direct opposition to his innate curiosity about you. He supposes today was a special incident though, and for the duration they might be able to exist slightly outside the boundaries of the agreement. 

You had held strong through the whole ordeal, showing little signs of being rattled by the violent altercation of which you had been a part of. But you gave Spencer a watery smile at his two word question.

“You’re not the only one with things to forget, Spencer.”

He brushes the tear off your face as soon as it falls. “Then let me help you forget.”

“I think they frown upon you doing those kinds of things in a hospital room. Particularly one where the walls are just curtains,” you joked.

Spencer refused to acknowledge your lewd comment. “Tell me what book you want me to read to you. One of those romances that you love so much. But one of the classics, otherwise I might not know it.”

You might not know what he does for work, but you know him well enough not to doubt his ability to recite novels to you. 

You drift off to the steady timbre of Spencer’s voice, reciting Austen. He doesn’t start at the beginning, jumping rather to your favourite part so you can fall asleep to something that he knows will make you happy. Spencer doesn’t realise of course, that his presence alone will bring you enough joy to fall asleep peacefully. 

When he is sure that you are well and truly asleep, Spencer steps out to make a phone call. Garcia, despite working an active case, picks up on the first ring. 

“Everything okay, my love?”

“Everything’s fine, thankfully. Listen, I need a favour.”

“I can’t find that info for you until the case is over,” Penelope interjects.

“I know, that’s fine, this is something else.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You awake to find two bunches of flowers beside your bed, a card in each one. Curious, your eyes are barely open before you’re sitting up and reaching for the cards. The first identifies the sender as your damsel in distress, Grace, the second identifies the sender as ‘Spencer and the BAU’. 

“Really they’re mainly from the BAU’s tech analyst, Penelope,” Spencer tells you as he re-enters your arm, catching you in the act of reading the card. “She doesn’t really understand the concept of personal boundaries.” 

He hands you the water he had evidently gone to fetch you before reassuming his post by your bed.

You gulp down the water thirstily and ask, “What did you get me if those aren’t really from you then?”

You’re teasing, not actually expectant of anything, but he nods toward your arm. 

You look down to see your injured arm is no longer propped up by a pillow, but by the softest, sweetest teddy bear you’ve ever seen. He’s a gorgeous shade of chestnut brown, with chocolate eyes and a red bow tie. You lift your arm to get a better look and see he has a bandage on his arm to match your own. You melt. 

“I know you’re a florist so the idea of picking flowers that would meet your standards overwhelmed me and I thought maybe they wouldn’t be as special to you somehow? And you’ve been so brave through this whole thing I figured you deserve something special. Maybe you think it’s childish but I thought it would also be useful for keeping your arm elevated so if you don’t like it-”

“Spencer,” you interrupted. 

“Yeah?”

“I love it,” you grin. 

“You do?”

“I do. Thank you so much.” He finally cracks a smile at this, the first you had seen on his face all day. The room becomes all the brighter for it. You are overwhelmed with gratitude for him at that moment. You can’t imagine how sad and lonely this whole ordeal would have felt without him (even the mere thought of him, the anticipation of seeing him) to get you through. 

“And thank you so much for being here, I know this isn’t what you agreed to. Being someone’s emergency contact isn’t exactly casual,” you laughed, trying to make light of your own guilt.

“I don’t mind. I’m just glad that you’re okay. That’s the most important thing.” Spencer took your hand then. 

You hummed, but you were not entirely convinced.

“Besides, just because we’re getting to know each other a little better doesn’t mean we can’t keep things casual. You know what kind of doctor I am, and I know you’re Batman, doesn’t mean that I’m your boyfriend.”

You laughed a proper laugh then. Spencer has never been one for comedy, but he sees its appeal for the first time as he basks in the glow of being the one to evoke that sweet sound. 

“Okay, so maybe we… rethink the terms of our agreement?” You pray the hope in your tone (and your eyes) don’t betray you.

“I think,” Spencer paused, gave your hand a squeeze, “we do what feels right as we go along.”

You agreed, knowing full well you were throwing yourself headlong into getting your heart broken, because while Spencer wanted casual, the only thing that felt right to you was pulling him closer.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

authors note: low-key put my whole chest into this ngl

I have so many ideas for these two sweeties I started like four fics about them at once which is why this one took so long. Let me know what you want to see from these two!

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

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

[matt-murdockk]

1k 😭😭😭 i love you guys so much

Nine-Nine!

an extremely self indulgent brooklyn 99 and criminal minds crossover

pairing: spencer reid x reader (with a tiny bit of almost jake peralta x reader for funsies)

words: 3.0k

warnings: none, this is fluff and comedy <3

summary: Spencer Reid’s grip on sanity? Loose. (Y/n)’s patience? Tested. Jake Peralta? Accidentally in the middle of a romcom finale with no snacks. There’s banter, jealousy, a tasered vending machine, and one (1) emergency love confession.

a/n: crossover episode my beloved; this was extremely fun to write lolllllll, hope you like it <3

Spencer was already three tangents deep into the geographic profile, talking fast, hands moving like the words were trying to escape faster than his brain could handle. (Y/n) had learned years ago to just let him go. He’d loop back around eventually. Usually.

“The spacing of the disposal sites suggests he’s sticking to a routine. All within a tight radius— three miles or so. That kind of pattern almost always means it’s familiar territory. Could be work, could be home base. Most likely night shifts, given the dump times— between 2:10 and 3:30 a.m. Which means fewer witnesses, less traffic—”

“Or he just likes moonlight and solitude,” (Y/n) said absently, scribbling something in her notebook. “Creepy guys tend to romanticize the weirdest stuff.”

Spencer didn’t look up. “That’s… statistically consistent with other narcissistic or compulsive offenders, actually.”

She glanced over at him. “You know you could just say ‘you’re right.’ It won’t kill you.”

He did look at her then, quick, with the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. “I’m not sure I’ve tested that hypothesis thoroughly enough to risk it.”

She snorted. “Tragic. I thought you loved me.”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. “I do. But not enough to sacrifice academic integrity.”

“Wow.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Wounded. Devastated. Utterly betrayed.”

“Noted,” he murmured, turning back to his screen with an annoyingly smug look.

Derek leaned forward from his seat across the aisle. “Are y’all gonna do this the whole flight?”

JJ didn’t even look up from her file. “They’re gonna do this the whole case.”

“I’m sitting right here,” (Y/n) called over.

“And yet, you keep doing this,” Emily muttered, sipping her coffee. “Every case. Without fail.”

Spencer turned his tablet toward (Y/n), pretending not to hear them. “There are five possible buildings inside the comfort zone. Abandoned commercial spaces, all accessible. No cameras.”

She leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “That one. Tucked behind the construction site. No visibility from the road.”

He nodded. “I had that ranked third.”

“I outrank your list.”

“You outrank logic?”

“I outrank you, Reid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim for someone who once tripped over their own shoelaces during a takedown.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you.”

“Absolutely not.”

(Y/n) sighed, grabbing her coffee and slumping back in her seat. “You’re lucky I find your chaos charming.”

Spencer, without looking up, murmured, “You’re lucky I find you charming.”

And just like that, she paused.

It wasn’t even the words— it was the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t meant to land the way it did.

Her fingers stilled on the coffee cup. Just for a second. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing. “You trying to throw me off before we hit the ground? Because that’s a dirty tactic, Reid.”

He smiled, faint. “If I wanted to throw you off, I’d bring up that time you accidentally used your taser on the vending machine.”

“That was one time.”

“I still have the video.”

Derek threw up his hands. “Okay, I need noise-canceling headphones or a fire alarm. One or the other.”

“Let them have their foreplay,” Rossi grumbled from behind his paper. “Just as long as it doesn’t slow down the case.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.

And Spencer? He didn’t say anything else.

But his knee brushed against hers under the table.

And he didn’t move it.

——————————————————————————————————

The precinct was pure, barely-contained chaos. Phones ringing, printers jamming, someone yelling “I said decaf!” from the breakroom. (Y/n) stepped in behind the team, her eyes scanning the flurry with the kind of calm that only came from years of being thrown headfirst into crime scenes that smelled like old pizza and adrenaline.

Then— like he was summoned by the gods of caffeine and chaos— a voice cut through the noise.

“FBI? Oh thank god. Tell me you’re the FBI. If one more lieutenant hands me a case file on raccoon-related vandalism, I’m going to start speaking in riddles.”

The guy had two coffees in one hand, a folder under his arm, and the kind of face that said yes, I’m sleep-deprived, but I’ve made it part of my personality now.

“Detective Jake Peralta,” he added, stepping forward and immediately handing one of the coffees off to a passing officer. “You must be the reinforcements. Welcome to our deeply unfortunate circus.”

(Y/n) stepped forward with a polite smile. “Agent (Y/l/n), BAU.”

Jake looked at her and forgot what vowels were.

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Wow.” He blinked. “Hi. Sorry. That was… a very professional reaction to a federal agent. I’m super normal.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, amused. “Totally. You look extremely normal.”

Jake pointed at her like he was confirming her existence for himself. “And funny. She’s funny, too. Great. Just awesome.”

Spencer, two steps behind her, tilted his head the tiniest bit. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that Emily, walking next to him, noticed immediately.

“So,” Jake said, already spinning on his heel and motioning them toward the evidence board, “we’ve got three victims, matching M.O., a dump site triangle, and a ton of questions. I’d love to walk you through it. Bonus: I also know where the best snacks are hidden in this precinct. Critical intel.”

“Let me guess,” (Y/n) said, falling into step beside him, “you keep gummy bears in a murder folder?”

Jake gave her a wide-eyed, deeply serious nod. “Listen, I can’t solve murder with low blood sugar. That’s just biology. Forensics and fruit snacks— two pillars of modern justice.”

She actually laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “That’s what you’re going with? Fruit snacks and felony charges?”

“Look,” he said, glancing at her with a grin, “some people have badges, some have instincts— I have a snack drawer and a vibe.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “And a lot of confidence, apparently.”

“It’s the only thing holding me together.”

Spencer, still watching from behind, clenched his jaw and stared very intently at the murder board— as if sheer willpower would make Jake Peralta spontaneously combust.

Derek leaned over slightly. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. Way too quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Spencer, you coming?”

Spencer blinked. “Right behind you.”

Emily raised an eyebrow as he passed, giving him that look— the one that meant I know, and I’m about to say it out loud.

He walked faster.

Behind them, Emily whispered to JJ, “We have now entered full-blown Jealous Spencer territory.”

JJ winced sympathetically. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

——————————————————————————————————

The dump site was taped off, abandoned and eerie in the late afternoon light. A narrow alley backed by cracked concrete walls, discarded furniture, and silence— except for the occasional buzz of Spencer’s pen clicking in his pocket. Repeatedly.

Jake and (Y/n) were walking ahead of the rest of the group, ducking under the tape, their steps crunching through gravel.

“Okay,” Jake said, scanning the alley. “I know it’s not exactly a five-star view, but I promise this is the cleanest murder site we’ve had all week. That’s a weird sentence.”

(Y/n) laughed. “It’s fine. We spend half our lives in parking lots and basements. Honestly, this is kind of charming.”

Jake pointed at a tipped-over dumpster. “Ah, yes. Classic small-town ambiance.”

She crouched near a drainpipe, tilting her head. “He’s dumping at night. No cameras. But the dumpster’s too obvious— too accessible. He’s not just hiding the bodies, he’s watching them.”

Jake blinked. “Okay. That’s… both creepy and very insightful. You do this a lot?”

She looked up at him, playful. “Solve murders? Yeah. Flirt at them? Not usually.”

He smirked, a little lopsided. “Hey, I haven’t even started flirting yet. That was just me being charming.”

“Oh, just charming?” she teased.

Jake leaned against the wall, watching her. “Let me know when you’re ready for the full Peralta experience. It includes sarcasm, emotional baggage, and an impressive knowledge of Die Hard trivia.”

(Y/n) stood, brushing off her knees. “That’s a lot to take in on a first crime scene.”

He grinned. “So you’re saying there’ll be a second?”

A beat. Just a pause. She didn’t answer right away.

Spencer, across the lot with Derek and Emily, had stopped mid-sentence, his entire expression shifted from mildly focused to openly horrified.

“She’s laughing,” he said flatly.

Emily glanced up from her notes. “Yeah, that tends to happen when people are enjoying themselves.”

“With him.”

“Oh no,” Derek muttered. “We’ve lost him.”

The rest of the team returned to the SUV, but Emily stayed behind, as if she knew this wasn't done yet.

“She’s laughing at his jokes,” Spencer repeated, eyes still locked on the two figures across the alley.

“She laughs at yours,” Emily said.

“That’s different. She knows mine are objectively not funny.”

“Okay, you know what?” Emily snapped her folder shut. “We’re doing this now. Let’s go, Genius.”

Spencer blinked as she grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward the SUV.

“What? No— I’m working.”

“You’re spiraling,” she corrected. “And doing it in a crime scene, which is new.”

Behind them, (Y/n) was still talking to Jake, standing closer now, arms crossed and leaning in like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Spencer’s voice dropped. “Emily, I’m fine.”

“You’re jealous,” she said, eyes sharp. “And for a guy who can read microexpressions from thirty feet away, you are shockingly bad at clocking your own.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he said, almost insulted.

She gave him a look.

“…Okay, I am jealous,” he admitted under his breath. “But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Emily leaned against the SUV, watching Spencer like she was trying to figure out whether she needed to slap sense into him or hug him. Maybe both. Probably both.

He was pacing. Not frantically, just… tightly. Hands in his pockets, jaw tense, doing that thing where his eyes tracked the ground like the answers were written there.

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said finally, like he was trying to convince the air. “She’s allowed to laugh at someone else’s jokes. I’m not— entitled to anything.”

Emily stayed quiet.

He glanced back at the alley where (Y/n) was standing with Jake. She was leaning on one foot, comfortable. She looked happy. And it gutted him.

“It’s just— he’s charming,” Spencer muttered. “And funny. And he’s got that whole casual swagger thing going on. I mean, who even has swagger in 2025? Apparently, Jake does. And she’s… she’s smiling.”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Emily said, her voice soft, even.

Spencer didn’t answer. His hands were twitching in his pockets now.

“I’ve had… crushes,” he said finally, like it was painful to admit even that much. “A few. Not a lot. But some. And usually they’re easy to understand. You think someone’s cute. You like their voice. You want them to notice you.”

He shook his head.

“This isn’t that.”

Emily just watched him.

“I notice everything,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “Not because I’m profiling her. Not because I’m analyzing anything. I just… do. I know when she’s about to make a bad joke because she gets this look— like she’s proud of it already. I know she only pretends to like black coffee when we’re around local PD because she thinks it makes her look tougher.”

A pause. His voice dipped even lower.

“I know the sound of her laugh when it’s real. I know when she’s tired, even if she’s smiling. I know when she’s faking being okay. And I know when she’s actually okay. And I know that right now…” He looked up, eyes fixed on her across the lot, where she and Jake were still talking, still laughing.

“…She’s really okay. With him.”

Emily stepped closer, gentle. “Spence.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I think about her all the time,” he said, like he was just realizing it out loud. “Not in a way I… planned. Just— suddenly I’m at a bookstore and wondering if she’d like the cover of something. Or I hear a song and I can’t tell if I like it until I know if she would. It’s— constant.”

He laughed once, breathy and humorless. “And statistically, I know crushes fade. The brain adjusts. The novelty goes away. But this? This has been over a year. Maybe longer.”

Emily tilted her head. “And?”

Spencer blinked.

“…And I think I’m in love with her.”

A pause. Then—

“Oh,” he breathed. “Shit.”

Emily smiled, just barely. “Took you long enough.”

He ran both hands over his face. “I don’t— what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You tell her,” she said gently.

“What? No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Emily, she's quite possibly the closest friend I have. What if it ruins everything?”

Emily didn’t answer for a second. She just looked at him— really looked at him— and said, “Spencer. You're already miserable. At least ruin it with some dignity, damn it.”

He looked back at (Y/n). She was saying goodbye to Jake now, walking back toward the team, tucking her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was distracted. She looked like home.

Spencer exhaled. “Yeah. Okay. I’m completely screwed.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. You are. Oh, and for the record, I thought I was your closest friend, and honestly, I feel so attacked right now."

"You'll live."

"Hey!" retorted Emily, followed by a smack to his arm.

——————————————————————————————————

The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the precinct lot. The case was wrapped, files turned in, media dodged. (Y/n) was leaning against the SUV, arms crossed, sipping from her now-cold coffee like it was still doing something.

Jake jogged up to her, slowing as he approached. Not suave. Just… trying.

“Hey,” he said, offering a lopsided smile. “So, weird question for the end of a triple homicide, but— any chance I could take you to dinner sometime?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled, a little surprised. “Jake, you’re— great. I had fun working with you.”

Jake’s grin faltered just enough to be human. “But…?”

“But—”

“Wait!”

Both of them turned.

Spencer was standing about ten feet away, looking like he had sprinted here but didn’t want to show it. His hair was windswept, his shirt slightly crooked, and his expression somewhere between resolute and deeply alarmed.

(Y/n) blinked. “Spencer?”

Jake glanced between them. “Should I…? I can come back.”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping forward. “You’re fine. I mean— not fine, you’re not staying. I mean, yes, you’re staying right now, I just—”

He looked at (Y/n), all the air gone from his lungs.

“I need to say something.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, cautious now. “Okay…”

Spencer glanced at Jake. Then at her. Then back at Jake.

“This is going to be weird with him here,” he muttered.

“I can pretend to be a lamp,” Jake offered, backing up slightly. “I’m excellent at furniture-based camouflage.”

“Jake,” (Y/n) said, half-laughing, “you don’t have to—”

“I really think I do,” he said, hands raised. “There’s a lot of emotion in the air and I don’t want to get hit by it.”

Spencer ignored him. His eyes stayed on her.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said softly. “I told myself it wasn’t the right time. That we had too much to lose. That maybe I was just… projecting.”

He swallowed. “But then I watched someone else get to make you laugh. I watched you lean in, and talk like he already belonged in your world. And I realized— I’ve been pretending that I didn’t already live there.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

Spencer took another step closer. “I know the way you look when you’re solving a puzzle you don’t know you’ve solved yet. I know how you take your coffee differently when you’re pretending you’re fine. I know that you hum when you’re reading case files, and that you’ll always find a way to make the worst days seem funny, just to keep us all going.”

He paused, voice low. “I notice everything about you. Not because I’m profiling you. Just… because it’s you.”

Jake mouthed oh my god to himself, backing up another step.

(Y/n) stared at Spencer, wide-eyed. “You— you’ve never said any of this.”

“I didn’t know how,” Spencer admitted. “But I’m in love with you. And it took me way too long to say it. So if you’re going to say no— please do it fast, before I combust.”

Silence.

Then—

“Spencer,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “You’re an idiot.”

His face fell— until she reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.

It was fast. Then slow. Then somewhere in between. Like they’d been waiting for years but were still trying to catch up.

Jake, standing off to the side, made a quiet choking sound.

“I am so intruding,” he muttered. “You know what? I’m gonna go. I’m gonna walk into the woods and never come back. I’ll start a new life. Join a wolf pack. Change my name. Just... yeah.”

They didn’t hear him.

(Y/n) pulled back just slightly, forehead still resting against Spencer’s.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, breathless. “Deeply. Disastrously.”

She let out a laugh— half relief, half disbelief— as her forehead rested against his. “Oh, thank God. It was killing me thinking it might just be me.”

Jake was halfway to the sidewalk when Spencer called out— without looking—

“Thank you for not asking her out.”

Jake froze. “I did. You just… intercepted mid-sentence.”

Spencer blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

Jake clapped once. “Well, that was the best romcom finale I’ve ever witnessed. I’m gonna go cry in my car.”

He turned again, walking toward his car like a man who had just lost a bet to fate.

God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this from Rosa.

[foxy-eva]

Love me Tender

Summary: When you finally tell him about your struggles with sex, Spencer proves to be the most understanding and gentle boyfriend anyone could wish for 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Reader struggles with painful sex/penetration, implied medical issues (not specified), implied negative past sexual experiences, feelings of insecurity and frustration, nervousness, crying, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (both receiving, including 69), handjob, fingering, attempted penetrative sex

Word count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Me? Writing a completely self-indulgent fic yet again? It’s more likely than you think. I hope this little story finds its way to people who need it <3

Masterlist

Heavy breaths. Heaving chests. Tongues intertwined and bodies so entangled it became impossible to tell them apart. 

Yet again you had found yourself on Spencer’s couch, his weight trapping you beneath him, while you got lost in the haze of longing. Albeit still being protected by some layers of clothing, it felt like you might melt together. Ever so slightly you rolled your hips against him until you could feel his desire burning for you. 

The lust you felt was overwhelming, yet the further things progressed, the more reluctant you became. That had happened before and Spencer sensed your hesitation. A sigh left his throat and you caught it with your lips. His kisses became more innocent until he was only softly pecking your lips. 

The word sorry burned on your tongue but before you could voice it, Spencer hushed you. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

He sat up and you mirrored his motion until you were sat beside him on the couch again. Gentle fingertips found the side of your face, caressing your cheek and ghosting over lips plump from kissing. 

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” Spencer breathed.

With heated cheeks you looked at him, his eyes dark and filled with yearning, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he was witnessing. It was comforting to see his adoration for you. However, a part of you still believed he’d run out of patience with you soon. 

It had been many weeks of you kissing and cuddling on his couch, acts that were innocent the first time quickly turned into something more sinful. A moan escaping his throat when he felt some friction against his hardness, a desperate sigh from your lips when you ground against him. And then you’d ask him to stop. 

He never once complained when you voiced your wish to slow down, always content with any ounce of affection you’d grant him. But how could it be enough? 

Spencer noticed the glistening in your eyes before you could even feel the tears forming. 

“Hey,” he cooed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

The first tear rolled down your cheek and Spencer pulled you into his embrace. “I.. I just..,” was all you could mutter before the dam broke and you just sobbed against his chest. His heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, the panicked sensation he must have felt was very familiar to you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.” 

After several moments of silence, you wiped away the saline droplets from your face and shied away from Spencer’s touch. 

“I’m sorry, you must be so frustrated with me,” you sobbed and Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’m really not trying to be a tease, I swear.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was laced with concern and confusion. “That’s not what I’m thinking. And I’m not frustrated with you.” 

More tears spilled from your lashes. His words were sincere. Maybe it was time to be honest with him. 

“I know you want to have sex with me.” Your words almost sounded like an accusation but that wasn’t your intention, so with a softer tone you added, “And I want to sleep with you, too.” 

His facial features were soft when he said, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. There's no rush.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain. “I can’t have sex.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand?” 

“It hurts. I can’t have sex because it’s too painful for me.”

Spencer's eyes widened but only for a second. Then, after he encouraged you to speak, he just sat there and listened while words began bubbling from your mouth. Stories about advice from medical professionals and experiences with past lovers all spilled from your lips. 

“There are good days,” you finally concluded. “But most days it's a struggle. And sometimes I think it will work but then it doesn't.” 

Relief washed over you when you had finally told Spencer about this. It had been bothering you for weeks and you were glad it was finally out, whatever that would mean for your future together.

Staring at him, you suddenly felt your heart beating loudly inside your chest. His face still looked soft and understanding but you weren't entirely sure how he'd react.

“I'm very sorry you have to deal with this,” he softly spoke. “I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.” 

Your sight fell to the floor when you muttered, “I would understand if this was dealbreaker for you. I'm sure you expected something else when we started dating.” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said before gently touching your cheek to turn your head until you'd look at him again. Then, he continued, “I care about you and I really like you. I am grateful for any amount of physical proximity you'll grant me, whether sexual or not. I just want to be close to you in any way you're comfortable with.” 

His words warmed your heart and made you smile. “Just for the record, I was very comfortable with what we did before,” you snickered. 

“Yeah?” He purred as he leaned closer. “Good to know.” 

His lips captured yours in a kiss that turned from sickenly sweet to breathtaking within moments. It didn't take long until you found yourself in your previous position lying on the couch with Spencer on top of you. 

Within minutes you felt the heat rushing through your body again until this familiar tingling returned to your core. A slight shift of your legs and you had Spencer’s thigh pressing against you in the best way possible. It wasn't enough for you, though. 

“Spencer…,” you mumbled into the kiss. 

He leaned back slightly to look at you and whisper, “Do you want to slow down?” 

Staring up at him, your heart skipped a beat. He looked so beautiful with unruly curls hanging into his face and his lips plump from kissing.

“No, I wanna do more,” you confessed. In an instant, your hands flew to his shirt, getting a hold of the first button. “Want to feel your skin.”  

The sweetest smile spread over his face. “I want that, too,” he whispered and brushed over the hem of your shirt. 

A little too enthusiastically, you tried to sit up to get rid of your clothes and almost threw Spencer off the couch. Ungracefully, he grabbed the armrest of the couch to avoid losing his balance and colliding with the floor. 

“I'm so sorry!” You giggled as you helped him back onto the couch. He joined you in your laughter and placed several innocent pecks on your lips. 

“It's okay,” he chuckled. “I didn't expect how eager you'd be to get me naked.” 

“I have waited for too long,” you whined. 

“Come on,” Spencer said as he stood up and took your hand. “We'll be much more comfortable in my bed.” 

For a brief moment you hesitated but then you got up and followed him. You knew you could trust that he would be nothing but gentle and patient with you. If anything, it would probably be you who'd expect too much of yourself. 

At his bedside, curious hands began pushing and pulling on fabric until both of you stood in front of one another in nothing but underwear. Gently, you pushed Spencer onto the mattress before you found your place on top of him, straddling his lap. 

His clothed erection pressed against the lace of your panties and it almost drove you insane. As your sight travelled over his skin, you felt your cheeks heating up. You couldn’t decide whether to focus on the warm amber of his eyes, his saccharine smile, his heaving chest or the softness of his tummy. 

He was just so pretty.

You noticed his sight dropping to the swell of your chest at the same time his hardness twitched against your covered heat. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered before his hands cradled your cheeks to pull you down for another kiss. 

He didn't wait to deepen this kiss, his tongue begged for entrance right away. It became obvious how aroused Spencer was, a realization that only turned you on more. Tentatively, you began rocking your hips against his hardness, creating some much needed friction between your legs. The moan that escaped his throat sent shockwaves right through your body. 

His hands travelled down your shoulders and over your back until they found the clasp of your bra. Skillfully, he undid it before you briefly broke the kiss to toss away the piece of clothing. Spencer cupped your breasts, gently exploring your skin before taking your hardened peaks between his fingers. Caressing you this way made your head spin and had you grinding even harder against his cock. 

The lace of your panties became soaked with your arousal as the tension in your core only grew. The sounds of pleasure that made it past your lips were swallowed by him as he didn’t allow you to break the kiss. 

When you ground over Spencer’s sensitive tip, a desperate “Fuck!” was mumbled against your mouth. It was then that you decided this wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. Your lips left his to kiss along his jaw and down his neck instead, nipping on his neck until you felt his throat vibrate with a content hum. 

Sitting up, your hands wandered along his chest, caressing his skin before following the line of hair from his navel down to the waistband of his underwear. A smirk was painted over your face when you found his eyes again. 

“I want to touch you,” you murmured and as if to answer you, you felt him throb against the confines of his boxers. 

“Please…,” he breathed, watching your every move. 

Spencer whined when you got off his lap and you mourned the loss of pressure as well. But you had other, even more fun things to do. With a swift motion, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear to pull it down and throw it on the flow to join the rest of his clothes. 

His cock laid on his stomach, swollen and thick with a weeping tip that begged to be touched. Everything about this man lying in front of you was so aesthetically pleasing, it let heat rush through your veins. 

Then, a very silly thought crossed your mind. Nothing you intended to say out loud but of course Spencer noticed the change of microexpressions in your face. 

“Everything okay?” He said, having you tear your sight away from his body to look at his eyes again. 

“Yeah sorry,” you awkwardly stammered as you laid down beside him. “I don’t want to kill the vibe, I just had a silly thought about something.” 

He raised his eyebrows as he said, “Now I’m curious.” 

“You’re very beautiful and so, so perfect, Spencer,” you said with the utmost sincerity in your voice. With a more light-hearted tone, you quipped, “It’s so silly but I kinda hoped you had a small penis. It would have made things a lot easier.” 

When you heard Spencer laugh at your words, you were relieved and chimed in with your own giggles. He briefly looked down at himself. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just average,” he chuckled. 

“Nothing about you is average, Dr. Reid,” you cooed before capturing his lips once more, feeling him smiling into the kiss. 

One of your hands travelled down his body with a clear goal in mind. When you found his cock, you let your fingertips travel along his length. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. Spencer trembled when you finally wrapped your fingers around him to give him a gentle squeeze. The droplets on his tip were collected by your thumb and used to glide up and down his length with slow and precise motions. 

When he dared to look down to watch you taking care of him, he downright growled at the sight. “Feels so good!” 

Then, with greedy hands he grabbed your hips and drew circles into the lace of your underwear. He looked at you again, a soft expression on his face, and purred, “Can I touch you, too?” 

His question made you sigh and retract your hand from him. Spencer apologized immediately, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

However, there was nothing to be sorry about. The truth was that you were burning for his touch and longed to find relief. Aware that your feelings of restraint were a result of previous experiences and didn’t have anything to do with Spencer, you wanted to give him a chance. He deserved to get the opportunity to show you the care you needed. 

“Don’t apologize. I want you to touch me, Spencer,” you told him as you pulled down your panties, revealing yourself to him. “Just be gentle, please.” 

His hand wandered over your breasts and gently brushed over them before it descended further down. His fingertips danced along your hips and your thighs before they wandered closer to your heat. 

You were sure he could sense your nervousness when he whispered, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?” 

You nodded and he placed his warm palm over your slit, holding it still for a moment. Despite your nervousness, you were so turned on you could feel your own heartbeat drumming against his hand. “Still feeling alright?” He wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

Gently, he let his fingertips glide along your seam, collecting the wetness that had dripped from you already. With the same amount of carefulness, he parted your folds with his forefinger to find your swollen pearl and started circling it with slow motions. Shockwaves travelled through your body and you could feel how your thighs trembled slightly. 

He kissed your cheek and murmured, “How does that feel?” 

“Feels good,” you sighed and instructed, “add a bit more pressure.”

When he did, your entire body shook and a broken moan made it past your lips. Spencer hesitated to continue moving his hand. “Too much?” he wanted to know. 

Shaking your head, you whimpered, “No, it’s perfect.” 

He smiled at you and continued this motion. Then, he let his fingertips glide through your folds to collect more of your arousal from your entrance. Without intending to, you flinched when you felt him at your opening. Not because it was actually painful, but because you expected it to be. 

In an instant, he retracted his hand. Concern was written all over his face when he looked at you. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” 

“No,” you said and took his hand in yours. “I just thought it might hurt.”

You placed his fingers back on your sensitive nub to encourage him to continue before you wrapped your hand around his cock again. When you began stroking him once more, Spencer started moving his hand as well. Weeks of built-up tension begged to be released as you brought one another closer to the edge. 

Closing your eyes, you focussed on this magnificent sensation of being at ease. Facing this wonderful man, your body pressed against his, you felt so safe and cared for. It only took a few more moments until you let yourself come undone, your thighs quivering and core pulsating as you ground your swollen bud against his fingers. 

When you came down from your high, you shied away from his touch to focus back on him. His cock felt hot and heavy against your palm and even harder than just a moment earlier. Spencer tensed his entire body while panting some curse words right before relief washed over him. As he throbbed against your fingers, his essence spilled over your hand and onto his stomach. 

Curling into his side, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek as you waited for him to catch his breath. It was hard to leave the comfort of his embrace but the two of you had to get up to get clean eventually. 

Soon enough you were cuddled up under the blanket again, basking in each other’s warmth. Spencer held you safely against his chest while his fingers danced over your skin ever so slightly. 

“That was fun,” you finally broke the silence and tilted your head to look at him. 

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, it was.” 

Even though Spencer seemed content, you still couldn’t quite tune out this nagging voice of insecurity inside you. Feeling brave for once, you decided to address it. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer nodded, “Anything.” 

After taking a deep breath, you wondered, “Are you disappointed that we didn’t …do more?” 

The man beside you seemed surprised by your words and raised his eyebrows at you. He thought about his words for a second before he responded, “Absolutely not. I think what we did was plenty.”

That was all that you needed to hear. Spencer, however, had more to say about it, so he started one of his ramblings, “Did you know that studies show that the majority of women cannot reach climax from penetration alone? So if you think about it, it’s actually odd that what most heterosexual couples define as sex focusses so much on that. According to one study I read–”

As fun as it was to learn that Spencer apparently read sexual research papers, it wasn’t really the kind of pillow talk you needed right then, so you shut him up with a peck on his lips. He didn’t seem to mind and kissed you back in a same sickenly sweet manner. It didn’t take much longer until the both of you dozed off together. 

Within the next few weeks you grew more comfortable around one another, exploring each other’s bodies whenever you were alone. That first night together was repeated in similar ways several times until Spencer confessed how much he craved to taste you. From then on you found his face buried between your thighs more often than you could count. 

There was not much you could complain about and Spencer seemed happy, too. But still, whenever you caressed his throbbing cock you longed to feel him inside of you, to fill your emptiness and create a connection unlike anything else. 

The next time you found yourself in Spencer’s bed again, clothes already shed and limbs entangled, you felt confident and comfortable and your pain was nothing more than a distant memory. 

Spencer’s breath was hot against your cheek when his hand made its way between your legs. Desire was dripping from your folds as his fingers carefully glided through them. At the same time he began circling your most sensitive spot, you started stroking his hardened cock. You imagined how it would feel to have his swollen tip press into you and you instantly clenched around nothing. 

Your free palm found Spencer’s hand between your legs and guided it further down until his fingertip was at your entrance. 

“Inside,” you breathed

Your boyfriend hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

With widened eyes you looked at him and nodded. “Please,” you added. 

Slower than necessary, he pressed his middle finger against your opening and stopped when he sensed some resistance. After taking a deep breath, you focussed on relaxing your pelvis. Once your body allowed him to continue, Spencer pushed his finger further in. 

“Does that hurt?” He wanted to make sure. 

The pressure was unwonted but not uncomfortable. You shook your head and noticed how Spencer curled his finger inside you, reaching a particularly tender spot. A gasp fell from your lips and you throbbed around his digit. 

“Feels good,” you breathed. 

Without any rush he worked his hand against your core until you were sure you'd float away any minute now. Your hand around his erection trembled as your imagination ran wild. 

“I want your cock,” you finally whimpered, surprising the both of you. 

Spencer looked at you with widened eyes and his mouth agape. Before he could say anything, you added, “I mean… I want to try if that's okay?” 

Carefully, Spencer removed his hand from you, making you sigh at the loss of contact. 

“That’s more than okay,” he breathed as he reached for the nightstand, taking out a condom from the drawer. 

Intently, you watched as he opened the foil and rolled the latex over his cock. You motioned for Spencer to lean against the headboard of the bed before you swung your leg around his hips to straddle him. 

Looking down at his hardness, your heart started fluttering. You couldn’t wait to finally be filled out by him. After wrapping your hand around his shaft, you tentatively let his tip glide through your folds. 

Spencer watched you patiently, his hands resting on your hips. 

“Take your time,” he purred before placing a soft kiss on your lips. 

Positioning his tip at your entrance, you hovered over him and took a few deep breaths. 

“Sorry, I'm really nervous,” you murmured as your cheeks heated up. 

“That’s okay,” Spencer whispered. “You’re the one in charge here. We can stop at any point. I won’t be disappointed, I promise.” 

You tried sinking down on him but once you felt the pressure of the head of his cock against your opening, you stopped.

“Can we maybe add some lube?”  

“Yes, of course.” Spencer said as he reached for the drawer again. “I'm sorry I didn't think of that right away.” 

You took the bottle of lube from his hand and softly spoke, “Let me do it.” 

After squirting a fair amount of the liquid into your hand, you leaned back slightly to be able to spread it over his latex covered erection. Spencer moaned at the sensation and twitched against your palm. 

When you were satisfied with that, you took in your previous position, hovering over his cock. One more deep breath and you began sinking down on him. 

Half an inch in and the pressure was almost overwhelming. You stopped, took more deep breaths and noticed how you could feel Spencer's heartbeat inside you. 

You took in a little more and the pressure morphed into a stinging that you were far too familiar with. A frustrated whine made it past your lips and Spencer stilled your hips. 

“Please stop if it hurts,” he almost begged you. 

In hopes your body would adjust to the intrusion, you kept still for another moment.  It didn't though. The sting turned into a burn that made you yelp. Quicker than you probably should have, you lifted your hips again and plopped down on the mattress beside your boyfriend. 

Your voice was already breaking when you said, “I'm sorry, I really hoped it would work.”

Spencer immediately wrapped you into his arms, just in time for the dam to break that let tears stream down your face. 

“Please don't apologize,” he mumbled. “It's okay.” 

His kindness only made you sob more and he pressed your body tightly against his. It wasn't the pain or any sadness that made you cry but the frustration over not being able to do what you yearned for. 

When you had calmed down a bit, Spencer took a tissue to wipe away your tears while cooing, “I love you. You know that, right?” 

“I love you, too,” you snivelled. “Thank you for being so kind and understanding.” 

“Of course.” 

With a sweet smile painted over his cheeks, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

After cleaning up a bit, you continued cuddling in bed. Many moments and innocent kisses later, the longing inside your chest returned.

Your kisses turned more urgent while one of your hands sneaked down Spencer’s body to dance over his hip and thighs. Your tongue brushed over his at the same time your fingertips found his dick, quickly hardening under your touch. The sensation of him growing inside your palm let shockwaves run through your body. 

Spencer’s hands greedily brushed over your chest and down your body until they squeezed the curve of your backside. 

When you began kissing down his body, Spencer threw his head back into the pillow. You wanted to feel him inside you, one way or another. As you kissed down his stomach, you took his erection into your hand. 

He felt hot against your fingertips as you brushed over his velvety skin, making Spencer shudder when your thumb moved over his leaking tip. Leaning down, you started kissing along his shaft until you were sure that your lips had brushed over every inch of him.

You pressed your lips against his tip before opening them to let him slide into your mouth slowly. When he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed around him, eliciting a deep moan from your boyfriend. 

With precise motions you began to move up and down, your hand covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth. The room filled with the sinful sounds of your mouth moving against his length and the moans falling from his lips.

“Wait,” he suddenly whined. “I wanna taste you, too.” 

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. With a soft pop you released him from your mouth. 

Smirking at him, you wanted to confirm, “You want me to… sit on your face?” 

With more confidence than you had anticipated, he said, “Yes. That's exactly what I want.” 

Shifting your position, you moved up the mattress before swinging one leg over his face until you were hovering over his face. Without wasting any time, Spencer showered your inner thighs with kisses and pulled you down so he could reach your core. 

Like a man starved he let his tongue run through your folds and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his tongue. For a moment you just sat there, revelling in the pleasure before your sight fell down on his cock, lying thick and hard on his stomach. 

Spencer had such a tight grip over your thighs, you failed to lean forward. 

“Spencer,” you snickered as you tapped his hands gripping your thighs. “You gotta let me go, I want to finish what I started.” 

His hold on you lightened and you leaned forward until you could reach his hardness. After peppering him with kisses and tasting the little bead of precum that had spilled over his tip, you took him into your mouth again. 

It was difficult to move with a rhythm, your own pleasure rushing through your body forced you to stop and moan around him every few moments. When he focussed his attention on your swollen pearl, you had to take a break. You released his cock from your lips and instead moved your hand lazily up and down his length. 

Moans and sighs fell from your lips as you ground your hips back against his tongue, chasing that exhilarating sensation you so desperately longed for. When you finally came, Spencer became more gentle but didn't let you move away from him. Instead he lapped up your release before he let his mouth move over your folds carefully. 

Once you had stopped panting erratically, you took his hardness back into your mouth, keen on granting him the same blissful feeling. It only took a few more skillful motions until he fell over the edge and released his warm essence on your tongue. 

A few more soft kisses were placed on his tip, his shaft and at his base before you moved off of him to lay down beside him instead. His lips were glistening with your arousal when you kissed them, your own taste clearly perceptible. 

You found your place inside his arms, your head resting on his chest. The comfortable silence was interrupted by your words. 

“I love you so much.” 

Tenderly, he kissed the top of your head. 

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

“I love you more.” 

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

[fawnnlvr]

club infatuation | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x bombshell!reader

masterlist

summary: in which spencer reid decides to attend a club to experience what he didn't in his early 20s and there, he meets a beautiful woman who volunteers to show him why one should enjoy clubbing

word count: 3.1k

author's note: hiiiiii :3 i hope you all enjoy this. i know i did while writing it. i tried something new with the format of my writing so i hope its alright. thank you for reading!!! maybe part 2. sorry this reading is so long. UPDATE: i wrote this right after i found that studies showed that dancing can help with mental health. i have a strong need to rewrite it now... :(

The club was loud.

Music blared throughout the establishment with colorful flashing lights from the dance floor occasionally leaving him partially blind. This was not Spencer's normal scene. He wasn't too keen on crowded places, especially breeding grounds for human fluids and bacteria which is amplified with the factors of alcohol and the high of having letting loose for a night out.

Spencer wove through the crowd of people, politely excusing himself as he did his best to try not to make contact with anyone. He came to the club for one thing and one thing only.

Fun.

Well he wanted to experience fun. He was nearing his late twenties, his entire life filled with further advancing his knowledge and brain power with the help of his eidetic memory. Due to this memory, he has never once remembered a time where he ever felt normal. Like he belonged. Like he could consider himself apart of the rest of the people his age. He has long come to terms that something like that wasn't possible, yet there was always a desire to experience it. Just for one simple night.

Normally, his weekends and leisure time off of work were filled with 'boring topics' his coworkers didn't consider fun in the slightest. Any chance for Spencer to try and connect with the BAU outside of work through film festivals, horror movie showings, and science fiction conventions were all turned down without a spare thought.

Spencer was used to being alone. He was so his entire life, so he led himself to believe that the rejections of his colleagues didn't affect him much but it all so did. His colleagues possessed a knowledge that wasn't in his realms of understanding and that were the abilities to socialize so easily with others. When out at bars, he'd watch the girls easily make friends with a group of girls they meet and Morgan would always find a way to flirt with girls to the point where he would quickly leave the function with somebody in his arms. Spencer, wasn't quite like them.

He wasn't too sure why he chose to go this club in particular. It was a twenty minute subway ride from his home, newly opened which meant heavily popular, and most importantly, he never had a good time at clubs, but he decided on a whim, that tonight would be the night to change that.

Now Spencer was sat at the bar, seeking asylum for his sensitive hearing and eyes away from the dance floor. He asked the bartender for a mocktail, carefully making sure that he participated in safe and healthy behaviors as he is already in a place he felt uncomfortable in.

He held the drink up to his lips, taking a small sip as he let his eyes wander over his environment. The main center was filled with a lot of people dancing fervently to a pop song with more drum beats than a marching band and the constant repetition of one syllable of a word that fades into a remix of another pop song. He watched as couples drunkenly put their hands on one another. He furrowed his eyebrows at the corny smirk a man would have as he introduced himself to a group of women. Then finally, his eyes roamed towards the booths near the corners of the club, tucked in a place that was separated with a velvet rope.

Within those booths held the prettiest girl he has probably ever come across.

You.

You sat in the booth, your legs crossed over one another as you leaned back into your seat. Your booth was surrounded by a few people, all of whom looking nice but for some reason, Spencer couldn't tear his eyes off you.

He didn't mean to stare with the intent of lust or romantic pursuence, but simple admiration. You had a unique beauty he could have only ever imagined in fantasy books, but when the human mind imagines something not seen before and creatively put together, it gets blurry. Yet you were like the ethereal goddess of a fantasy book being brought into real life.

The way you carried yourself, the energy that surrounded you that he could feel even meters away, and your features made it almost impossible for him to turn away. Keyword being almost.

It seemed as if you had this feeling that somebody was staring, very intensely, and your eyes quickly glanced in the direction it was coming from. Spencer felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he hastened turned away, taking another sip of his drink with nervous gulp. His adams apple bobbing up and down to emphasize his racing heart.

His eyes betrayed him by flickering back so soon after the initial eye contact and you were still looking at him. Instead of your body facing those at your booth, it was now open towards him, arms crossed as your eyes freely roamed his entire body before stopping at his face.

Spencer could've sworn he saw you bit your lip but the lighting of the club made the validity of his eyes seem weak. He felt as if all his senses became numb the more he stared.

You stared at him with half lidded eyes, giving the effect of being simply tired or maybe your eyes were strained from the events of the day.

The only thing that snapped him out of his daze once again was when you broke away your gaze to quickly mutter some words to your friends; an apologetic yet happy smile on your face as you stood up, waving goodbye.

The bouncer that was stationed at the section protected by velvet ropes had opened it for you and Spencer noticed that you were walking in the direct path towards him. His mind started to race. Did you think he was creepy? Was the staring too much? Were you about to throw him out? He had gotten the feeling that you were a V.I.P guest since you were in an inclusive area so maybe you held power to throw out whomever you pleased.

Having an IQ of 187 did not help him at all in making a quick decision on what to do as you neared.

"Hi." You smiled as you sat down in the seat beside him, body fully facing him as you rested your arm on the bar table to rest your head on.

"H-Hi." Spencer stuttered and quickly regretted even opening his mouth.

"Come here often?"

"Considering the club just opened last month, not really. It's my first time."

"First time here?" Your soft voice inquired. Despite the chaotic sounds surrounding the two of you, Spencer felt as if you simply calmed down and slowed the world around him.

"At any club actually." He felt almost ashamed to admit it aloud but his mouth moved faster than his rational at that moment. Nervous brown eyes met yours, expecting to be met with judgement but you simply had no reaction.

"Not your thing?" You asked and he nodded, feeling understood for once.

He looked down towards his lap, the sense of nervousness not really going away, "I just came here to see what it's like. Why people find it so fun."

"What do you think of it so far?"

"Loud. Messy. Crowded. Breeding grounds for bacteria." He could go on with the list but decided it'd be better to not rant about negatives on his first time meeting someone new.

"Yeah, you pretty much hit all the points on clubbing." you laughed at his descriptions, watching the mild disgust in his face as he recounts all the things he disliked about the club and clubbing culture within the small times he's been there.

"Do you enjoy it?" he inquired, wanting to see your opinion on this event that he believed only advertised to extroverts who were good at socializing like you.

"It can fun at sometimes, but you really just need to go with someone to make it fun and to ignore all the, "you paused to think, "unfavorable aspects of it."

Spencer wasn't an idiot. He knew what you were insinuating and to some extent, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to believe it or if his mind would allow him to believe it.

Your eyes flickered to the drink on the table, his fingers her fidgeting with the ends of it. "Mocktail?"

"I don't want to drink." Addictions are something he doesn't take lightly. He doesn't want to participate in any of it really as statistics show that one can be more susceptible to an addictions if one had another prior.

Nodding your head, you left it at that. "Well drinking no alcohol and sitting by your lonesome self here doesn't quite sound like fun. To see why people enjoy clubbing, you should immerse yourself in the experience." You looked at him through your eyelashes, "Do you want me to show you?"

Completely enamored by your entire person, who was he to deny such a reject.

He nodded his head, almost too fast, and you moved his drink away from his hand while using the other to grab his hand. The two of you stood up and he simply followed your lead.

As you moved through the crowd, it was like they made a way for you. He watched as those looked towards your figure with suprise before quickly falling out your way. Oh's and small gasps escaped their mouths as if it was their first time ever seeing somebody like you.

You walked with such confidence— head held up high, indifference on your face as men tried to stop you (while you clearly held the hand of another) but you swatted them away with your hand, and you walked so professionally that one may have mistaken you for some sort of a celebrity. You might just have been one if Spencer had to guess but due to Spencer's great memory, he figured he would've known if he had.

Before he knew it, you and him were in the middle of the dance floor and you kept your grip on his hand, very loosely, as you locked eyes with him, pulling him closer.

This was different.

Spencer has never danced before. Well never danced in front of people, let alone a gorgeous woman who he considered way out of his league. And he has also never had a woman dancing in front of him. He was scared to look down, scared to see her.

That was until she brought a hand to his chin, pulling his focus down. "Come on, join me."

"I don't da—"

"Just let loose and follow my lead."

His heart must've skipped multiple beats the moment you gently grabbed his hands and placed it on your figure as you moved to the music. Hands resting on your waist, he couldn't find it in himself to get a grip because he still wasn't sure if this was alright at all.

The moment you took a step closer, making your bodies just slightly touched, paired with the friction of your movements, he was sure he was in fact not dreaming.

Loosen up. Your words echoed in his mind. His eyes searched those around him, wanting to try to copy their movements but with you so close to him, he did his best to match your movement— then he quickly stopped when he realized he was not at all coordinated or blessed with groovy rhythmic genes.

A small smile crept up on your face as his awkward movements made even him cringe.

"Sorry."

You laughed, "Let's start with what your comfortable with."

"The robot?" He questioned with a nervous chuckle.

"Okay, then let's see it, handsome."

Oh how that word flowed off your tongue so easily and carelessly yet it was the beginning of his demise. His brain blew a fuse but thankfully, the added factors of your touch had disappeared when you stepped back to watch him work.

He once again looked around, seeing if anybody was watching him about to make a fool of himself but your voice called him back to focus.

"Are you worried about people watching?" he nodded, "Shall I blindfold you with my bra?"

He laughed. It was more of a yell than a laugh because of the absurdity. You stared at him, head tilted with the most genuine yet teasing smile when you stated such a random thing like it was the best solution.

You laughed along with him, seeing his body relax a bit more. "There you go. Release all that tension in your body."

"I actually needed that for the robot so your little trick to make me laugh and dance better just actually made it worse."

A gasp escaped your lips, "You're right. Let's catch it in the air before it leaves forever." You acted out grabbing the air around him before pushing it towards his body, making little sound effects to complete it all. "Phew! Phew! Phew!"

Spencer joined in on your little show as he wiggled his body to act as if your efforts were fully affecting him.

And at the last little sound effect, you sent a flying kiss, to which he smiled, caught, and placed it to his heart.

"I can feel the music Gods taking over my body now." Spencer smiled as he mimicked robotic movements, making angles with his arms and moving very stiffly. Now this was a move he could get behind.

"Oh no, its spreading to me too." You imitated Spencer, mirroring him almost exactly.

How did Spencer get to this moment? He went from sitting alone at the bar drinking a mocktail to getting woman he deemed to have a beauty, that could compare to no other, dancing like a robot. He wasn't sure what suprised him more, the face that he was doing a nerdy robot move in front of a crowd of people (most of which already has their attention on the woman he was with) or the fact that you were doing it with him.

The fact that you adopted your dance moves for him to feel comfortable when he was so out of place and visibly uneasy, made him feel special. Like he was listened to.

After a small moment of doing robotic dance moves, his and yours eyes connect once again before your lips opened to laugh.

"That was the first time I had ever done that at a club." you admitted.

"I feel honored to be the first one to experience it."

"Well since you feel so honored, it's not everyday one gets blessed with such a scene. Although, I guess it'll be safe to say your ready for another step towards being the dancing queen as ABBA put it."

"More than ready."

You smiled, more of a smirk, as if telling him he won't be prepared for what you had in store. Sometimes Spencer hated when he was right and this was a moment that nothing could have prepared him for.

The music the DJ had played thus far was very pop and chaotic that was perfect for when one wanted to simply let loose and dance crazy. However, one glance and nod towards the DJ table, most importantly, the clock behind the table, had completely changed the scene.

Blue lights that danced along the bodies of the people of the floor had slowly faded into a purple and the music changed into this sort of jazzy but pop instrumental with a sultry voice that completely changed the mood of the scene.

"It's 10pm."

"What does that mean?"

It seemed like everybody around him had found a partner and were beginning to move in a seductive manner. Spencer looked down towards you, you seemed closer than you were before. A small difference but it had a huge impact nonetheless.

"Watch, pretty boy." you walked closer to him and turned around, pressing your back side to his chest before reaching for both his hands and guiding them to the sides of your figure. Leading his hands from the sides of the top of your waist, all the way down to your hips, and towards your thighs. Very, very slowly.

You felt his breath hitch, his heartbeat start to speed. Unsure fingers slowly finding its way as you held it.

He stuttered, "I-Is this alright?"

You gave him a small nod, before moving your body to the music, creating more friction between the two of you. The heat of both your bodies created this bond, an intertwinment that none of you were willing to break.

This was the second time you've done this move, yet this time it felt much much more intimate than before. Bodies fully pressed against one another while the mood was set with the slow and erotic music, Spencer felt the last strand of his uptightness let go.

All he could focus on was you. Your intoxicating, confident, beautiful self.

He felt a sort of confidence with you by his side, a confidence that only you brought out because you made him comfortable in the first place. A confidence that only you could've brought out of him within only thirty minutes of knowing each other.

His hands slipped towards your stomach, pulling you closer and your head tilted back in his chest to look up at him with a smile. You used one arm to rest on top of his arm that was wrapped around your waist, before using your free one to touch his face, down his jaw, and to his neck.

You both swayed to the music; he used your body to guide his. His hot breath kissed your skin.

"Hey." you softly called out.

"Yes?" he exhaled, in a total daze.

"What's your name, handsome?"

"Spencer. Spencer Reid." he sounded breathless, maybe due to the fact that the two of you shared such an intimate moment, or maybe because they two of you did that and still didn't know each others names.

He felt you stop for a moment before you completely turned around, your hands steadying his as his hands rested on your hips.

"As in Doctor Spencer Reid that wrote those articles about psychology and neurology."

"Y-You've read them?"

Your hands rested on his chest as you stared him up and down, your teeth catching your lip. "Gosh, your brain is hot and so are you. God really does have favorites."

Spencer felt his face and ears heat up even more.

"Wanna get out of here?"

It didn't take much for Spencer to start nodding like his life depended on it like he did when you first asked him if you could show him how to have fun. And just like earlier that night, you grabbed his hand and led him to a new night and adventure towards fun he wouldn't have thought was ever possible.

—

"What the actual f—" Emily Prentiss stared at the scene in front of her, utterly speechless as her jaw was like a magnet to the floor. Her eyes trailed towards the two figures leaving the establishment. Her coworker followed around this beautiful, bombshell of a girl like a lovesick puppy. She also watched as the youngest of her team was dancing with a complete stranger in a place he would've been screaming about the different bacteria.

"I am either not sober enough or too drunk." The pair had disappeared into the night and that's when Emily took a deep breath, before minding her own business and getting to work on why she came in that night.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─ HAIRCUTS AT HOME ✄

...or the death of jesus reid and the birth of boyband reid.

✄ pairing: bf!spencer x gf!reader

✄ summary: spencer's gotten tired of having long hair, and you've gotten tired of his complaints over it, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

✄ warnings / tags: fluff!

✄ author's note: i feel like i'm in the minority but i actually loved reid with long hair... like the scene in garcia's office after he got shot in the leg with the lollipop... sigh. dreamy.

SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

spencer didn't like strangers touching him — and it was the same case for strangers touching his hair. he usually let his hair grow until it got way too difficult to maintain, leading him to grab a pair of kitchen scissors and and give himself a shaggy, uneven haircut. that was until you came along.

your boyfriend's hair was now around to his shoulders, going past them when wet. most of the time when he was home, he had resorted to having his hair tied up to the point where he ended up keeping one of your hair ties around his wrist at all times, but no matter what, it was always getting in his face, and he was getting frustrated. spencer just wanted to read without his curls getting in the way.

"god, my hair is so itchy." spencer huffed and pushed his hair back, the day unusually hot, making having long hair feel even more comfortable than usual. you let out a small sigh, closing and putting down the book you were reading, "alright, i've had enough."

spencer looked to you with a questioning look on his face, "what?"

"let's go into the bathroom, baby. i'm cutting your hair."

"are you sure you know how to do this?" spencer asked in an unsure tone, making you roll your eyes as you stood behind him. you'd rinsed his hair, his dark curls now wet against his freckled, pale, bare back as the tall man was sitting on a stool so you could comfortably cut his hair, a mirror in front of him and classical music playing from your phone to calm him down.

"i've cut hair plenty of times." you shrugged, taking out a pair of hair shears, snipping them once with a mischievous smile, "don't stress, spencer, i'm a pro at work. i used to cut my friends' hair all the time."

"alright..." he mumbled, and you smiled encouragingly at him through the mirror, spencer flashing back a slightly more hesitant one as you sectioned his hair and tied them up onto two pigtails, letting out a small snort at the sight, "it's not funny."

"you're right." you grinned, grabbing your phone as you moved to take a picture of your boyfriend in the pigtails, an adorable pout on his face, "i'm totally showing that to garcia. you look like a grumpy little girl." you said, putting your phone away again and picking the shears back up.

spencer closed his eyes as you grabbed one of the pigtails, unable to see anything, but able to feel the slight tug of his hair and hear the crunch, crunch, crunch! of the scissors as it battled against his thick hair. soon enough, spencer felt a strange lightness on the left side of his head, listening to you shuffle behind him, now tugging on the right side of his head, once again listening to the crunch, crunch, crunch! until it felt like his head was once again balanced. "open your eyes!"

when spencer opened his eyes, he saw you in the reflection, holding up two dark pigtails with a playful grin. he reached out to touch the back of his head, only for you to gently smack his hand away, the boy letting out a small ow! despite the action not hurting, "no touching before the master is finished. you wouldn't touch a painting until the artist is finished."

"i wouldn't touch a painting." spencer grumbled, making you roll your eyes before a fond smile took over your smile, "close your eyes again. i don't want you to watch while i work. makes me nervous." you instructed, your boyfriend doing as you told him to.

spenver wasn't sure how long he spent sitting there, listening to the snip, snip of your shears mixed in with the music you put on, and the soft hums that left your lips likely without you even being aware of it made your boyfriend smile.

until finally, he heard you put down the shears, feeling your hands run through his hair, ruffling it up. "alright, done." you chirped, putting your warm hands onto spencer's shoulders. he opened his eyes, taking a moment to let them get used to the light, spencer's eyes widening slightly when he saw his reflection. he brought a hand up to his hair, messing with it slightly, "what do you think?"

"it's... not bad."

"wow, you're welcome." you feigned offence before bursting out into slight laughter, "i think you look adorable."

"yeah?"

"yeah."

BONUS: you were sitting on the couch with a mug of tea when you heard a key turn in the door, looking into the hall of your apartment to see spencer entering, placing his satchel onto the floor and taking his shoes off.

"hi, baby!" you called out, not turning your head from the book until spencer stood in the living room doorway, smiling up at him, "so, how was work? what'd everyone think about your hair?"

"well..." your boyfriend cleared his throat, sitting down on the couch next to you, pulling your legs into his lap, "they said i look like a boyband member."

you couldn't help but burst into laughter, shaking your head. when you finally calmed down, you turned to look at spencer with your lips pursed in thought, "welllll... now that you mention it..."

"babe!"

[blluesiide]

You really don't know when it began. It certainly wasn't planned. When you met Spencer, you just found him to be a bit quirky, certainly pleasant to be around. You didn't expect this to happen.

The casual moments running into one another turning into invitations to events, to hang outs, to sitting in one another living room, movie nights. He became an integral part of your weekly routine, and you a part of his. At least, when he was around. There were times he'd disappear, and you wouldn't hear much from him. Which was fine, you understood his job well enough from what he'd explained to you.

He'd just gotten back, calling you on the phone with a slightly uneasy voice asking if you'd mind him coming over. You asked if he'd eaten, he said no, so you ordered his favorite take away, and chocolate frosted sprinkled donuts for dessert. You didn't expect to see the sling his arm was in, the scrape along his cheekbone.

A delicious meal and one hell of a story later, you were both sitting on the sofa, and it hits you then. His genuine giggle as he watches the TV, stomach full, body warm, and donut in hand. You love him.

Shit. Shit, shit.

You're so lost in your mind you don't realize his eyes are locked on yours, that gentle furrow to his brow as he asks you if you're okay.

You stare for a moment longer, then push forward before you can overthink it, pressing your lips to his softly. He kisses back immediately, letting out a slight hiss as you part. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, I just-" he looks down at the sling, letting out a breathy chuckle as his cheeks flush pink. Then you laugh. A real genuine laugh. And he laughs in return, realizing how ridiculous it is that one kiss from you was all it took for him to forget himself completely.

You cuddle a little closer on the sofa, and decide you'll talk about it when this episode of Doctor Who is over. You love him. You love him.

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you���ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[reiding-writing]

can you write about cold!reader where the team finds out they're together? ahh i love them so much!

UNDENIABLY YOURS. /spencer reid/

you pick up the wrong phone.

late s10 cold!reader 2.6k fluff series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | love a good cliche :)

Spencer’s apartment is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that feels awkward or hollow, but the kind that settles over you like a warm blanket—a gentle hush made of ticking clocks, the occasional hum of traffic outside, and the soft shuffling sounds of a man who’s currently making tea in the kitchen.

You’re on his couch, half-curled under a throw blanket that doesn’t quite cover your feet. The place smells like old books and something herbal, likely the blend Spencer claims is “soothing to the parasympathetic nervous system.” You never asked what that meant. You suspect it’s just chamomile with a marketing degree.

The night stretched longer than you intended. Dinner turned into wine, which turned into a slow tour through his cluttered bookshelves, which turned into another round of debate over Kant’s categorical imperative versus utilitarian ethics.

You were only supposed to drop by after work. A quick visit, maybe an hour. But Spencer always pulls time out from under you like a magician with a tablecloth.

And you stay. Again.

You don’t touch much when you’re with him. Not like you could. He’s all soft eyes and hesitant hands. He doesn’t crowd you, doesn’t demand declarations or affection you’re not ready to give. And you? You’re good at compartmentalising. At keeping your feelings tucked into corners, neatly labeled and out of reach. It’s safer that way. Less chaotic.

But you always show up.

That counts for something, right?

“Tea,” he says, emerging from the kitchen with two mismatched mugs. He hands you the one with faded cartoon planets on it. You take it wordlessly.

“Still pretending this helps your parasympathetic system or whatever?” you murmur into the rim of the cup.

Spencer smiles. He always smiles when you needle him. Like he knows it’s your version of affection. Like he’s fluent in your brand of emotional repression.

“I’m not pretending,” he says, settling into the armchair across from you. “There are studies,”

“There are always studies,”

“You want me to send you the links?”

“No,”

“You’d like the one from 2009. It discusses—”

“Spencer,”

“Okay,” he says, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “No studies,”

You sip the tea. It’s hot and bitter and tastes like him. Not literally—he doesn’t taste like dried flowers—but something about the comfort of the moment, the soft warmth of the mug against your palm, the way he looks at you like you’re not a puzzle to solve but a story he’s enjoying watching unfold. It’s familiar. Steady.

Which is probably why you’re still here.

“You staying?” he asks after a few minutes, voice casual. Too casual. Like he didn’t spend the last half hour not asking.

You glance at the clock. It’s past midnight. Late enough to make the excuse that you’re just tired and don’t want to drive. You’re already in the oversized hoodie he handed you—his hoodie, not yours—and your shoes are near the door, lined up next to his like it means something.

You should deflect. You always deflect.

Instead, you say, “Yeah,”

He doesn’t react much, just nods, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to examine.

He doesn’t ask for more. He never does.

It’s part of the deal.

Instead, he turns on some lo-fi instrumental playlist (he claims lyrics distract his brain when he’s trying to wind down), and you both migrate to his bedroom.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep. Just that at some point, your eyes fluttered shut, and for once, your thoughts didn’t keep you awake. No spiraling worst-case scenarios. No calculating emotional fallout. Just warmth, and the slow, steady rhythm of Spencer breathing beside you. The kind of peace you don’t admit you crave.

Until it’s shattered.

The phone rings—sharp, insistent—and you jolt awake in an instant, heart pounding with the abrupt transition. The room is pitch black, save for the glowing screen on the nightstand. Spencer groans softly beside you, but doesn’t move.

Still half-asleep, you fumble your hand over the nightstand. Spencer’s glasses, unfinished book, rectangle of impending doom. That’s the one.

“Unless there’s an active terrorist threat,” you snap, voice rough with sleep, “there is zero reason to be calling this late.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then, cautiously, “…Wait, who is this?”

You rub your face with your free hand, already annoyed. “Who do you think?”

Another pause—longer this time. And then, sharply suspicious, “…Not Spencer Reid?”

You blink, finally focusing on the phone’s lock screen. It’s not yours. Definitely not yours.

You sit up slightly, stomach dropping. Shit. “Uh—”

Spencer stirs beside you, blinking blearily. “Wha’s going on…?”

And that’s when it happens. A long, slow intake of breath through the receiver.

“Oooooooooooooooooh,”

You try to recover. “Garcia.”

“Oh my god,” she hisses, like she just found the holy grail. “I knew something was going on! Oh my god, I knew it!”

Spencer’s sitting up now, trying to make sense of the chaos. “Who is it?”

“Penelope,” you say flatly, glancing at the screen like it’s radioactive as you reluctantly put the call on speakerphone. “What do you want?”

“I need visual confirmation immediately,” Garcia is saying, way too awake for 2:07 AM. “Is he shirtless? Wait—are you? Never mind, don’t answer that. I respect boundaries. Mostly. Oh my god.”

“Garcia.” you say, trying for a tone of calm, rational authority, but it comes out more defensive than intended. ”What do you want?”

“We have an urgent case my dear lovebirds,” She’s practically vibrating through the phone. Hotch wants everyone in the office. Oh I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions,”

“Garcia—”

“Nope! Too late! This is the best news I’ve gotten all year. JJ owes me twenty dollars, I knew I saw something in the way you looked at each other during the surveillance briefing last month. I have receipts.”

“We’ll be in the office soon,” Spencer mumbles, already resigned.

“Oh, you better be,” she says, like she’s the one running the FBI now. “Buckle up, lovebirds!”

The call ends with a cheerful “Byeeeeeee!” and a click.

You sit there in stunned silence, phone still in your hand, the screen now dark and judgmental. Spencer groans, collapsing backward into the pillows.

“She’s going to tell everyone,”

“She’s already telling everyone,” you correct, flopping back beside him.

“This is going to be so embarrassing,”

You glance over at him—hair tousled, face flushed, one arm slung over his eyes like he’s trying to hide from the world. It’s honestly… kind of adorable.

You smile, just a little. “Could be worse,”

—

The BAU's conference room is already buzzing when you and Spencer walk in—thirty minutes later, coffee in hand, trying very hard to pretend this is just a normal Thursday.

It is not a normal Thursday.

Everyone is already there. Everyone is already looking.

Garcia practically explodes with smug glee the second she sees you. She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t have to. She’s vibrating with the restrained chaos of someone who knows they’ve set off a very satisfying chain reaction. Her eyes sparkle. Her smile is enormous. She’s won something, and she knows it.

Spencer, for his part, looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. He’s gone unusually quiet, hiding behind the rim of his coffee cup like it’s a shield. He keeps tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, hands jittery, face flushed, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment. He won’t look at anyone.

And everyone else?

Well.

JJ’s eyebrows are in her hairline. Emily’s face is frozen somewhere between astonishment and visible mental recalibration. Morgan looks like he just got handed a particularly juicy tabloid headline. And Rossi—bless him—leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and gives you both the kind of slow, impressed once-over usually reserved for rare bourbon.

Nobody says anything.

The silence stretches.

Spencer makes a small noise like he’s about to speak—probably to stammer through some clumsy attempt at clarification—but you beat him to it.

You cross your arms, plant your feet, and deliver the line like a press briefing:

“Yes, we’re dating. No, we haven’t had sex. We’ve been together officially for three months. I will not answer any questions, so don’t ask them.”

It lands like a bomb.

The room goes absolutely silent.

For a few blessed seconds, no one dares to move.

Then, from the corner, Rossi lets out a low chuckle—more impressed than anything else. “Well. That’s one way to do it,”

Morgan whistles low under his breath, shaking his head with an admiring grin. “Damn, kid,” he says to Spencer, who is now actively hiding behind his coffee. “I knew you had game,”

Garcia looks like she’s about to start clapping. You shoot her a warning glare.

“I’m just happy for you!” she chirps, hands raised in innocence. “This is so good for team morale,”

You glance at Spencer—his face still red, lips pressed tight like he’s trying not to die on the spot—and sigh.

Hotch remains blissfully unaffected.

He’s sitting at the head of the conference table, scrawling something on a case file with his ever-present air of detached focus. His pen moves in slow, methodical strokes as if he’s entirely unaware that the team has just been thrown into chaos.

Everyone is staring at Hotch now, waiting for him to react, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t even look up from his paperwork.

Rossi, of course, is the first to break the silence. “You knew about this,”

Hotch finally looks up—barely. It’s almost as if he’s taking a mental note of your existence before giving his usual level of minimal acknowledgment.

“They informed me,” he says matter-of-factly. “HR protocols.”

The silence in the room grows exponentially. HR protocols?

Rossi looks betrayed. So does Emily. JJ blinks rapidly, trying to process the betrayal. Even Morgan stares at Hotch like he just said something deeply alien to their universe.

Garcia’s jaw drops in comically exaggerated shock. “Wait… you knew and didn’t tell us? Hotch!” She looks almost wounded by the injustice of it all.

Hotch, however, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He leans back in his chair, tapping his pen idly on the table. “I was informed of a change in personal relationships within the team,” he says, as if explaining why his coffee’s not hot enough. “Standard procedure.”

Derek’s mouth twitches with the effort to hold back laughter, clearly fighting the urge to burst into full-on chuckles. “That’s it? No ‘I’m happy for you’ or ‘This changes everything!’?”

Hotch doesn’t even flinch. “Congratulations,” he adds with minimal sincerity, glancing up briefly, before continuing, “but we have an urgent case to focus on.”

Everyone’s collective sense of betrayal is palpable. There’s a beat of stunned silence before Emily, trying to save face, says, “I… I guess we should focus on the case.” She says it with half a smile, but the effort is obvious. “But seriously, Hotch. No heads-up? Not even a hint?”

Hotch simply gives them his patented “this is serious business” look and straightens up. “Focus, everyone.” His voice brooks no argument. “We’re being briefed on a new case, and I need all of you focused. Now.”

And just like that, the air in the room shifts. The humor fades, the teasing subsides, and everyone reluctantly pulls their attention to the matter at hand.

—

The rest of the day passes in a haze of good-natured (and sometimes not so good-natured) teasing. Derek, as always, is the first to crack a joke.

“So, you two gonna make superhuman babies, or what?” he smirks, raising his eyebrows suggestively as he watches you and Spencer in the hallway.

Spencer nearly chokes on his coffee, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Morgan,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper, “can you not?”

Derek just grins wider. “Oh, I’m just getting started, loverboy,” He winks at you both and saunters off with the most obnoxious swagger imaginable.

Garcia, never one to be outdone, is already planning date ideas before you even step off the jet. “You two should so check out that new fancy restaurant that just opened up down the street,” She nods at you, holding up her phone like she’s already making the reservation.

You raise an eyebrow at Spencer, just to see his reaction. He’s still turning red, but you can’t help a small, satisfied smile at the sight of his discomfited expression.

“No, Garcia. We shouldn’t,”

“Oh come on,” She beams. “I would die to be taken there on a date,”

You tilt your head at her, “You really think we would enjoy a place like that? Really?”

“Well…”

Emily, for her part, is still trying to process what the hell just happened. She keeps glancing at you both, trying to act casual but clearly still in disbelief. “So soon—” She shakes her head. “I’m just—wow. Okay. Good for you, I guess? I’ve gotta go hide from Morgan now, completely unrelated—”

JJ just chuckles, arms crossed. “Congratulations, both of you. I’m really happy for you,”

You could almost thank the universe for the relief of normalcy. You don’t. The universe didn’t do shit. It was all you. And Spencer. Mainly Spencer. “Thank you,”

The day finally winds down, and it’s time to leave. Spencer walks you to your hotel room, still looking like he might burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. You’ve let him be teased by the others, of course, but nothing too much. He’s still wearing that sheepish, half-worried expression as you approach your car, and you can’t help but smirk.

“Well,” you say, glancing up at him as you lean against your car, “Now they know,”

Spencer groans. It’s low, and it carries all the weight of his supposed regret. “Yeah,”

You lean in just a little, close enough that your voices are quiet but not enough for anyone else to overhear. You keep your tone flat, but there’s something soft in your eyes when you speak.

“Could’ve been worse,” you remark, just barely meeting his gaze. A quiet reassurance, a little more tender than the rest of the day has been. It’s not the most romantic thing in the world, but it’s yours.

He’s helpless, standing there, still flustered. But the way he looks at you—fondness in his eyes and a soft laugh escaping his lips—makes everything feel more okay than it probably should.

You reach up a soft hand to brush over the side of Spencer’s face, a juxtaposition he’d never point out unless you asked, and he smiles against you as you kiss him goodnight.

“I love you,” You’re barely parted, foreheads pressed together and his declaration a whisper on your lips.

“Thank you,” you nod softly as you separate, “Goodnight, Spencer,”

“goodnight,”

[reiderwriter]

A Dream, A Kiss, A Wire

A (very late) submission for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover challenge!!

Prompts: Character is surprised when their undercover partner is *very* good at pretending to be in love with them. “It’s just acting.” / “So you can make your heart race like that on command?”

Warnings: mentions of case details (bombing/ arson), mainly fluff

A/N: I don't know when the last time I posted fluff was, but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it! I'm trying to post more regularly once a week now, so hopefully, I'll have something else for you next Sunday~

Masterlist

Two months of undercover work was probably standard in the FBI. You hadn't exactly been in the FBI that long, obviously, or in any job too long for that matter, being pretty fresh from a decade in academics, but you were a hard worker, and you got work done.

But your undercover work with the BAU wasn't exactly what you would call work.

You woke up in the morning, cooked breakfast for your fake husband, went to your pilates class with the other neighborhood wives, went to your fake job, and then went back to your fake home where you publicans flirted with your fake husband outside for an hour or two to make your real neighbors believe in your fake relationship.

So that hopefully, one of them would attempt to blow you up.

With three “accidental” house fires in the neighborhood in the last year, and insurance company who'd been investigating potential fraud in the area had tipped off the BAU of a possible undiscovered arsonist, though you'd quickly deduced as a team that your unsub was likely a bomber instead.

A few months of surveillance, and then the gradual introduction of pairs of agents into the neighborhood under heavy cover, and here you were.

Making your fake husband pancakes.

Spencer emerged into the kitchen to one of his favorite views in recent months. You'd been the first pair put in, the one most likely to get attention quickly, the team had said. He watched as you hummed along to the morning radio, stacking up piles of pancakes and dancing along as you cooked.

You looked happy.

The concept of pretending to be married hadn't sat well with Spencer at first. He was never the greatest actor, and his last attempt at cover with Cat Adams hadn't exactly lasted too long. He was two months in now, sure, but he owed most of that to you.

Every time he'd blundered, you'd been there to help him out.

You'd suggested working on the garden together at the weekend to show off your effective communication as a couple. He'd let you feed him strawberries and sprayed you with the water hose, causing a water fight the neighborhood kids had politely asked to be included in.

You'd also been the one to request weekly flower bouquets, preferable from the local florist, just so everyone could see how dedicated he was to his wife. You'd sneezed heavily into the first few bouquets, and he'd requested mainly tulips, roses, and carnations after that when your nose looked a little red.

You'd also been the one to hook your legs around his waist in the swimming pool in your back yard - in clear view of at least 5 neighbors houses - and angle your head just so, inspiring pats on the back from a few heavy handed husbands at the neighborhood barbecue the week after.

That was all to say, Spencer thought you were an incredible actor.

Until that morning, when you'd rolled over in the bed you shared after waking up and kissed him full on the lips as you groggily said good morning, before padding off to the bathroom to take your morning shower.

If Spencer hadn't been awake before then, he definitely was after. It was like every cell in his body jolted at the touch of your lips. You'd zapped him with a lightning bolt, then walked off so casually he didn't even have the time to question you.

By the time he stood to follow, the sounds of the shower were already pronounced alongside his own heartbeat.

It took the best part of the morning to remind himself that this was just work. You were just acting, and you'd gotten into the role.

“And don't forget to head to the dry cleaner today in your way home from work, I dropped off some summer dresses last week and your other work blazer and they called twice yesterday to say they were done-”

He listened to you happily telling him what to do as he ate his pancakes, responding where you wanted him to respond, and being a generally agreeing husband, all the while thinking about how your lips felt pressed against his.

He thought as well about the way your body felt against his. You'd been sharing a bed for two months, and obviously, you'd ended up tangled in one another more than once. He'd never let himself think about it as any more than an extension of work before that morning, though. Part of the cover.

And now he felt the contours of your body matched his in a way that made the tips of his ears pink.

His eyes - and attention - must've slipped away from where you thought they'd ought to briand you looked at him with a questioning glance.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm? Yes, dry cleaning and visit Tara at the bank. Anything else?” he asked, begging you to say nothing about where he'd just been caught looking.

“No. You got everything. Well, just make sure you wash up the breakfast pots on the way out, I'm leaving for pilates now.”

Without another word, Spencer watched you grab your car keys from the basket in the foyer, directly down the hall from his seat at your kitchen island, and felt a sense of dread.

He couldn't let you go again without asking you about the kiss, his body screamed at him, though his mind begged him to be rational.

His body seemed to win out rather quickly, as he called after you just as you opened the front door.

“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up with you before he pulled you into his arms. The memory of the pool filled his thoughts to the point where he could almost smell the chlorine, the tips of his ears aflame with the sensation of your breath against his skin.

You tried to relax into his hug, knowing that a few of your neighbors were already outside, getting their cars ready to go to work. “Spencer,” you whispered, “What are you doing?”

His eyes flicked to your lips as he thought about just kissing you then and there. But the almost worried look on your face had him loosening his grip slightly, losing his resolve.

Luckily, the shame at his loss of self-control made his head drop slightly, just enough to catch the translucent wire centimetres from your foot glare in the sunlight.

At the worst possible time for Spencer Reid, you'd had your biggest break in the case in months.

...

A week later, you were you again and on the jet with colleagues you hadn't fully been able to interact with in months. Of course, you'd seen them all about the neighborhood, and you laughed and joked about it now that you were going back to your real lives.

“I swear to the almighty himself, if Joy ever suggests putting me in one of those old people's homes really, I want you to just take me out back and shoot me,” Rossi complained, swearing off slippers and bingo for the foreseeable future.

“You had company at least,” Luke muttered, having been confined to a small apartment on the upper side of the neighborhood that coincidentally housed all their surveillance equipment.

“Speaking of company, how was married life?” Emily joked, elbowing Spencer in the side from her seat next to him.

“It was… it was good,” he said, taking a sip of water from his bottle and avoiding all eye contact from everyone.

“Okay…. Y/N, what about you? What was Spencer like as a husband?”

You looked nervous as Spencer finally found it in himself to look at someone else again, desperately avoiding Emily's probing gaze.

“It was…. Nice. To switch off for a while. Not think too much, just…. Pretend?”

“Really? It was hard for me to get into character, and I lived alone. You and Spencer had to keep up a double act,” Luke laughed and shook his head, and Spencer found the ensuing silence more than a little awkward.

“I don't know, I just think it was kind of nice,” you said after too long of a pause. “Living with someone again. Less lonely, you know?”

Some sad smiles flicked your way in sympathy, then out the window, and you found yourself looking up at Spencer directly across from you and smiling shyly.

“Maybe I should start dating again,” you sighed under your breath when no one else was listening. But Spencer was listening. Spencer was always listening to you.

Two days in the office working late on paperwork and research was all Spencer could handle before he started asking questions.

Two hours into overtime, the moon was out, and the light in the office had dimmed just enough for the majority of the light in the room to be coming from your computer screen and desk lamp.

Spencer watched you casually, quick to look away any time you looked up at him, the feeling of his eyes burning into you, alerting you to his attention.

After a few minutes of looking up just as he looked away, you sighed in resignation and confronted him.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Hmm? No, um… nothing,” he said, fumbling his pencil so it fell to the ground. He stood and retrieved it before hesitating and taking a step closer to your desk.

“You're really good at your undercover work, you know?” He said with a cute smile, leaning on the side of your desk as you looked up at him.

“What does that mean?” you asked, suddenly on edge. Spencer didn't usually pay you compliments, and you'd hoped to completely drop the topic of the cover completely after you'd landed and closed the case.

“I don't know, it's just… it seemed like you put a lot of yourself into it.”

“It was work. I put a lot of myself into everything I do. Work is included in that.”

“Work…” he said, nodding. He almost turned around and walked away. Almost.

“You kissed me that morning, you know?”

It didn't come out loud, but it resonated around the empty room anyway as you felt your heartbeat faster.

“You were awake?” You squeaked out before you could stop yourself, suddenly looking up Spencer with pleading eyes as you willed him to tell you he was joking.

“Yes, I was- hold on, you thought I was asleep? You kissed me because you thought I was asleep?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It was just something… I didn't think, and-”

“Y/N, I kissed you back. Why did you think I was asleep?”

“Well, you didn't kiss back hard enough if I hardly noticed, did you?” you pouted, trying to go back to your work, but finding yourself with a brain so blank you couldn't even pretend to type. “I was acting, Spencer. I just.. got too into it, I suppose.”

“Y/N, look at me please,” Spencer pleaded, but you kept your head stubbornly turned away.

You felt his eyes on you, heard him take a step closer. Then another. You felt him loom over you, saw his hand come to rest beside yours on your desk.

Finally, you cracked.

“Spencer, I really don't think-” you stood and faced him, and immediately regretted both actions.

You'd shared a bed for two months, but this was definitely the closest you'd ever gotten. You could practically taste Spencer. You stood almost attached at the hip, his mouth not even inches from your own, but centimetres.

His forehead practically rest against your own, and he clutched your waist for balance, bringing you in closer.

You were stunned into silence, and when he grabbed your wrist in his hand and looked down at it in silence for a minute, you stood with baited breath for him to do something, anything else.

“The average resting heart rate for someone your age and activity level is around 75 beats per minute. I estimate yours is currently between 112 and 115. Are you acting now, too?”

You almost wanted to pull away and pout, but before you could do anything with your bottom lip, he'd claimed it with his own. His kiss was soft and delicate but intentional. His second was bolder, harder, and invasion of all your senses as he cupped your chin in his hand and lifted it just a little higher, pressing his tongue between your lips as he begged for permission.

A small moan granted him everything he wanted, as his hands sparked up your skin.

When he finally pulled away, not far enough to be out of your reach yet, your pants filled the air, syncopated as you breathed each other in and out.

“Let's keep acting. Just for now,” he gasped, whispering in your ear as he stroked your cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered as he once again claimed your lips.