#Spencer Reid x y/n | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mggslover · 2 days ago

Text

Unrequited love

In which reader has been haunted all her life by the ghost of unrequited love, always reminding her of everything she could never have. That is — until she met Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: angst x fluff x smut (18+) Content warnings: spoilers for s8e12, very angsty but no worries there's a happy ending Word count: 5,4k A/n: for anyone who can relate to not having their love reciprocated, I'm hoping you'll find your spencer reid soon

It’s stupid, really, to love someone so wholeheartedly. It’s even more stupid to expect them to love you back.

Never in your life had anyone reciprocated your love — hell, no one had even accepted it. Unrequited love was a burden that has clung to you all your life, a thread of rejection woven through the fabric of your earliest memories.

You remember the moment clearly, when as a little girl you found your mother hunched over the dining room table, furiously wiping away tears she did not want you to see. You watched from afar, making sure she left the room when you tiptoed to the table, finding a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook. Your small finger traced the letters of the handwritten note. The words were jagged, some unfamiliar, making you skip them. You experienced a rush of pride and excitement when you could make out some words: leaving, sorry, woman, goodbye. It was the first time you’d read something that wasn’t written in the large colorful books Miss Abigail assigned in school. It wasn’t until a few days later, when your mother explained that your father wasn’t coming back, that the weight of the note fully sank in. From that moment on it felt like your fate was sealed.

In middle school you had some friends, but when the moment came to pairing up for school trips, it was you being the one left out. You always had someone you would call your best friend, but you’d never be theirs. Someone always seemed to be better, more lovable, more wanted.

In highschool, you got your first boyfriend, Timmy. You weren’t sure you loved him, but you wanted to be seen, to be noticed. So when he asked you out, you said yes. For a while, you reveled in the feeling of someone showing you off. That was until the day you overheard his friends, talking by the lockers.

“I swear, his tactic is working!” one of them said. “Jessica dumped James the second she saw Timmy walking hand in hand with Y/N through the hallways.”

“Oh shit, man,” another friend laughed. “If I knew that, I also would’ve used a fake girlfriend to get to Hannah.”

A fake girlfriend. The words echoed in your mind as you started to make sense of the situation. It suddenly clicked how Timmy only showed you off in public, only kissed you in the busy hallways, where people could see. It was never about you.

You decided to give love one more chance in university, but when a night that was supposed to be the first of many, ended in a one-night-stand and a “I’m sorry, but I don’t really see you that way”, you made yourself a vow: no more chasing love. You stopped giving your love to people who would never truly appreciate it, and instead, you gave that love to yourself. The library became your refuge, spending endless hours studying to give yourself the future you deserve. You passed your exams with flying colors and never forgot to reward yourself after every small victory. And when you landed a position at the BAU, making it as an FBI agent, you knew you made the right decision to never fall in love again. That was until you stepped into the office, and you saw him. Spencer Reid.

—

“And this is doctor Spencer Reid,” your boss Hotchner introduced him with a nod.

He was tall, awkward in the way only someone who was brilliant could be, but he smiled warmly as he waved a hand at you. “Hi.”

You smiled back and stuck out your hand instinctively. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

He blinked at the gesture, looking uncomfortable. He swallowed, his voice uncertain. “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like shaking hands.”

You tilted your head and laughed. “That’s totally fair. Do you know how many germs your hands carry?”

His eyes widened in surprise, as if no one had ever said that before. “I-I actually do! The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to-”

“Kiss?” you interrupted, a grin spreading across your face.

The words came out simultaneously, and you both laughed. A sound that felt... easy. Like something you hadn’t experienced before.

Someone you would later come to know as Morgan, who had been leaning against a desk, looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised in disbelief as he shook his head.

It was then you realized — there was something special about Spencer Reid. It was something unspoken, something more than just the intellectual connection. Before you even knew it, you had fallen in love.

—

You never confessed your feelings to Spencer, but you felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you. Every morning, you arrived at work with an oversweetened cup of coffee for him, and in return, he made sure you never went without your favorite sandwich from the shop around the corner, especially on days when you were too absorbed in a case to remember to eat. On your days off, you took each other on trips. Sometimes to a museum where you would explain the art in great detail, and he would pretend not to know any of the facts, just to hear you talk. Other times, you’d go to a movie screening, where he would simultaneously whisper translations of the foreign dialogue to you, making you giggle when his breath tickled your ear. You convinced yourself that this was what love was: understanding someone to the point of not needing words.

But how foolish were you to have forgotten about the shadow that lingered behind you, always ready to remind you of everything you could never have.

—

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! Have you heard the news?” Penelope squealed in delight as she rushed toward you, the rhythmic click of her heels making a melody against the office floor.

You glanced up from your desk, raising an eyebrow. “Based on the excitement, I’m going to assume you're not talking about the wildfires in California.”

“Oh no, no,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m talking about big news. The juicy kind.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair as you sipped your tea. “Alright Pen, bring it on.”

Penelope’s grin widened. “Spencer has a girlfriend!” She yelped, hands flying to her mouth as she realized just how loud she’s gotten.

You blink as you try to process her words. “He finally adopted a cat?”

Penelope shook her head vigorously. “Y/N, I mean a real girlfriend. An actual human being girlfriend!”

You scrunch your forehead, the words not quite connecting. “I don’t think I understand.”

Penelope leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Derek told me that Blake told him that Spencer’s been making calls... to a woman.” She glances around quickly, making sure no one can overhear.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your smile drops at the familiarity of the situation. Spencer had been leaving the bullpen often recently. You’d always assumed it was because he was still struggling with his headaches and didn’t want the team to get worried. Not in a million years would you have expected Spencer was seeing someone.

Penelope continues speaking, but her words fade into the background as your thoughts spiral. “Excuse me,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you push yourself out of your chair and rush to the bathroom.

Once inside, you lock the door behind you. Your chest tightens, the familiar weight of a panic attack settling in as if it had never left. Your breath comes short and shallow, the room spinning slightly as you grip the sink. The air feels thick, suffocating even. For the first time in years you find yourself back in this situation, fighting to breathe.

—

After a while, the whispers and giggles about Reid's love affair had died down. Still, it took Spencer some time to feel comfortable enough to share more about her — Maeve Donovan, the brilliant, lovely woman who had stolen his heart. As his best friend, you were the one he turned to, the one who had to endure all the little details of their intimate phone calls.

And you tried, you really did. You tried to be the supportive friend, even when each word about Maeve felt like a thorn in your chest. You’d joke, asking him if he was sure Maeve wasn’t some sixty-year-old man catfishing him, or teasing him about how it didn’t count as a relationship if you’d never actually met the person. The snark was the only way you could cope with the sinking feeling every time he smiled when her name came up, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of her. But Spencer was oblivious to your remarks. No matter how hard you tried to plant seeds of doubt in his mind, it never seemed to have any effect.

It was a sad thing to admit, but on nights when anxiety kept you awake, you couldn’t help but wish for their relationship to end. You prayed for a chance to tell Spencer how you really felt. You convinced yourself there would be time, that everything was going well, and eventually you’d find the courage to speak up. But on nights like these, you deeply regret never having thought of the possibility of another girl realizing how incredible Spencer is, and making a move before you ever could.

Those feelings of jealousy turned into big regret, when Spencer came bursting into the bullpen, panic and fear evident in his eyes. He was frantic, certain that Maeve had been kidnapped. His suspicions turned out to be tragically true, and your world crumbled the moment the gunshot rang out, taking Maeve from him. Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as Spencer broke down in front of you, and you couldn’t even reach out to comfort him, believing it was you who caused this. That the ghost you knew as unrequited love, finally gave you what you wished for.

You wanted to scream, to turn back time, to take back every selfish thought. But now wasn’t the time for regret. When Spencer locked himself in his apartment, unwilling to speak to anyone, you made it your mission to be there for him. You were the only person he let in, and when the door creaked open, you were struck by the sight of him — pale, hollow-eyed, and worn down in a way you’d never seen before. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. The two of you cried together, until his neighbor shouted at you both for the noise. From that moment on, you’d take Spencer to your apartment. Making sure he had a warm, homemade meal waiting for him as you’d binge Doctor Who episodes, trying to get him to smile even just a little. Slowly, he began to open up, the weight of his grief pouring out in quiet conversations. And you made sure you listened to every word as you held him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

As the weeks passed by, the weight of the situation was becoming overwhelming. It wasn’t easy hearing the love of your life talk about another woman. The way he spoke about her, like she meant more to him after just a couple of months than you ever did in all the years you stood by his side. It was almost too much to bear. When you overheard a moment between Reid and JJ, where Spencer mentioned how he would’ve had kids if it weren’t for Maeve dying, you realized you couldn’t keep going like this. You needed time to process what you were feeling, to grieve what you’d lost — even if it wasn’t really yours to begin with. So, you called in sick for the next case. Hoping you could clear your mind, while the team was out of state.

—

So here you were, experiencing heartbreak like all those times before — rotting on the couch with a pint of ice cream as you watched reruns of Love Island.

You jumped when a loud banging echoed from the front door. Your surprise faded as quickly as it came, knowing there was only one person that would bother you this late an hour.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up!” Spencer’s voice rang out, firm and insistent.

With a sigh, you shuffled to the front door, trying to steady yourself before facing him. The moment you opened the door, you were met with Spencer, brows furrowed in concern and annoyance.

“Where were you? You didn’t show up on the jet, and you’re never late,” he said, brushing past you to step inside.

“Sure, let yourself in,” you muttered under your breath, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t feeling well, had a headache,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

Spencer paused, taking a quick glance around the room. His eyes landed on the TV blaring in the background and the half-empty pint of ice cream on the coffee table. He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“Your TV is on full blast, and you’re eating ice cream,” he said, his tone skeptical, clearly aware of your lie.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, I just needed a break.”

“A break?” He scoffed. “You never take breaks. We practically had to force you to stay home when you got shot. You’re always there, no matter what. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

As much as you appreciated hearing that he needed you, this wasn’t the time to feel flattered by it. “Spencer, I know,” you started, your voice taut with frustration. “I just had my own things to worry about.”

“What things?” He stepped closer, his tone rising. “What could be more important than your work? Then being there for a friend when he needs you?” It was obvious how upset he was. “I was worried about you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I called you every day, and you didn’t pick up.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and a bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. “What about me, Spencer?” you snapped. “Have you ever thought about me needing a break? Or am I not important enough for that?”

“Oh, please.” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You’ve always been there for me, but suddenly you can’t pick up your phone because you need time for yourself?”

“God, you’re such an ass,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Me? I’m the ass?” His voice pitched higher, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yes, Spencer! I told you I wasn’t feeling good. I needed time off.”

“You could’ve just picked up the damn phone!” he yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you even realize how worried I was?”

“It sounds like you were more worried about yourself than me,” you countered, your tone icy.

His face twisted in frustration, but then his shoulders sagged. “Is that what you think?” He asked quietly, his voice trembling. “I was worried about you. Can you even imagine what it was like for me to call and get no answer?”

You swallowed. For a split second your mind drifted to Maeve, thinking that he might’ve felt the same fear as when she didn’t pick up the phone. You quickly put the thought away, he didn’t care about you like that.

“If you’d just asked Hotch, you would’ve gotten an answer right away,” you said defensively, crossing your arms to shield yourself.

“Oh, so Hotch knew?” His tone turned bitter, his eyes narrowing.

“Of course, Spencer. He’s my boss!”

“And I am your friend! I always tell you everything before I let anyone else know.”

You rolled your eyes, frustration taking over. “Well, that’s on you. Just because you feel the need to bother everyone with your problems doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

The instant regret was written all over your face as the words left your mouth. Spencer’s expression shifted, looking completely stunned.

“Spencer, I didn’t mean-”

But the damage was done. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

“Please, Spence, I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” you said softly, your voice trembling as you reached out to him, but he instinctively stepped back.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I don’t know why I said that.”

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, but you said it. And you meant it.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow it felt heavier. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced with something worse: disappointment.

“Spencer,” you whispered, the sound barely audible, terrified to say anything else that could upset him.

He looked down, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled shakily. When he finally looked back at you, his expression had softened slightly, though the hurt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you really think I’m someone who bothers people with my problems?” he asked, his voice raw with vulnerability.

“No!” you said quickly, the desperation clear in your tone. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think that at all. I’m so glad you opened up to me and trusted me with your feelings.”

“And yet…” he trailed off, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You ignored my calls. You avoided me. And then you said that. Jesus.” His hands fell to his sides as he let out a tired sigh, his exhaustion etched into every feature.

“Spencer,” you started, but he interrupted. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at you like he was searching for answers he couldn’t find. “If you’re glad I talk to you about my feelings, why did you shut me out?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question bearing down on you. “It’s just… a lot to handle, Spence,” you admitted. “I’m not a therapist. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. I want to be there for you, I really do, but it takes a toll on me too.”

“It takes a toll on you too?” His voice rose, and you cursed yourself for triggering another outburst without meaning to. “I’m the one with ‘the problem’. I’m the one with the dead girlfriend! All you had to do was be there for me when I needed you.”

You exhaled heavily. “I’m getting a drink,” you muttered as you made your way over to the kitchen. Spencer followed behind you, not willing to give up yet.

“Of course,” Spencer said, with a sarcastic edge. “Grab a drink. That’ll fix everything.”

Ignoring him, you grabbed a glass and poured a generous amount of whiskey. You raised it to your lips, savoring the burn as you swallowed.

He crossed his arms, watching you with a raised eyebrow. “You know what? Go ahead. Keep ignoring the problem. That’s what you’re good at, right? Avoiding things.” He said, his tone filled with hurt.

Your hand trembled slightly as you set the glass down. “I know you don’t believe me,” you said, voice shaking, “but I am trying.”

“Trying?” Spencer’s laugh was humorless. “You didn’t even call me. You just disappeared. I needed you, and you left. What kind of ‘trying’ is that?”

“God, Spencer, I didn’t want to avoid you. I wanted to pick up the phone, to explain everything, but I couldn’t. I knew I’d just hurt you more, and I couldn’t-” Your voice broke against your will. “I couldn’t risk ruining all the progress you’ve made.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his furrowed brow easing as confusion replaced his anger. “You’re not protecting me by keeping whatever it is that’s bothering you to yourself. You’re hurting me even more by shutting me out. I want to be able to help you when you’re struggling, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill. You bit your lip, trying to hold your words in.

“Please,” he whispered, his hand gently taking yours. “Let me in. Let me help you like you’ve helped me.”

You stared at him, your chest aching. How could you possibly tell him? How could you burden him with this truth when he was already carrying so much? But the way he looked at you, so desperate — it broke something inside you.

The words escaped before you could stop them. “I’m in love with you.”

Spencer froze, his heart skipping a beat as he loosened his grip on your hand, making you regret speaking up.

“You.. you’re in love with me?” He asked, his voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest.

He stared at you in silence, his gaze unreadable as he processed your words. After a long pause, he spoke up. “You’re sorry?”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded. “I’m an awful friend,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“No, no, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping closer. His heart ached as he reached up to gently cup your face, brushing away your tears with his thumbs, hating to see you cry. “You are not an awful friend — you’re wonderful.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not wonderful, Spencer. I listened to you grieve every night, and still I felt jealous because she got your love, even if it was just for a second.”

His eyes widened. “Jealous?” he asked softly. “You were jealous of Maeve?”

You cringed at his words, shame tightening your chest. “I know, it’s disgusting. I get it if you never want to see me again.”

“Is that what you think? That I’d stop wanting to see you?” He shook his head. “How can you think I’d judge you for having feelings for me?”

“Because I blame myself, Spencer!” you cried. “I should’ve been happy for you, but I wasn’t. And now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s my fault.”

He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of that. You didn’t make any of those things happen,” he reassured. “They were just… they were just an unfortunate turn of events. You didn’t have any control over it.” He held you tightly against him, trying to comfort you as his heart ached.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” you sniffled, but you weren’t able to pull yourself away, needing his touch.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “I should touch you,” he said firmly. “I should hold you, and comfort you, and be there for you. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what I want to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice quivering with emotion. “I did feel jealous, but please, don’t think for a second that I didn’t care. I’d do anything to bring her back.”

“I know you care,” he murmured into your hair. “I know you do. That’s why I could never think of you as a bad friend.”

You cried against his chest, the weight of everything finally crashing down. His arms tightened around you, his hold warm and grounding. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

You shook your head. “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.”

“Yes, I should,” he said. His arms didn’t loosen, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go. “Your feelings matter. Your happiness matters. I don’t want you putting yourself aside for my sake.”

Something in his tone gave you the courage to lift your gaze. His eyes met yours, searching, filled with an emotion you hadn’t dared to hope for. Slowly, he reached out, his thumb brushing against your tear-streaked cheek with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice firm. “You matter to me, more than you probably realize.”

You leaned into his touch instinctively, the warmth of his hand calming you. “You can still talk to me,” you said quietly. “I just… I needed a break. But we can still have our talks.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know. And I’ll take you up on that.”

His hand remained on your face as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “I care about you. I always have, and I always will.”

The proximity was impossible to ignore as his thumb traced slow, soft circles on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice quiet and pained, “for not realizing sooner how you felt about me.”

“It’s fine, Spence,” you replied, lifting your shoulders. “I should’ve been more obvious.”

He let out a quiet sigh, his heart heavy with remorse. “You were, I should’ve known. Penelope and JJ never treated me the way you did.” He admitted. “I wasted so much time. I could have had you, but I was too blind to see it.”

“You… you would want to be with me?” you asked, surprise noticeable in your voice.

His eyes softened, his expression filled with disbelief. “Of course I would. How could I not? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re caring, you’re beautiful...” His voice dropped to a tender hum. “You’re everything.”

You looked away, as doubt crept in. “You’re just confused,” you said. “I gave you a lot to process all at once.”

“I’m not confused,” he said steadily, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not about this. I know how I feel. I know that it’s you that I want.”

Your heart ached at how convincing he sounded, but you couldn’t stop your uncertainty. “You’re not over her, Spence.”

The mention of Maeve made him swallow, his gaze flicked downward for a moment. “I know,” he said quietly, as he looked up at you. “I know I’m not completely over her. I may never be. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you for so long. It doesn’t feel fair that I get to have you now.”

Spencer gently pulled you closer, the simple comfort of having you in his arms overwhelming. “You deserve everything, Y/N. You’ve been there for me through everything. You’re one of the most selfless, most loyal, most caring people I know.”

The warmth in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch, made it impossible to look away.

“I need you,” he said, his voice a raw confession. “Not talking to you these past days was torture. I can’t do this without you. I need you in my life, Y/N. Not just as a friend.” He paused, his voice softening. “You deserve to be loved, please let me be the one to do that.”

You felt your breath catch, not finding the words to express how you’re feeling. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips parted in surprise, but his eyes softened, filling with an emotion that made your chest ache. He nodded, “Yes. Please.”

His hands were warm against your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was everything — urgent, raw, and filled with years of unspoken longing. A soft, desperate sound escaped your throat, conveying all the need you’d kept bottled up for so long. Spencer seemed to feel it, deepening the kiss as his fingers threaded into your hair, afraid you might slip away.

He effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter, his body fitting perfectly between your legs as you wrapped them tightly around his waist. The closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy your need. Your fingers found his tie, fumbling to loosen it before letting it fall to the floor.

As you moved to the buttons of his shirt, Spencer groaned softly against your lips, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. The moment your hands met his bare skin, his breath hitched, and his grip on your hips tightened. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and every inch of him seemed to respond to your touch.

“God, Y/N…” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and filled with desire. His forehead rested briefly against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. But his hands never stopped, sliding down your sides and pulling you even closer.

You continued your exploration, your fingertips tracing the planes of his chest and shoulders as if trying to memorize him.

You’d always imagined taking your time when this moment finally came — savoring every touch, every kiss. But now that it was happening, you couldn’t stop the rush coursing through you. The need to feel him everywhere, to prove that this was real.

“Spencer, please,” you whimpered against his mouth, your voice filled with desperation.

“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured, knowing exactly what you needed. His hands slid down to your thighs, gently parting them to make room for himself. The warmth of his touch had you gasping, and you let out a quiet cry of relief as his fingers moved to his belt, the soft clink of the buckle filling the air.

You didn’t want to waste any time, tugging your pants down your legs in a frenzy, eager to meet him halfway. Spencer’s gaze flickered to yours, his eyes dark with need, and in an instant, his mouth was on yours again.

His kiss was hungry, consuming. One hand gripped your waist, holding himself steady, while the other hooked beneath your leg, lifting it effortlessly to pull you closer. The heat between you is overwhelming, every touch igniting yet another spark.

You threw your head back as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your wet folds. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he slowly pushed into you, the stretch intoxicating. Your fingers gripped his back as you sunk your nails into his skin.

The sharp bite of pain drew a low, guttural groan from him, his face buried in the curve of your neck. His breath was hot against you as he murmured your name like a prayer.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you gasped, as he began to move, his hips rolling into yours.

His breath hitched at your words, and he pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. “I know, baby,” he mumbled. “We’ll make up for it,”

A soft giggle escaped you, but it was quickly swallowed by a moan as his pace quickened.

“Oh, Spence… I’m already close,” you confessed, never having reached an orgasm this fast.

“Thank God,” he groaned, his voice rough with desperation, as his grip on your hips tightened. He guided you to meet his thrusts, the intensity of his movements growing erratic, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Unable to resist, you cupped his face, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss as you moaned and gasped for breath.

Your walls clenched around him, drawing a string of desperate whimpers from your lips as your head fell back. Spencer took full advantage of your exposed neck, sucking and biting on the skin, claiming you. His thrusts grew deeper, determined to hit the spot that made you cry out in pleasure.

His low, breathy moans filled the air, and you could tell he was close. Your legs began to shake around him, and as if perfectly in sync, your release crashed over you just as he shuddered and spilled into you.

“I love you,” you gasped, the words leaving your lips over and over as your orgasm rushed through you. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t tell if it was the sheer intensity of the feeling or the flood of emotions you’d been bottling up for so long, but what you did know is that you meant every word.

Spencer stayed close, his breaths uneven as he gently rocked into you, drawing out the shared high. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to brush your hair out of your tear-streaked face. His eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he truly saw you — every part of you.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you too.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic

647 notes · View notes

obssessed-with-reading07 · 20 hours ago

Text

This might genuinely be my favourite fluff fic. He bought MORE flowers because there no YELLOW ones in the first bunch. Makes me cry every time.

Soulmates

A/n: From this request. Also I lovedddd writing this it was such a cute concept

HELLO I HAVENT LOGGED ON IN MANY MOONS AND CATCHING UP WAS SO AMAZING I LOVE YOUR WORK

could you do a fic once spencer starts teaching and kind of disappears for a few seasons and the bau brings on an agent who never crosses paths with spence but the bau can’t stop thinking how good a couple theyd be and they think of how to set them up and then one day he walks in unexpectedly and just kisses her hello bc they’ve been together/engaged for years and everyone is shocked and it wasn’t ever a secret they’re just like “no one asked is so we didn’t say anything”

Summary: Everyone knew Y/n and Spencer would be the perfect couple, it was just a shame he left the BAU before she joined.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Content Warning: nothing ??

Word Count: 2.0k

Masterlist

Everyone recognized that they were similar. It was a silent agreement that the newest member of the BAU would have been a perfect match for recently-departed Spencer Reid. Her flaws were perfectly complemented by his strengths and vice versa.

And they all thought it a shame that Y/n never got to meet Spencer.

Keep reading

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid x y/n

7K notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

Text

Say Don't Go

Summary: You are given the opportunity of a lifetime, Spencer urges you to take it. Even if it means leaving him behind.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, typical BAU crime, mentions of drugging/kidnapping/robbery, brief alcohol consumption by reader and friends, clubs, break up(?), talks of marriage, forced choices/decisions, happy ending !

Word count: 15k

a/n: so what if this pulls inspiration from the train scene in glee... SO WHAT ... and so what if i named a character after kurt

main masterlist

December 2008 – Present

"You’ve been with so many women you don’t remember their names?" Spencer asked, laughing at Derek.

"Are you surprised?" Emily snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"This has never happened to me before," Derek defended, sounding genuinely incredulous.

"It’s never happened to me before either," Spencer chimed in, grinning as he started toward the conference room.

"It can’t happen to you—you have an eidetic memory," Emily teased, her smirk unmistakable.

"Plus, you only have one name to remember," Derek added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ha ha," Spencer replied, forcing a laugh, though the words cut deeper than he let on. Derek wasn’t wrong.

He only had one name to remember. One that mattered above all the others.

But Spencer had messed it up. He had let you get on that train. He had let you walk away.

Spencer's regrets weren't always loud or obvious; they often whispered to him in the quiet moments of his everyday life, weaving their way into his thoughts like unwelcome visitors he couldn’t shake.

It was in the mornings, when he brewed a pot of coffee in his lonely apartment, and his hand hovered over the second mug he used to pour for you. He’d catch himself mid-motion, the pang of realization that you weren’t there cutting through him like a knife. He’d take his coffee black, staring at the empty chair across from him, and wonder if you were having your morning cup too—if you still took it with two sugars and a splash of cream.

At work, it was the little things that brought you to mind. A joke Derek would make, or the way Emily tilted her head while teasing him, reminded Spencer of how you used to laugh with him, soft and genuine. He could still hear your voice in the back of his mind, offering your take on a case or pointing out something he’d missed. Those moments were the hardest—because they reminded him of how much better everything had been when you were there to share it with him.

And then there were the books. Spencer couldn’t walk into his favorite bookstore without being overwhelmed by the memory of browsing the aisles with you, debating over which novel to pick for your next "couples read." Now, those shelves felt empty, even when they were fully stocked. He’d run his fingers over the spines, pausing at titles he knew you would’ve loved, but he never brought himself to buy them. What was the point if you weren’t there to read them with him?

Evenings were the worst. After a long day at the BAU, when he returned to his dim apartment, the silence was deafening. He’d sit at his desk, pulling out old case files to distract himself, but his eyes would always drift to the small keepsake box he kept on the shelf. Inside were the remnants of your time together—a movie ticket stub, a pressed flower from a date, a Polaroid of you laughing at something he’d said. He’d told himself he’d put it away to move on, but instead, it became a shrine to his mistakes, one he visited more often than he’d like to admit.

And then there were the nights when the ache became unbearable, when he’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of you boarding that train. He could still hear the sound of the wheels on the tracks, still see the tear-streaked expression on your face when you looked at him through the window. Those nights, he’d wonder what he’d say to you if he had another chance—what he’d do differently if he could go back.

The regret wasn’t just a feeling; it was a constant presence in his life. It was the realization that, in trying to give you what he thought you needed, he’d taken away the one thing he needed most: you.

—

June 2008

“Spencer?” you asked cautiously, looking over at your boyfriend as his car came to a stop in front of the train station.

You could see him take a deep, trembling breath, the shakiness audible even as he tried to steady himself.

When he turned to face you, his eyes were already brimming with tears, spilling over before he could even speak.

“You said we were going to dinner,” you reminded him, your throat tightening as dread began to settle in your chest. You were trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, clinging to the hope that you were wrong.

Spencer cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop his voice from breaking as he said, “No.” He shook his head, and the weight of his next words seemed to crush him as he continued, “You’re going to New York.”

“What?” Your voice shot up as you stared at him in disbelief, as if he had grown another head. “What do you mean? I turned Aubrey down.”

“I know,” Spencer sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I can’t let you throw your dreams away for me.”

“My dreams?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger and heartbreak. “Spencer, you are my dream. I love you!”

“I love you too,” he choked out through his tears, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”

“But—” you tried, your hands reaching for his as if grounding him could change his mind.

“No, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “I—I called Aubrey. She still wants you. I told her you accepted the position. That you’re coming.”

“Why?” you cried, the single word breaking into a sob. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, desperate for an answer that would make this make sense.

Spencer’s lips quivered, and he looked away, unable to face the devastation in your eyes. "Because you deserve to have everything you’ve ever wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat.

"But I already have everything I want!" you shouted, your hands gripping the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "You’re all I need, Spencer. You’re it for me!"

He let out a shuddering breath, his tears falling freely now as his hands reached up to cover yours. For a moment, you thought he might give in, that he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his expression resolute despite the anguish etched into every line of his face.

"You’ll resent me one day," he said, his voice cracking. "You’ll look back and wonder what you could’ve done, what you could’ve been if you hadn’t stayed for me. I can’t live with that. I can’t live knowing I held you back."

"That’s not fair!" you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of your sobs. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! I chose you, Spencer. I chose us!"

"I know," he whispered, his hands tightening over yours as if trying to memorize the feeling. "And that’s why I have to do this. Because I love you too much to let you give up your future for me."

"My future is with you!" you insisted, but he was already pulling your hands away from his face, gently but firmly.

"I called Aubrey," he repeated, his voice hollow. "She’ll be waiting for you at the station in New York. Your ticket is already bought. Your bags… they’re in the trunk."

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You… you packed my things?"

Spencer nodded, his expression breaking entirely under the weight of your hurt. "I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t."

"You had no right!" you shouted, shoving at his chest. "No right, Spencer!"

He took it, letting you pound against him until your strength gave out, until your sobs consumed you, leaving you trembling and broken in his arms. "I’m sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’m so sorry."

But he wasn’t sorry enough to stop you from going.

As the train whistle sounded in the distance, Spencer gently pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You have to go," he said softly, his voice thick with tears. "The train won’t wait."

"I hate you," you whispered, the words cutting him deeper than anything else ever could.

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible as he let his hands drop to his lap. "But one day… I hope you’ll understand."

He opened the car door for you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, staring at him with tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, you whispered, "Goodbye, Spencer," your voice trembling as you stepped out of the car.

He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything as he watched you walk away, each step feeling like a dagger to his heart.

And when the train finally began to pull out of the station, Spencer felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him like a freight train. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the train. "No," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky and panicked. "What have I done?"

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran alongside the train, desperate, tears streaming down his face. He called your name, his voice breaking, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him through the thick glass and the noise of the train.

Inside the train car, you were curled into the seat, staring blankly out the window, your face streaked with tears. You weren’t expecting to see him. But then, there he was—running alongside the train, his expression frantic, his lips forming words you couldn’t quite hear.

Your heart shattered all over again. The sight of him, so desperate, so raw, made it even harder to leave. Your hand instinctively pressed against the cold glass, a futile attempt to reach for him.

Spencer’s legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running, the distance between him and the train growing with every passing second. His vision blurred from the tears, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

But you… you couldn’t bear to watch. Your tears fell harder as you pulled your hand away from the window and turned your head, unable to keep looking at him. You had to look away, even though it felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

Spencer stumbled, slowing as the train picked up speed, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, watching helplessly as the train—and you—disappeared into the horizon.

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one, the words echoing into the empty night.

You were gone. And Spencer knew, deep down, that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.

—

September 2008

You loved your new life. How could you not? You had everything you had once dreamed of—your new position as second in command to the CEO of your favorite designer brand was everything you’d worked so hard for. The thrill of overseeing campaigns, approving designs, and brushing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry was exhilarating.

You’d settled into your new routine as well as anyone could when starting fresh in a bustling city like New York. Moving in with Aubrey Wilkes, the CEO herself, was daunting at first, but she made it easier. Her mentorship was invaluable, and her sharp wit and genuine kindness turned her into a friend as much as a boss.

Your days were filled with meetings in glass-walled boardrooms, late nights spent poring over designs and strategies, and the occasional glamorous event that kept your calendar full. You had the life you always said you wanted.

And yet...

Every single day, Spencer found his way into your thoughts.

It wasn’t always obvious at first. Maybe it was a book you saw in a shop window that reminded you of one of his recommendations, or a classical piece playing softly in a café that you knew he loved. Sometimes it was the sound of someone’s laugh that carried the same rhythm as his, or the sight of a man at the train station holding a bouquet of daisies like the ones he used to bring you.

Other times, it was the silence that brought him back. At the end of a long day, when you’d kick off your heels and collapse onto your couch, you’d find yourself wishing you could tell him about your wins and your struggles. You’d wonder how he’d react to the stories you had to tell, imagining his soft smile or the way his hands would flutter nervously when he was excited for you.

There were nights when it hit harder—when the city lights felt too bright and the penthouse apartment too cold. On those nights, you’d curl up in bed and stare out at the skyline, wondering if Spencer ever thought about you, too. If he regretted what he’d done. If he missed you as much as you missed him.

Because no matter how perfect your new life seemed on paper, a part of you still felt like it was missing. And that part had a name. Spencer Reid.

—

February 2007

It was a crisp evening as the warm glow of the restaurant's candles reflected off the polished surfaces, casting a cozy light over the two of you. Spencer had chosen this place because it was where you first met, a sentimental touch to the holiday of love that made your heart swell. The quiet buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses provided a soothing backdrop as you both enjoyed your meal, the comfort of each other's presence making the night feel perfect.

You were mid-laugh at something Spencer had said when a woman approached your table, her eyes wide with admiration. "I’m so sorry to bother you," she began, her voice apologetic but earnest. "But that is the most fabulous dress I have ever seen. Can I ask where you got it?"

Caught off guard, you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced down at the material that clung to your body in all the right places. You smoothed your hand over the fabric, feeling both flattered and shy under the woman’s praise.

Spencer, noticing your blush, smirked proudly from across the table. His hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch grounded you, reminding you that he was there, always your biggest supporter.

"I–um," you stammered, your voice soft as you tried to find the words. "I made it."

The woman’s face lit up with genuine astonishment. "You made it?" she repeated, her tone filled with awe. "That’s incredible. You have such talent."

Spencer’s smirk deepened into a full-blown grin as he interjected, his voice laced with pride. "She’s amazing, isn’t she? I keep telling her she could make a career out of this, but she’s too modest to listen."

"Spencer," you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes at him as your blush deepened.

The woman smiled warmly at the exchange, clearly charmed by the both of you. "Well, if you ever decide to give your talents to the world, give me a call." With a quick admiring glance at your dress one last time, she handed you a business card before turning to rejoin her party, leaving you and Spencer alone once again.

You stared at the card in your hand, the golden lettering catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights. Your heart nearly stopped as you read the name printed at the top—Aubrey Wilkes.

Your favorite designer.

The logo you’d admired countless times on magazine covers and in shop windows felt surreal in your grasp. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the opportunity this might represent sinking in.

Spencer noticed the stunned look on your face and tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone soft yet concerned.

You slowly turned the card toward him, your hand trembling slightly. "It’s… her," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer leaned closer, his eyes scanning the card before widening in recognition. His lips curled into a delighted smile, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Aubrey Wilkes?" he exclaimed, excitement evident in his tone. "Y/N, do you know what this means?"

"I…" you began, but words failed you. It felt too big, too unexpected to process.

"It means you’re amazing," Spencer continued, his voice steady as he reached across the table to take your free hand. "And now someone else sees it too."

You looked back at Spencer, who was still holding your hand, his thumb now tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "I told you people would notice," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "You’re incredible, and you should let the world see it."

Your eyes softened as you gazed at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered.

"Always," he replied, his expression filled with a quiet devotion that made your heart flutter.

The moment lingered between you, the restaurant and its patrons fading into the background as the two of you shared a look that said more than words ever could.

—

April 2007

"Spencer, I’m not going," you sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your chest as you leaned back in your chair. His persistence, while well-meaning, was starting to wear on you.

"Y/N," he began, his tone both patient and pleading, "this isn’t just some casual opportunity. This is Aubrey Wilkes. She gave you her card. She wants to see what you can do. Do you even know how rare that is?"

You folded your arms across your chest, avoiding his gaze. "I know exactly how rare it is, Spencer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to New York."

Spencer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if physically holding himself back from pressing harder. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration but also genuine concern. "Is it fear? Because I know you, Y/N. You can do this. You’re more than talented enough."

"It’s not fear," you shot back, though your voice faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared at the floor, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair. "It’s… it’s everything else. I have a life here. I have a job. I have you."

Spencer’s heart clenched at your words. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. "I know, and I love our life together," he said earnestly. "But I don’t want you to look back in ten years and wonder ‘what if.’ I don’t want you to resent me for holding you back from something you were meant to do."

You flinched at his words, your head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think I’d ever resent you? Spencer, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the one who’s always supported me, encouraged me to believe in myself when no one else did."

"And I’m still doing that," he countered gently. "That’s why I’m pushing this. I can’t stand the thought of you letting this slip away because you’re scared to leave me behind."

"It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t want to lose us. What if I go, and everything falls apart?"

Spencer reached for your hands, cradling them between his. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your knuckles as he looked at you with all the tenderness in the world. "You won’t lose me, Y/N," he promised, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I’ll be here, cheering you on, no matter where you are. I’d rather see you chasing your dreams, even if it’s from a distance, than staying here and giving up on them for me."

Your tears spilled over, and you shook your head, torn between love for him and the fear of what leaving might mean. "I just don’t know, Spencer," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

"I do," he said softly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "I know how much you’re capable of, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. And I love you too much to let that happen."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling between you like an immovable wall. You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill again. “I’m just—I’m not going. Leave it alone,” you said firmly, your voice quieter than you intended but laced with finality.

Spencer hesitated, his hand still outstretched as if reaching for you might close the growing distance between you. “Y/N,” he murmured softly, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Can we be done with this, please?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but resolute. You didn’t want to cry again, didn’t want to feel like you were fighting with the one person who always understood you.

Spencer stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue further. But then he closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The word hung between you, filled with unspoken emotions—disappointment, worry, and love all tangled together. Spencer looked down at the table, fiddling with his napkin as if it held answers he couldn’t find in your eyes.

You turned your gaze away, your chest tightening as silence settled over the room. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came with comfort—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of you was saying.

And though you had put an end to the conversation, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a crack in something you weren’t sure how to fix.

—

August 2007

"Who was that?" Spencer asked as you walked back inside from the patio, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. He had noticed the look on your face as you ended the call—something between apprehension and surprise.

You glanced down at your phone, the screen still lit with the call log. "Aubrey," you said hesitantly, tucking the device into your pocket.

Spencer tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Aubrey Wilkes?"

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone cautious as you avoided his gaze. "She… uh, she got my number. I don’t know how, but she did." You let out a nervous laugh, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

Spencer’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and concern. "And?" he prompted, sensing there was more to the story.

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "She asked me to consider coming. Said there’s a spot opening next year—her number two is supposed to leave for another job in Milan."

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching your face as he processed the news. "That’s… huge," he said slowly, his voice laced with both excitement and hesitation.

"I know," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s… it’s everything I dreamed about. She said she’d hold the spot for me if I wanted it."

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze softening as he tried to read the emotions flickering across your face. "What did you say?"

"I didn’t say anything," you admitted, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "I told her I needed time to think about it."

He nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a moment to respond. "And… are you thinking about it?"

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don’t know," you said quietly. "I told you I wasn’t going. But now… it’s like she’s dangling everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me, and I don’t know if I can ignore it anymore."

Spencer’s heart ached at your words, but he forced a gentle smile as he said, “You shouldn’t ignore it.”

You sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a storm cloud. "It’s just too much to think about right now," you murmured, walking over to where he sat. Without hesitation, you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm wrapped protectively around you. The warmth of his embrace was like a balm, soothing the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

"Will you read to me?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Of course, my love,” he replied without hesitation, his tone tender. He reached for the book he had been reading earlier, adjusting slightly so you could be more comfortable.

As his calm, steady voice filled the room, weaving through the story’s narrative, you felt your nerves begin to settle. The cadence of his words acted like a lullaby, each one wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Spencer kept reading, even when he noticed your body growing heavier against his, your breathing slowing to a steady rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.

He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you. You were wearing a sweater you had designed and crafted yourself, the intricate stitching a testament to your talent and creativity. In your peaceful state, with your lips slightly parted and your lashes resting against your cheeks, you looked serene.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched you, a flood of emotions washing over him. He felt an overwhelming admiration for you—for your strength, your brilliance, your passion. But beneath that admiration was a deep-seated fear.

He didn’t want you to give up this massive opportunity, the one you had dreamed of for so long, the one that could change your life. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he was the reason you were hesitating.

The thought that he might be holding you back, even unintentionally, was almost unbearable. He wanted to be the one who supported you, who cheered you on, who encouraged you to take risks and chase your dreams. But as he held you in his arms, he wondered if his love for you was making it harder for you to leave.

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered into the quiet room, “I just want you to be happy.”

He knew that when the time came, he would have to push you, no matter how much it hurt. Because loving you meant wanting the best for you—even if it meant letting you go.

—

March 2008

You and Spencer were strolling through the mall, casually browsing the stores as you searched for the perfect gift for your grandmother’s upcoming birthday. The two of you laughed together as you passed by store windows, debating what she might like—a scarf, a brooch, maybe a fancy tea set.

But then your steps slowed, your attention caught by something glinting behind a clear glass case. It was almost subconscious, your feet carrying you toward it before you even realized what had drawn you in.

"Rings?" Spencer asked, his voice soft and amused as he came to stand beside you. His eyes flicked to the sparkling display before landing on your face, a tender smile curling on his lips.

"Do you ever think about getting married?" you asked suddenly, your gaze still fixed on the rings, their polished surfaces reflecting the light.

The question caught Spencer off guard. He blinked, his smile faltering for just a second before it returned, gentler this time. "Of course," he said softly, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable. "Do… do you?"

You finally tore your eyes away from the display, turning to face him with a grin. Your heart swelled at the look on his face—so earnest, so full of quiet hope.

"Yes," you admitted, your smile widening as you decided to tease him just a little. "Preferably to a tall, nerdy doctor. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers."

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his lips pulling into a bashful smile as he looked down at you. "I think you might be in luck," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful humor.

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head and feigning surprise.

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes glimmering with affection. "I hear there’s one who’s absolutely crazy about you."

Your laughter bubbled up, filling the air between you as you leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both stood there, the sparkling rings forgotten as you focused entirely on each other.

In that moment, with his arm around you and the warmth of his love so evident, you couldn’t help but imagine a future where one of those rings might be yours—and that future felt a lot closer than you’d ever thought possible.

—

May 2008

“Aubrey,” you sighed into the phone, keeping your voice low as you closed the bedroom door behind you. Spencer had finally fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning, his fever making rest nearly impossible. The last thing you wanted was to wake him now. “I told you I can’t.”

Unbeknownst to you, the sound of the door clicking shut had stirred Spencer. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he realized you weren’t lying beside him anymore. He sat up slightly, his head still heavy with fatigue, and strained to hear your voice coming from somewhere outside the room.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the moment he heard Aubrey’s name fall from your lips, his chest tightened, and his focus sharpened.

“No… no… it’s not that…” Your voice wavered, and Spencer could picture you chewing your thumb nervously—something you always did when you were stressed. “I can’t leave. My whole life is in Virginia… well, no… he told me to go… yes, I know—”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his heart clenching at your words.

“I love him, I love my life with him,” you continued, and Spencer felt his chest ache in equal parts relief and guilt. “Obviously… I’m sure it would work, but—” You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “My answer is still no. I’m sorry.”

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed what he’d just heard. He could feel the weight of your words pressing against his chest, a reminder of the sacrifice you were making. He knew he was the reason you were staying. You were giving up your dream for him, and as much as he loved you for it, he couldn’t let it happen.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Spencer quickly laid back down, shutting his eyes tight like a child pretending to sleep past their bedtime. He tried to even out his breathing, though his heart raced beneath the covers.

You slipped back into the bedroom quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow as you moved toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, you nestled into his side, resting your head on his chest. Your lips pressed a tender kiss over his heart, and you whispered, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer’s chest swelled at your words, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as he fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him.

As your breathing steadied and you drifted off to sleep, Spencer lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the echo of your words—“I love him… he told me to go.”

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his mind was filled with plans. He had to get you to New York. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him, he had to make sure you followed your dreams—even if it meant losing you in the process.

—

December 2008 – Present

"Reid, are you paying attention?" Hotch’s firm yet concerned tone cut through the fog in Spencer’s mind, snapping him out of his reverie.

Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting Hotch’s piercing gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, his voice steady though his heart wasn’t.

"Good. Let’s keep it that way," Hotch grumbled, clearly not in the mood for distractions.

The team was seated around the conference table in the BAU’s jet, discussing the details of their latest case. They were headed to New York, where several women had been drugged and abducted from exclusive nightclubs in the Upper East Side. The unsub’s profile was slowly taking shape, but for Spencer, focusing on the details was harder than usual.

Even hearing the name New York was like a dagger twisting in his side. It brought with it a flood of memories he had tried and failed to suppress—memories of you.

He could picture the night you had finally told Aubrey no, the way your voice trembled with conviction when you said you were staying in Virginia. And yet, here he was, sitting on a jet bound for the very city where you were supposed to be building your dream.

Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. This is my job. Focus on the case. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to look at the crime scene photos spread across the table.

But as the jet began its descent into the city, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the window. The glittering skyline of New York City came into view, and his chest tightened. He wondered, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like now. Would you be walking those streets right now, thriving in a world that had always been meant for you?

"Reid, thoughts?" JJ’s voice broke through his spiral, and Spencer quickly blinked, realizing the team was looking at him expectantly.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "The unsub likely uses a combination of charm and familiarity to gain the victims’ trust. Based on the timeline, he’s calculated and methodical, which suggests he’s not working impulsively. He might be using the same clubs regularly to scope out his targets."

JJ nodded, taking notes as Morgan chimed in with his own observations. Hotch seemed satisfied that Spencer was back on track, but Spencer could still feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.

As the jet landed and the team prepared to disembark, Spencer grabbed his bag and fell into step behind the others. He reminded himself that the job came first, that the women out there needed them to be focused and sharp.

But as they exited the airport and the cold New York air hit his face, Spencer couldn’t help but feel the ghost of what could have been following close behind.

As the team settled into the precinct, the familiar buzz of activity filled the air—phones ringing, officers shuffling papers, and the hum of conversation about the case. Spencer sat at a desk, his eyes scanning over a map as he worked on the geographical profile. On the surface, he looked focused, but internally, he was at war with himself.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The sharp lines on the map blurred as his thoughts drifted.

Which building do you live in? The question looped through his mind like a broken record. He knew you had moved to the Upper East Side with Aubrey when you first came to New York. But that had been months ago—almost a year, actually. Maybe you didn’t live with her anymore. Maybe you had your own place now.

And then, more troubling thoughts crept in. Are you being safe? His chest tightened at the idea of you walking these streets, the same streets where women were being drugged and taken.

Spencer’s eyes darted back to the photos of the nightclubs spread across the desk. He knew it was unlikely you frequented places like these. You’d never been one for the nightlife, always shying away from loud music and crowded spaces. He remembered how you used to fidget at gatherings, instinctively seeking out quieter corners where you could breathe.

But the thought of you even being near these places, of someone seeing you, targeting you—it made his stomach churn.

God, I hope you’re safe, Spencer thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake the image of you from his mind.

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

Spencer blinked, his hands tightening around the edges of the map. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calmer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to piece together the unsub’s movements.”

Morgan studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Alright, well, let me know if you need a second pair of eyes.”

Spencer nodded, returning his gaze to the map. But even as he tried to refocus, his mind kept drifting back to you. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t even been able to convince himself to reach out.

And yet, here he was, in your city, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you were thinking about him too.

After spending the day checking out the crime scenes and canvasing the surrounding areas, the team returned to the precinct to deliver their initial profile to the local police. Spencer sat near the back of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to keep his focus on the case.

Emily stood at the front, presenting the profile with her usual confidence. "We believe the unsub is targeting wealthy women," she explained, her tone even but firm. "Women who appear successful and independent—CEO’s, CFO’s, designers, singers, dancers, actors, chefs, etcetera. He sees them as trophies, not just victims. He uses their wealth and status to justify robbing them, taking their IDs, and eventually breaking into their homes after he’s done with them. This is about control and power, and his choice of victims reflects that."

Spencer’s stomach churned as he listened, each word cutting deeper into his already frayed nerves. His mind was no longer on the women they were profiling; it was back on you.

Every victim they described could have been you. Successful, talented, determined—everything about you fit the profile. You had climbed to the top of your field, a name that carried weight and admiration. You were exactly the kind of woman this unsub sought to dominate, to tear down.

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the board where photos of the victims were pinned. Each face reminded him of you in some way—the confident smiles, the elegant postures, the undeniable strength that radiated from their pictures.

He tried to push the thoughts away, to remind himself that you were likely far from this mess, probably tucked away in a luxurious apartment or a designer studio, far removed from the chaos he was immersed in.

But the fear gnawed at him anyway. What if you weren’t safe? What if you were walking these streets late at night, lost in thought or distracted, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby?

Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the moment, but Spencer barely registered what was being said. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts and the eerie similarities between you and the women they were trying to protect.

The briefing ended, and the room began to clear out, officers heading back to their tasks. Spencer stayed seated, staring blankly at the photos on the board. His chest felt tight, his mind racing with all the possibilities he didn’t want to consider.

"Reid?" JJ’s voice broke through the haze, her expression soft as she approached him. "What’s up with you? Is something wrong?”

He blinked, forcing himself to shake his head. "No," he lied, his voice flat. "Everything is fine."

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close. Every instinct in him screamed to find you, to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that this case wasn’t just about catching an unsub—it was about protecting you from a danger he couldn’t control.

—

You were getting ready with Aubrey and the rest of your group, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement. It was Blake’s 27th birthday, and they had chosen to celebrate with a night out at the clubs.

The leopard-print dress you wore hugged your frame perfectly, its bold design a gift from Aubrey herself. As you zipped up your deep burgundy leather boots, the rich color catching the light, you couldn’t help but glance at your reflection. The outfit was striking—you felt sexy and confident.

“Shots!” Kurt’s voice boomed from the living room, drawing laughter and cheers from the group. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as you finished adjusting your boots.

“You ready to go, superstar?” Aubrey teased, leaning in the doorway with a knowing smile. She looked impeccable, as always, her outfit radiating confidence and style.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, standing and smoothing out your dress.

“Good,” Aubrey said, linking her arm with yours. “Because tonight, we’re leaving all the stress and work drama behind. It’s Blake’s night, and you, my dear, are going to have fun.”

You laughed, letting her guide you toward the rest of the group. As the music played loudly in the background and someone handed you a shot glass, you tried to push away the unease creeping in. This wasn’t your scene, but for Blake—and with your friends by your side—you’d make the best of it.

What’s the harm of one night out on the town?

Aubrey, with her effortless charm and impressive connections, had managed to get your group into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. As you approached the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as you passed the long line of people waiting to get in.

The bouncer gave your group a once-over before glancing at his clipboard, where your names were already on the list. He nodded to the hostess, who gestured for you to follow her inside. You exchanged amused glances with Aubrey, her confident smirk making it clear she was in her element.

The energy of the club hit you immediately—a pulsing rhythm of music, vibrant lights reflecting off chandeliers and mirrored disco balls, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.

You were quickly led to a private VIP lounge area, tucked away yet with a perfect view of the dance floor. The sleek leather seating, soft glow of ambient lighting, and low table with a bottle of premium alcohol chilling on ice made it clear this was luxury at its finest.

As you settled in with the group, Aubrey leaned over with a grin. "Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all," you admitted, finally starting to feel the buzz of excitement that the rest of the group had radiated all night.

Kurt popped the cork on the bottle with a celebratory cheer, pouring out drinks as Blake laughed and raised their glass. "To the best birthday ever!" Blake called out, their joy infectious as everyone clinked their glasses together.

You took a sip, letting the fizzy warmth spread through you, and glanced out at the dance floor, watching the kaleidoscope of lights play over the crowd. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax, leaning into the moment. Tonight wasn’t about anything else—it was about celebrating Blake, being with friends, and maybe, just maybe, finding some joy in the chaos.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the excitement of the night wore on, that you noticed something was wrong. Analise hadn’t returned from the bathroom in a very long time. At first, you didn’t think much of it—maybe she’d gotten caught up chatting with someone or had taken a phone call. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, unease began to settle in.

You mentioned it to Aubrey, and soon, the rest of your group was involved, searching the crowded club for her. You checked every possible place she could be—the bathroom, the dance floor, the bar. You even tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as you decided to check with door security. Maybe she’d decided to leave early and hadn’t told anyone. But when you explained the situation, the response you got made your heart drop.

“She left about 40 minutes ago,” the bouncer informed you, his tone matter-of-fact. “She was with a man.”

Your blood ran cold. Analise was a married lesbian woman with children. There was no way she would leave with a man.

“That’s impossible,” you said, your voice shaking. “She wouldn’t… she would never do that.”

The bouncer frowned, his expression darkening as he realized the weight of your words. Aubrey, ever composed, stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “We need to check the security footage. Now.”

The staff moved quickly, pulling up the tapes as your group crowded around, watching with bated breath. And there it was—clear as day. Analise stumbling out of the bathroom, visibly dazed, as a man wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the exit. You could see her trying to resist, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, but she was no match for him.

Your stomach churned as the man led her out of the club. It was clear she’d been drugged and coerced.

“We’re calling the police,” one of the security staff said, already reaching for his radio.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. The authorities arrived swiftly, questioning the staff and reviewing the footage. Your group, shaken and worried sick, was told to wait outside. When the police finally addressed you, it was to inform you that they needed to take statements from everyone who had been with Analise that night.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of a police car, the flashing lights reflecting off the club’s exterior as it faded into the distance. Aubrey sat beside you, her normally composed demeanor fractured by worry. The rest of your group was being transported in other cars, but you all shared the same fear: What if it’s too late?

As the car sped toward the station, you stared out the window, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Analise’s face, her laugh, her stories about her wife and kids—it all played in your mind like a reel you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was your fault, that somehow you should have noticed sooner, should have done something.

Aubrey reached over, squeezing your hand tightly. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. All you could do now was hope the authorities could act quickly enough. Analise’s life could depend on it.

Your group was led into a quiet room, far from the noise and chaos of the precinct. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and the tension in the air was palpable as you waited, all of you exchanging worried glances. One by one, your friends were called out by law enforcement to give their accounts of the night’s events.

You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart sank when one of the officers mentioned that the Behavioral Analysis Unit was on the case. The BAU, you thought, your stomach twisting into knots. That could only mean one thing—Spencer.

Your mind raced. Please, let him be out in the field. Let him be anywhere but here, you silently begged. The idea of seeing him again, especially under these circumstances, felt overwhelming.

But then a petite, pretty blonde woman entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to your spiraling nerves. She scanned the list in her hands before looking up and saying your name with a polite smile.

You hesitated but stood up, smoothing your dress as you followed her down the hallway. She led you to a small interrogation room, where the walls seemed to close in just a little too tightly.

“Have a seat,” the woman said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. She handed you a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, clutching the cup between your hands as if it were a lifeline.

The woman gave you a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warm and steady. “My name is Jennifer Jareau,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “I’m an agent with the BAU, and I just have a few questions for you. You’re not in any trouble; we’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

JJ leaned forward slightly, her posture open and non-threatening. “I know tonight was difficult, but anything you can tell us might help us find your friend and bring her home safely.”

You took a deep breath, letting her words settle over you. As much as you were afraid of what this moment represented, you knew you had to focus on Analise. You began recounting the evening, walking her through everything you could remember—how Analise had gone to the bathroom, how long she’d been gone, and how your group had discovered she had left the club with a man.

JJ listened intently, taking notes but never breaking eye contact. Her steady presence made it easier to keep talking, even as your voice faltered at times.

When you finished, she nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve been really helpful. Thank you for being so detailed—it makes a big difference.”

You offered a small, shaky smile. “I just want her to be okay.”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” JJ said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.

You nodded again, but as she stood to leave, a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Spencer really is here? What if he walks through that door next? You weren’t sure you were ready for that moment. Not now. Not like this.

—

When the call came in about a new abduction, Spencer held his breath, his stomach tightening as a familiar sense of dread crept in. For a brief, harrowing moment, he waited to hear your name. But it wasn’t.

“Analise Bordeaux,” Penelope said over the phone, her tone efficient but tinged with urgency. “She’s a top-rated journalist for the New York Times. Married, with two kids. Her wife also reported her missing earlier tonight after she didn’t return home at a previously agreed time.”

Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but the relief was fleeting. Another brilliant, accomplished woman was in danger, and the unsub’s pattern was becoming even clearer.

“Morgan, Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the tense moment, bringing everyone back to focus. “I want the two of you to head to the club. Talk to the staff, review the footage, and see if anyone remembers anything unusual.”

“Got it,” Morgan replied, already grabbing his jacket.

Spencer nodded, silently falling into step with his partner. The ride to the club was quiet, the weight of the case settling heavily between them. Spencer’s mind wandered, as it often did in moments like this, and despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to you. Were you okay? Were you being safe in this massive, chaotic city? The idea of something happening to you gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake.

When they arrived at the club, the music still pulsed faintly in the background as staff cleaned up after the night’s events. The bouncer and several employees were waiting for them, and Derek immediately took the lead, flashing his badge and asking for access to the security footage.

Spencer scanned the room as they worked, his sharp eyes noting every detail. The club was upscale, the kind of place that catered to high-profile clients, which fit the unsub’s victimology perfectly. He and Derek pored over the footage, watching as Analise stumbled out of the bathroom, her movements sluggish and disoriented. The man who had escorted her out didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, but Spencer’s mind was already analyzing every subtle detail—the way he scanned the room, the calculated calmness in his movements.

“This guy fits in with the crowd,” Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

Spencer nodded. “He knows exactly how to stay under the radar. He’s blending in, using the chaos of the club to his advantage.”

After questioning staff and gathering everything they could from the scene, the two men left the club and headed back to the precinct. The weight of what they’d seen hung heavily in the air between them, but Spencer was unusually quiet.

“You good, pretty boy?” Derek finally asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Spencer lied, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… thinking.”

Derek didn’t push, but Spencer could feel his partner’s eyes on him.

When Derek and Spencer arrived back at the precinct, they headed straight to the makeshift conference area where the rest of the team was gathered. The atmosphere was tense but focused, with everyone comparing notes and piecing together the puzzle of Analise’s abduction.

JJ was finishing up her report on the interviews she had conducted with Analise’s friends. She held a notepad in her hand, skimming through her findings as she updated the team.

“We have a list of people Analise spent the evening with,” JJ said, holding up the notepad. “Her coworkers and a few close friends all confirmed she wasn’t acting like herself before she went to the bathroom. Said she was dazed, disoriented in the footage—classic signs of being drugged. One of them even mentioned they tried calling her, but her phone’s off now.”

As JJ spoke, Spencer’s gaze landed on the notepad in her hand. Something about it nagged at him—a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing to the list of names.

JJ didn’t hesitate, handing the notepad over with a slight frown of curiosity. “Sure,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the list quickly, his brain processing each name at lightning speed. And then he saw it.

Your name.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the notepad tightened as if he needed to steady himself.

You’re here.

“What is it, Reid?” JJ asked, her voice breaking through the sudden rush of emotions.

Spencer forced himself to look up, his expression carefully neutral. “Um,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I just… wanted to see if anyone stood out.”

He handed the notepad back to JJ, his hand trembling slightly. He hoped she didn’t notice, but Morgan, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes at him.

Spencer’s mind raced. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t spoken to you since the night he let you go. And now, here you were, tangled up in a case involving dangerous predators and a missing woman. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest.

“You recognize anyone?” JJ asked, her tone casual as she flipped back through the list.

“No,” Spencer lied once more, his voice steadier this time.

But inside, he felt like he was falling apart. Because no matter how much he tried to focus on the case, on the unsub, on finding Analise, one thought overpowered everything else: You were here.

“What do you think, Hotch?” Rossi started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Should we let them go?” He gestured vaguely, referring to your group still waiting in the designated room.

“No,” Spencer said quickly, speaking up out of turn. His voice was firmer than he’d intended, and everyone turned to look at him with raised brows.

“They’re safer here,” Spencer continued, his tone more measured now. “The unsub might have seen them. If they were with Analise all night, they could’ve been noticed, even targeted.”

“Reid’s right,” Hotch said, nodding as he turned back to Rossi. “We’ll keep them here until we have more information. JJ, did any of them mention recognizing the unsub from the footage? Or if Analise recently changed anything in her routine that might have drawn attention?”

JJ gently took her notepad back from Spencer, giving him another curious glance before flipping through her notes. “Uh… yes,” she said, stopping on a specific page. “One of them—Y/N Y/L—mentioned that Analise had just gotten a promotion at work. They went out to celebrate at a new restaurant last Thursday.”

Spencer stiffened at the mention of your name, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.

“Alright,” Hotch said decisively. “Let’s bring Y/N back into the interrogation room. She might have seen this man at the restaurant and didn’t realize it.”

“I’ll go get her,” JJ offered, already rising from her seat and heading toward the door.

“I’ll come too,” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.

Everyone turned to look at him again, surprise flashing across their faces.

“May—maybe a second set of ears,” Spencer stammered, quickly trying to justify his outburst. “Um, a new perspective might help.”

Hotch studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Spencer’s motives. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. Go with her.”

JJ gave Spencer a questioning look but said nothing, motioning for him to follow her. As they walked down the hallway toward the room where you and your friends were waiting, Spencer felt his chest tighten with every step.

He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. And now, he was seconds away from coming face-to-face with the person he’d never stopped thinking about.

—

You were just starting to lose your patience, shifting in your seat and glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, when the door opened again. The same woman from before, Jennifer, stepped inside with her calm and professional demeanor.

“Y/N?” she said with a polite smile. “Can we see you again?”

Your friends exchanged questioning glances, murmuring words of encouragement as you stood. “Good luck,” one of them whispered as you followed JJ out of the room and down the hallway.

You tried to steady yourself, reminding yourself this was all routine. Just more questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as you stepped into the cold interrogation room again, the air felt different—charged, heavy.

And then you saw him.

Sitting in the chair across from the table, Spencer.

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room that had felt icy before now felt like it was a thousand degrees hotter. You froze for a moment, your mind racing to make sense of the sight in front of you. He looked the same, yet different. His hair was slightly longer, his face a little more tired, but those eyes—the same deep, thoughtful eyes you’d once adored—were unmistakable.

Spencer’s head snapped up as you entered, and for a second, he looked just as startled as you felt. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” JJ said gently, breaking the heavy silence. She gestured toward the chair across from Spencer. “Have a seat.”

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move as you crossed the room and sat down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, shock, or something else entirely.

Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, your throat dry as you nodded again. “Hello, agent,” you replied, equally quiet.

JJ glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, but she quickly masked it. “Y/N, we just have a few follow-up questions,” she said, sitting down beside Spencer and pulling out her notepad.

But it didn’t matter what she said. The only thing you could focus on was Spencer, sitting right there in front of you, as if the years between you had suddenly disappeared.

The questions started simply enough—where had you and your group gone to dinner? How many people were there? Did anyone stand out or seem to take special interest in you?

“There was one person,” you said after a moment of thought, tilting your head slightly as you tried to recall the details. “He was a busboy, I believe. But he kept coming by our table to check on us.”

Spencer, who had been taking notes alongside JJ, immediately perked up at that. “He wasn’t your server?” he asked, his voice calm but focused.

You shook your head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “No, our server was a woman. She was very attentive, but this guy—he kept showing up. At first, we thought he was just really good at his job, but it started to feel… I don’t know, a little strange.”

JJ leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. “Strange how? Did he say anything to you, or was it more about his behavior?”

“It was mostly his behavior,” you replied, frowning as you tried to piece together the memory. “He’d clear away plates that didn’t really need to be cleared yet, or refill water glasses that were barely half-empty. And every time he came by, he’d linger for just a second too long. It was subtle, but… noticeable.”

Spencer exchanged a quick glance with JJ before asking, “Can you describe him? Anything about his appearance that stood out?”

You nodded, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focused on the image in your mind. “He was average height, maybe a little shorter than you,” you glanced at Spencer. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. He had this kind of… intense way of looking at people, like he was trying to figure them out.”

Spencer scribbled furiously in his notebook, his pen moving so fast it almost blurred. “Do you remember if he wore anything unusual? Jewelry, a watch, anything like that?”

You paused, biting your lip as you thought. “I… I think he had a tattoo on his wrist,” you said finally. “It was hard to see because of the uniform, but when he reached over to clear a plate, I noticed it. It looked like… a triangle, or something geometric.”

“That’s good,” JJ said with a nod, giving you an encouraging smile. “That’s really helpful, Y/N.”

But your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was still scribbling notes with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unsaid passed between you.

“Anything else you remember, no matter how small?” he asked softly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something deeper—something that felt almost personal.

You shook your head slightly. “No, I think that’s it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…” You trailed off, a shiver running down your spine at the realization of how close your group may have been to danger.

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable as he set his pen down. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

JJ stood, glancing at her notes before giving you another reassuring smile. “We’ll follow up with the restaurant and see if anyone knows him. You’ve been really helpful, Y/N.”

You nodded, rising from your chair, but your eyes lingered on Spencer for just a moment longer before you turned to leave the room. And as you walked back to your friends, you couldn’t help but feel like this encounter had stirred up more than just memories of the night—it had brought something long-buried between you and Spencer back to the surface.

Before you could reach the room where your friends were waiting, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. The unexpected touch made you stop, turning instinctively.

There he was—Spencer, standing just behind you, his face filled with an urgency that took your breath away. He looked like he was holding back a storm, his words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.

“Can I see you before I leave?” he asked, his voice low but rushed, as if afraid you might say no.

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind scrambling to process the request. And before you even realized it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips almost automatically.

Relief flashed across Spencer’s face, but he didn’t linger. He simply gave you a small, grateful nod before turning back toward the team. You stood there for a second, trying to collect yourself, before heading back into the room with your friends.

As soon as you sat down next to Aubrey, she leaned in, her sharp eyes scanning your face. “Was that Spencer?” she asked in a hushed whisper, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.

You nodded again, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“Are you okay?” Aubrey pressed, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

This time, you shook your head. The motion was small, but it felt monumental, like admitting the weight of everything that had just happened. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, the sharp pressure a weak attempt to distract yourself from the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Aubrey frowned, her expression softening as she studied you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head again, swallowing hard as you tried to push the overwhelming feelings down. “Not yet,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aubrey nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But I’m here when you’re ready.”

You gave her a faint smile, grateful for her understanding. But as you sat there, surrounded by your friends and the low hum of their conversations, your mind was elsewhere—focused on Spencer, and the inevitable conversation that now loomed on the horizon.

—

Luckily, your information turned out to be exactly what the team needed. With Penelope’s tech skills and the restaurant staff’s confirmation, they were able to identify the unsub and locate Analise.

The relief was almost overwhelming when the news came in: Analise was found unharmed, aside from the lingering effects of the drugs and the red marks on her wrists where she’d been bound. The man hadn’t had the chance to carry out his full plan—robbing her or doing worse—thanks to the swift intervention of the police and FBI.

By the time everything was resolved, the authorities had cleared you and your friends to leave that same night. The long hours of tension melted away as you gathered your things, and your group began heading toward the precinct exit.

You stuck close to Aubrey, practically glued to her side as you wrapped an arm around her waist. Her presence grounded you, the warmth and familiarity of her reassuring after everything you’d been through.

“Finally,” Aubrey murmured as the two of you reached the doors, her tone light but laced with exhaustion.

You nodded, tightening your hold on her as you pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air. But as you stepped outside, your eyes darted around instinctively, searching for a glimpse of Spencer.

And there he was, standing just a short distance away, speaking with Morgan and Hotch. His back was to you, but even from where you stood, you could feel the weight of the moment.

You immediately turned your head, your arm tightening around Aubrey as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk Spencer catching sight of you—or worse, calling out to you.

Aubrey glanced down at you as the two of you walked quickly toward the car. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite her own obvious fatigue.

“Yeah,” you whispered, though your grip on her waist betrayed your nerves.

As you slid into the car, your heart still raced. The thought of seeing Spencer again—even after everything—left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a tiny, nagging part of you that wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let yourself stop.

But for now, you were content to let an officer drive you home, the city lights blurring outside the window as you leaned against the seat, trying to process the night’s events—and the man who still had the power to shake you to your core.

The incessant ringing of your phone jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the fog of your restless sleep. You groaned, squinting against the morning light as you reached for your phone on the nightstand.

Your heart skipped a beat when you glanced at the screen. No name was displayed, just a number. But it was a number you could never forget, no matter how hard you’d tried.

You had deleted Spencer’s contact months ago, telling yourself it was for the best, a necessary step in moving on. But his number was burned into your memory, a string of digits that you could recite as easily as your own name.

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the answer button. The ringtone seemed louder, more insistent, as if demanding a decision.

Your chest tightened, and a million thoughts ran through your mind. Why is he calling? What does he want? Can I even handle hearing his voice right now?

But before you could overthink it any further, your thumb moved almost of its own accord, pressing the button and bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you said softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your heart race, and then you heard it—a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, his tone cautious, almost tentative. “I… I’m sorry to call so early. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “What’s going on, Spencer?” you asked, your tone carefully neutral.

He hesitated, and you could practically hear him piecing his words together. “I just… I couldn’t leave New York without talking to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after last night. Not after seeing you again.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“I know this isn’t fair,” Spencer continued, his words tumbling out now, “but… can we talk? Just the two of us? Please?”

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the headboard as you exhaled slowly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if you were ready to reopen wounds you’d worked so hard to heal. But the sound of his voice, the raw emotion in it, made it impossible to say no.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “When?”

“Now?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope and hesitation. “I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere—whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, your mind still racing. “There’s a café a couple of blocks from me,” you said finally, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I’ll see you soon.”

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand. Part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the part that had never really let Spencer go—knew this was a conversation that was long overdue.

—

November 2004

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice spoke from behind you, polite but a little unsure.

You turned around, confused, to find a lanky man with slicked-back hair and glasses standing there, looking at you expectantly. He wore an awkward smile, his hands fidgeting slightly as he shifted on his feet.

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to place him.

“If it’s no bother, we would really appreciate the check. We were just called into work,” he explained sheepishly, gesturing to a man sitting at the table behind him, who was watching the interaction with an amused grin.

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Um,” you started, your tone hesitant, “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”

The man sitting across from him burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Nice going, Reid.”

The one who had spoken—Reid, apparently—turned bright red, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I just—your outfit—it looks just like the uniforms the waitstaff are wearing!”

You frowned, glancing down at your clothes—a crisp white blouse tucked into sleek black slacks. Then it clicked, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Oh, wow,” you said, grinning at him. “That’s… actually kind of funny. I designed the uniforms, so I guess I subconsciously dressed accordingly.”

Reid blinked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “You designed them?” he asked, his embarrassment giving way to genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, glancing around the restaurant. “I work for the owner—well, freelance. They hired me to design uniforms that were professional but stylish.”

“That’s… really impressive,” Reid said, his tone sincere as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re—um, they’re very nice. Clearly convincing,” he added, his cheeks still pink.

The man at his table laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she’s nice, kid. That could’ve gone way worse.”

You smiled, brushing off the comment. “No harm done,” you said, waving a hand. Then, looking back at Reid, you added, “Just maybe double-check next time before you assume.”

“Noted,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “And again, I’m really sorry.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head at the interaction. Little did you know, it was the beginning of something much bigger than a misunderstanding over a uniform.

—

December 2008 – Present

You sat at the small table in the café, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth with one hand while biting your thumb with the other. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine creating a soothing background. Still, your nerves were anything but calm.

You hadn’t seen Spencer yet, but you felt his presence looming, the anticipation making your chest feel tight. Your mind raced with a million thoughts—what he would say, what you should say, how this meeting would go after all the time that had passed.

“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice interrupted, laced with a soft, teasing tone. “You don’t happen to work here, do you?”

Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in surprise, only for the tension in your chest to loosen when you saw him. Spencer stood there, looking both nervous and amused, his hands tucked awkwardly into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly tousled from the cold, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the café lights.

You couldn’t help it—amusement took over as you remembered the very first time he had said those words to you. “Seriously?” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re going to lead with that?”

Spencer shrugged, his lips curving into a sheepish grin. “I figured it worked the first time,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes flickered to yours.

Your heart stuttered at the look he gave you, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in 2005, standing in that restaurant, completely oblivious to what the future held.

You shook your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Sit down, Reid,” you said, your tone light, though your voice still carried the weight of everything unsaid.

Spencer moved carefully, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile moment between you. He slid into the chair, his hands resting on the table, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve.

“You remembered,” you said after a beat, unable to stop yourself.

“Of course I did,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember everything about you.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”

And just like that, the conversation you’d both been avoiding for years finally began.

Spencer folded his hands on the table, his long fingers twitching slightly as though unsure of where to begin. He glanced down at the tablecloth before looking back up at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out right away.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve never been one to struggle for words,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His voice was soft, almost tentative.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—weighted with years of unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and all the things neither of you had said when you had the chance.

Spencer finally spoke, his voice low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the directness of them catching you off guard. You opened your mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for too long.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I thought I was giving you the chance to live the life you deserved, to follow your dreams without me holding you back. But all I did was hurt you. And…” He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. “I hurt myself too.”

You blinked, stunned by the raw honesty in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to dive in so quickly, to say the things you’d spent so long wondering if he even felt.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice wavering slightly, “you didn’t just hurt me. You made a decision for both of us without even asking how I felt. You thought you were protecting me, but you didn’t give me a choice.”

He flinched slightly at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I know I handled it all wrong. I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head, and every time, I wish I’d done it differently. I wish I’d just… trusted you.”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his words stirring something deep within you. “You think I didn’t want to go? That I didn’t think about what it could’ve meant for my career? I stayed because I loved you, Spencer. You were my dream. Not New York. Not Aubrey. You.”

Spencer’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “And I threw it away,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t throw it away. You made a choice. We both did. And we have to live with that.”

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it—that he would drop it and let you both walk away again.

But then he looked up, and his eyes were filled with something fierce, something determined. “I don’t want to live with it,” he said firmly. “Not anymore. Not if there’s even the smallest chance I can fix this—fix us.”

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung between you. You wanted to say something, to respond, but you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak.

So instead, you just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. And in that moment, Spencer Reid, the man who rarely hesitated to explain every detail, every fact, every statistic, did something unexpected.

He waited too.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope, for any clue as to how you might respond. You could see the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the desperation for you to believe him, to give him a chance.

“Spencer,” you began softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Fix us? There is no us anymore. You made that abundantly clear when you kicked me out of my home.”

Your words were sharp, cutting through the fragile hope that had been lingering in the air. Spencer flinched as if you’d physically struck him, his face falling with the weight of your statement. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words.

“I didn’t—” he started, but then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I thought—”

“You thought you knew what was best for me,” you interrupted, your tone more firm now as the hurt you’d buried for so long began to surface. “You didn’t even ask me how I felt. You made a decision for both of us and expected me to just accept it. And when I didn’t? When I tried to fight for us? You pushed me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Spencer said quickly, his voice cracking. “You still matter. I—I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You weren’t protecting me, Spencer. You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d resent you, so instead, you pushed me out of your life completely. And guess what? It hurt just as much—maybe even more.”

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was afraid. I was terrified. Not just of you resenting me, but of… of failing you. Of not being enough. I convinced myself that letting you go was the selfless thing to do, but all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

You looked at him, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. Part of you wanted to lash out, to make him feel a fraction of the pain you’d carried for so long. But another part of you—a part you didn’t want to admit existed—still ached for him, still felt the pull of the man you’d once loved so deeply.

“You can’t just come back now and expect to fix everything,” you said, your voice softer but no less firm. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading. “I know it’s not. But I had to try. I couldn’t leave New York without telling you how I feel, without letting you know that I’m sorry—for everything.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “And what happens after this, Spencer? What are you expecting? That I’ll just forget everything and we’ll go back to how things were?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking as he added, “I just needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes—it was all too much.

But so was the weight of everything that had happened, the scars that hadn’t fully healed.

“I never stopped loving you either,” you said finally, your voice trembling again. The admission felt heavy, like a weight you had been carrying for far too long, now released.

“Really?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to believe it.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Well, it’s only been half a year, Spencer. I thought I was going to marry you. That doesn’t just go away.”

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, it doesn’t.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the quiet of the café wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the raw, unspoken emotions lingering between you.

Then, Spencer shifted in his seat, his hands fumbling around in his bag as if he were searching for something. You watched him curiously, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally pulled out a small box.

“What is that?” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

Spencer held the box in his hand, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at you. “I bought this the day we went to the mall,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “When you asked me if I ever thought about marriage.” He paused, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box as if grounding himself. “When you went into the lingerie store, I went back and bought the ring you were staring at.”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing. “How did you know?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

“I’m a profiler,” he said with a small, almost shy smile. “I know—knew you so well. It wasn’t hard to see which one caught your eye.”

“It’s—the ring is in there right now?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Spencer nodded, his expression cautious but hopeful. “Do you want to see it?” he asked tentatively, his fingers tightening slightly around the box.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you nodded, unable to find the words to say anything else.

Spencer opened the box, turning it toward you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

The ring was simple yet elegant—exactly the kind of style you’d always admired. A delicate band of platinum, with a perfectly cut diamond set in the center, surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled as if they held their own light.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your eyes never leaving the ring.

Spencer’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he rushed out, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

“Yes,” you said again, louder this time, your gaze shifting from the ring to meet his wide, questioning eyes.

“Yes… what?” Spencer asked, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

You took a shaky breath, your emotions swelling and threatening to overflow. “I’ll marry you,” you said firmly, the words filling the space between you like a beacon.

Spencer froze, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. For a moment, he looked like he might cry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hand tightened around the small box.

“You will?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of awe and disbelief.

“Yes,” you said again, nodding for emphasis. “I love you, Spencer. I never stopped. And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like I don’t.”

Spencer’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his grip warm and steady despite his obvious emotion. “I—I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your voice soft but certain. “Just… ask me.”

Spencer blinked, his lips curving into the smallest, most genuine smile you’d seen in years. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slid out of his chair and knelt on one knee, still holding the box open.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes.”

Spencer slid the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking as he did so, and when he stood, you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, holding you tightly as you both laughed and cried, the weight of years of pain and longing finally lifting.

In that small café, with the world around you fading into the background, the two of you found your way back to each other—against all odds, against all fears. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005

358 notes · View notes

balletfilmss · 2 days ago

Text

TALK NERDY TO ME

✸ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you love to just stare at spencer as he info dumps

✸ warnings: none!

✸ a/n: this isn’t proof read at all by AYYYY look at me writing again on here 🙌 spencer reid is the new loml btw

You loved to listen to Spencer talk. And when I say love, I mean love.

He could ramble on about anything from the weather to the gravitational propulsion of the moon in comparison to the rest of the celestial bodies in our milkyway, and he could do any of it happily and until someone inevitably told him to just shut up.

That someone was never you though, and it never would be.

You didn’t quite know what it was, but there was just something about the way he spoke that was entrancing. His voice, his focus, the way he talked with his hands, and how his volume would gradually increase as he got more and more excited and remembered more details about what it was he was explaining.

If he moved around, your head moved with him, swiveling about to keep up, awe-struck eyes stuck on him the entire time.

Spencer could infodump about the drying times of different paint brands and you’d hand onto every last word he said, just because he was the one saying it.

It was safe to say that the team had gotten sick and tired of the two of you quickly.

Nobody else wanted to hear Spencer rattle on about useless, unrelated topics, and they certainly didn’t want to sit there and watch as you just prolonged the discussion by encouraging him to continue further just because you liked his voice.

And yet, it happens nearly every single jet ride without fail.

“I mean, really, it’s not all that uncommon for killers to write letters to their victims before killing them. In most cases, it’s seen as either a form of warning or of love. That’s why it never raises any red flags in most cases, because the victim is simply led to believe that they have a secret admirer of sorts. Oh! And a study done in the early 80s by Alexander Wilkins found that in over seventy percent of those cases, the unsub actually was in love with his victim or victims.”

Here Spencer was yammering on about false love-induced psychosis, and you were looking at him like he were professing his own undying love for you.

A hand propped up on the armrest of your chair held your chin, your big doe eyes watching him close and listening even closer.

You didn’t even know yet if it retained to the case whatsoever, it was just a possibility that Emily happened to throw out there in the initial case overview, and now you were all listening to the history of psycho killer lovers.

Spencer caught a glimpse of your wonder-filled gaze and smiled, continuing on with his explanation with a newfound encouragement.

“There’s no shot you’re actually interested in this,” Morgan grumbles to your left.

You seat a hand at him in a weak attempt to shush him, eyes still trained on Spencer.

He talked and talked for about ten more minutes before concluding the topic and being cut off by Hotch before he could cross into another one.

Taking the hint, he reclaimed his seat beside you, all rambled out for the moment.

When he does, you weave your hand through his, your hands resting together in his lap.

“I thought it was interesting, Spence,” You told him as a little boost of reassurance.

“You say that every time,” he smiled.

“And I mean it every time,” you countered with a smile of your own.

“Oh yeah?” He rose a brow. “Can you tell me a single thing I just said or were you just staring and not listening?”

After consistent it for a moment you realized that no, you couldn’t tell him a single thing he’d said, having been too distracted with your enraptured staring to actually pay attention.

So you just smiled wider at him, leaning a little closer as you both dissolve into a fit of childish giggles.

#୨୧ love letters #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!readr #x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff #cm x reader #criminal minds fandom

357 notes · View notes

latenightreadingpdf · 2 days ago

Text

Quiet Love - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: A quiet moment between you and Spencer.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The sound of the door unlocking catches your attention. You glance over just in time to see Spencer step inside, his shoulders slightly slumped, dark circles under his eyes. He sets his bag down gently, his tie already loosened, and lets out a quiet sigh.

You rise from the couch, padding over to meet him at the door. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm hug. He leans into you, his face brushing against your hair, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"How was work?" you ask, your voice soft as you rub small circles on his back.

"Tiring," he admits, his voice low and gravelly from hours of talking. "But... we caught him."

"That's good," you say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands still resting on his arms. “I was just watching this new sci-fi show that came out. Want to join me?”

His tired expression softens, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I'd like that."

You lead him to the couch, the soft glow of the TV filling the room. The moment you sit, Spencer gravitates toward you, and you end up squished together, your legs tangled as though neither of you can bear to have even an inch of space between you.

The show plays in the background, its plot weaving through your mind, but you’re far more focused on the way Spencer's weight presses against you. His body is warm, and you can feel him trying to resist the sleep that’s been eluding him for days.

It doesn’t take long before you feel his head gently fall against yours. His breathing slows, deep and even. You glance up and see his face, peaceful in a way that makes your heart swell. You can’t help but smile to yourself, overwhelmed with the quiet gratitude of this moment, of him being in your life.

Slowly, the warmth and rhythm of his breaths lull you into sleep, your head nestled against his shoulder, content in the quiet love you share.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ just a cute little blurb cause I'm rewatching criminal minds.

251 notes · View notes

hereforhalstead · 1 day ago

Text

happy thursday

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #mgg x reader #post prison spencer reid #post prison reid #prison spencer reid #prison reid

166 notes · View notes

xoxoch3rry · 2 days ago

Text

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥

@ xoxoch3rry do not steal or translate my work.

Word count: 1,005

────

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, torture, regular criminal minds stuff.

Summary: The case goes wrong and Spencer's there to save you.

────⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˖ ࣪⊹────

The case had seemed straightforward: infiltrate a suspected trafficking ring, gather intel, and leave without raising suspicion. You were one of the FBI's finest undercover agents, and this wasn’t your first high stakes assignment. But something about this one felt…off. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer Reid asked, leaning against your desk in the bullpen. His concern was evident, his hazel eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You smiled, trying to lighten the tension. “I’ll be fine, Spence. It’s just another day at work.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Be careful,” he said softly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

The plan unraveled faster than you could have imagined. Your cover was blown within hours, and before you knew it, you were blindfolded and thrown into the back of a van. The next few days were a blur of pain and terror. The room where they kept you was cold, damp, and reeked of mildew. Your captors weren’t interested in negotiations or even interrogations—they wanted to break you. Torture was their game, and they played it well. “You think your team will save you?” one of them sneered, leaning close. “They don’t even know where you are.” You bit back a retort, refusing to give them the satisfaction of your fear. But inside, doubt crept in. Did they know where you were? Were they even looking?

Back at the BAU, Spencer was unraveling. The team had realized something was wrong when your scheduled check-in never came. The unsub’s profile was already on the board, but without knowing your location, they were running out of time. “She’s strong,” Emily Prentiss said, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “She’ll hold on until we get to her.” Spencer nodded, but his heart was heavy. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think clearly. The thought of you in danger consumed him. It wasn’t just worry. It was something deeper, something he’d been too afraid to acknowledge. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you, he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

The pain was unbearable, but you clung to hope. Your team was the best, and if anyone could find you, it was them. Still, the days stretched on, each one darker than the last. One of your captors, a wiry man with a cruel smile, had taken a particular interest in you. “What’s it going to take, Agent?” he taunted during another grueling session. “How much more can you handle?” You didn’t answer, but the tears streaming down your face betrayed your resolve.

The breakthrough came on the fourth day. Garcia had hacked into a security feed from a remote warehouse in the middle of nowhere, and the footage showed a glimpse of you being dragged inside. “That’s it,” Spencer said, his voice sharp. “That’s where she is.” Hotch nodded. “We go in tonight.” Spencer insisted on going with the extraction team, despite Hotch’s initial hesitation. “I need to be there,” he argued. “For her.” Hotch finally relented. “Stay close, and don’t take unnecessary risks.”

The sound of the explosion was deafening, shaking the walls of your prison. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the building, and you barely had the strength to lift your head. You heard the unmistakable command: “FBI! Drop your weapons!” Hope flared in your chest, but your body was too weak to react. You slumped against the wall, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. “Where is she?” Spencer’s voice rang out, frantic and desperate. Footsteps pounded closer, and then, there he was. Spencer Reid stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with worry. “Spence,” you croaked, your voice barely audible. In an instant, he was at your side, his hands gently cradling your face. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe now.” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he untied your restraints. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, as if saying it would make it true.

At the hospital, the team hovered around your room, each offering words of encouragement. But Spencer never left your side. “You should rest,” you said weakly, your voice hoarse from days of screaming. “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied firmly, his hand clasping yours. You studied him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his jaw. “Spence, I’m okay.” “You’re not,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re not okay. And it’s my fault.” “What? No—” “I should have stopped you,” he interrupted. “I should have—” You squeezed his hand, cutting him off. “Spencer, listen to me. This wasn’t your fault. You saved me.” He looked away, his shoulders shaking. “I almost lost you,” he whispered. “But you didn’t,” you said firmly. “I’m here. Because of you.” He hesitated, then turned back to you, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I love you,” he confessed, the words tumbling out as if he’d been holding them back for years. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I was too afraid to say anything. But when I thought I might never see you again…” Your breath caught, and tears filled your eyes. “Spencer…” “I know this isn’t the right time,” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in anymore.” You reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. “It’s the perfect time,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Because I love you too.” The relief on his face was palpable, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile broke through the tension. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he promised, his forehead resting against yours.

And at that moment, despite everything you’d been through, you knew it was true. With Spencer by your side, you felt unbreakable.

127 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 11 hours ago

Note

MAE I'm sorry, I thought of another (no pressure at all of course). maybe hot cocoa - send a character + a prompt with Spencer Reid and reunion? Maybe Spencer wasn't supposed to be home in time for the holidays and surprises his love??? AH so cute ok sorry I'll retreat back into my cave now thanks love you byeeee

Never ever be sorry lovely!! Thanks for your request <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 465 words

You set your keys on the counter when you come in, your cheeks tingling pleasantly from the change of the cold wind to your warm home. You’re carrying a small bag of presents which you set down next to your keys before taking off your shoes. It takes you a few seconds to realize something isn’t the way you left it a few hours ago.

The Christmas tree is lit, its warm glow emanating from the living room and casting hazy shadows on the walls.

You don’t proceed with as much caution as a woman who’s expected to be alone in her home likely should. You know Spencer and most anyone from his team would crow at you for leaving your mace with your keys by the door; but really, what creature of malintent plugs in the Christmas tree? You find Spencer sleeping on the couch, shoes nowhere to be seen but still in his work clothes.

The smile that takes you is ginormous. He looks especially lovely. The gentle glow of the lights makes the curves of his face look soft and sweet, cherubic almost, but you’d be just as happy to see him if he were rough and grimy and frowning in his sleep.

“Spence,” you murmur, crouching beside him. You touch his shoulder gently. “Spencer.”

His eyes move under his eyelids before they open, settling blearily on you. “Hi.” His voice is rough but tilts up with pleasure. He blinks his way into the world. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, beaming. “What’re you doing here? What about the case?”

“We, uh…” Spencer sits up, rubbing his face. “We solved it. They haven’t caught the guy yet, but I’m never as helpful with that part as Morgan or JJ anyway. I wanted to be with you.”

Your cheeks are starting to hurt. You hug him fiercely. It’s awkward and half sideways, but full of more love than you can express. Spencer seems to get it.

“I know how much Christmas means to you,” he says, folding an arm around your back. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

Whatever he says, you know how much finishing out a case means to him, too. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got here,” you offer. “I’d have come home.”

“That’s okay, I didn’t want you to cut your celebration short.” Spencer’s pinkie sweeps in slow arcs between your shoulder blades. “We’re together now, right?”

You let him go to take his face in your hands, thumb denting softly into his cheek to make sure he’s really there. “Yeah,” you say, kissing him. “Thanks for coming home, Spence.”

“Thanks for having me,” he says, a bit awkwardly. His smile when you laugh is the brightest thing in the room.

138 notes · View notes

sc0ttstre3t · 2 days ago

Text

queen of disaster

ballerina!reader x glasses!spencer reid

summary: you are a principal dancer for the american ballet theatre. currently, you are playing juliet in the company's production of romeo & juliet. unbeknownst to you, a certain genius is sitting in the audience, in complete awe.

warnings: ballet inaccuracies? idk. barely proofread. just complete fluff.

After solving an especially difficult case, the team had been forced to allowed to take some time off. Spencer has mostly spent it reading in the confines of his apartment, but has finally decided to take a trip. New York, somewhere he's only been for cases, wouldn't usually seem appealing, but after he found out that a production of Romeo & Juliet was currently showing at one of the best ballet companies in the world, he booked a ticket.

The show has been going well, quick paced and entertaining, with strong dancers bounding across the stage every second. Spencer's eyes are moving back and forth, trying to take in every movement.

And then it all slows down.

You appear on stage, dressed in a white and gold dress, dancing across the stage. Your arms and legs strong, yet delicate and youthful, you are the perfect Juliet. For the first time in forever, Spencer's mind is blank. He has never felt this way before. He's been captured by you, and your movements, and the emotion on your face. As a man of reason, Spencer knows love at first sight isn't real. What he is experiencing is simply infatuation, a projection he placed upon you as soon as he saw you. But that can't be right. This, all of this is real. You're real, and in front of him, and Spencer couldn't be more confused.

After the show, Spencer finds his way to the lobby with the rest of the attendees, brain still hazy about what has just happened to him. It doesn't make sense. He only saw you for a few hours, playing someone entirely different than who you really were. He doesn't know your name, or who you really are as a person. How could he…

Oh.

There you are again.

Standing with other dancers, giggling and talking. Still in your costume, but much more relaxed. Just as angelic as you were on stage, if not more. Everything stills once again, you the only focus of his attention.

Spencer walks to you, his feet moving without his own realization. Wading through the crowd, before you finally end up face to face.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed for a moment, before you really see him.

Gosh.

You hesitate, before putting on your best smile when he doesn't speak. "Hi."

That seems to wake him up. "Oh, hi. Sorry to bother you, I'm Dr. Spencer…" He trails off. Seeing you close up seems to rattle him. He blinks. "Not doctor, you don't have to…just Spencer."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer." You fail to hide the amusement in your words. You take a second to observe him. He's undoubtedly gorgeous. Golden brown eyes, and perfectly parted hair, his round glasses perched on his nose. His outfit is unusual for his age, a sweater vest and dark brown dress pants, complete with a pair of purple converse. A weird mix of grandpa-esque and youthful. A perfect one. Suddenly, you're hyper aware of your slightly melted makeup and the sweat on your back. You look down at his fiddling fingers, tapping back and forth as if to level his nerves somehow. You apprehensively bring out a hand, quietly introducing yourself as you do.

Spencer intakes a tiny breath. "Oh, sorry, I don't really shake hands, it's um, it's a germ thing." He readjusts his glasses as he speaks, and you grin despite yourself, you can't help but find his awkward nervousness endearing.

"Oh, sorry. That's alright." Your voice breathy and light. You nod along with your words to reassure him.

He looks down for a second, attempting to hide the red creeping up his cheeks. "No need to be sorry, I just…I wanted to say that you were amazing up there. I mean, you definitely already know that considering that only a very small percentage of ballet dancers become professional, let alone at a prestigious company like the American Ballet Theatre, and you play Juliet, the female lead role, but um, i just-"

"Spencer." You cut him off, and he finally brings his eyes back to your lingering gaze.

"Yeah?" He looks completely out of place, nerves jumbled and chest heaving. Him being nervous almost calms you down--it's confirmation that you both feel the same way.

You softly smile up at him. "It's okay. Thank you for saying that, it um, it means a lot."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I mean it, you were…brilliant." He returns your smile. Thinks to himself that you must be the sun.

Now it's your turn to blush. You bite your inner cheek, resisting a bigger smile. For a second, you both just look at each other. Eyes wide, cheeks pink. Silent, but not uncomfortable.

"Listen, I um, I should go get changed." You speak quietly, as if saying one thing will wake you up from this fairytale of a dream.

"Oh." He visibly deflates. "It was…it was really nice to meet you."

"No! I mean, I can talk to you after, if you don't have anything else to do, I shouldn't assume…"

Spencer's grin reappears. "No, I don't have anything planned." He adjusts his glasses again, excitement rising with your words.

You nod, heart fluttering as you speak. "I'll meet you back out here?"

"Yeah, yeah I'll wait." He awkwardly waves as you walk away.

You tentatively look back, making sure he's still there, only to see that dopey grin still plastered on his face.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #fluff #fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

88 notes · View notes

venusbyline · 2 days ago

Text

Goddess ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 27, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, fluff, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: dacryphilia

— summary: You have decided to go on a sex strike as punishment after an argument with Spencer, but he soon turns into a whining mess.

— word count: 1.4k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 27th day, female!reader, boyfriend!Reid, dacryphilia, crying, mommy kink, degradation, dry humping, sex strike, dumbification, verbal humiliation, punishment, makeup sex, female pubic hair, oral sex (female receiving), body worship, face slapping, hair-pulling, begging, fluff and hurt/comfort, body insecurities, argument, curse words, corporal punishment mentioned, strap-on mentioned, pegging mentioned, handjob mentioned, cum eating mentioned, oral (male receiving) mentioned, implied dry orgasm, soft!Reid, jealous!reader, masochist!Reid, sadism, brat!Reid, brat tamer!reader, fluffy ending, mentioned Derek Morgan, mentioned Lila Archer, past Spencer Reid/Lila Archer, long hair!Reid, pet names (mommy/boy), sub!Reid, dom!reader, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"I need to cum... Please, Mommy." Spencer sobbed as he rubbed himself against your ass.

You had been very self-explanatory during the last argument you two had. If Spencer kept acting like a brat in public and trying to get under your skin on purpose, you were going to go on a sex strike for over two weeks. You figured he would understand the weight of the threat and and give up that behavior, but most of the time genius agent Doctor Spencer Reid was nothing more than an attention-starved, a pathetic little slut, always wanting to push your buttons until you got angry and punish him when you got home.

Almost always the punishments were not really unpleasant. He could handle fifty slaps on his ass, or ten lashes on his back, or even the damn cock ring stopping him from cumming while you fucked him from behind, making him drool all over the sheets while your big strap-on fucked deep his tight asshole, filling the room with his whimpers and loud moans.

Spencer could handle any punishment that caused pain, since despite everything, his pain linearity was quite strong. However, he did not have any boldness when it came to punishments that limited physical touching, especially when they limited full sex. He was already dealing with germophobia before he met you, so physical touch ended up being one of the parts he loved the most about your relationship. Spencer was addicted to worshiping your body. Intertwining his hand with yours when both of you were busy and in public. Caressing your waist and kissing your neck when you two were cooking. Licking your wet pussy and rubbing his nose on your swollen clit. Kissing your cum-filled hands when he came after a handjob...

Spencer was addicted to worshiping you and thanking you for giving him so much pleasure.

But here he was, crying with his hard cock tightened into his white boxers, tears flowing every moment he tried to find relief from just rubbing against your skin. Spencer loved your ass as hell... He loved it so much. And yet he could not even touch it right now. He could not touch you. Spencer felt like he was going to explode at any moment and he knew he deserved it.

"You're so fucking noisy and annoying when you cry." You finally complained after almost forty minutes of listening to him whimper in your ear and beg you to let him touch you.

Spencer nodded, not caring about the insults that came his way. He just needed to beg your forgiveness. "Fuck, Spencie. You're crying like a pathetic whore." You chuckled while you turned around, noticing how your boyfriend looked even more handsome during that crying fit, even if you refused to admit it. At least for now.

"Y-yeah, I am." Spencer pouted sadly after sobbing again. "I'm your pathetic whore, Mommy. Please..." His voice sounded so trembling that your heart sank and your pussy began to get wet. You did not want to give in to a mere sad face, but you could not deny that the punishment was starting to be painful for you too. Not because you felt sorry for him, but because now you also wanted him to touch you immediately.

Taking a deep breath and taking advantage of the fact that you was now lying facing him on the bed, your hand went straight to his long hair. "You were an idiot that day, you know that?" You muttered, rolling your eyes when Spencer nodded silently and reprimanded him with a rough slap across the face, which drew a groan of pain from him and a few more tears, in addition to the red mark of your hand stamped on his wet cheeks. "Say it, Spencer. Admit what an idiot you were and apologize to me."

Your order was like a blessing from the Gods, even if he did not believe in any of them. He knew you were giving in little by little. "I was such an idiot, Mommy. I shouldn't have joked with Morgan about Lila Archer being a good kisser, about me wanting to lose my virginity to her and about her having... nice boobs."

You rolled your eyes again at the memory of the guys' teasing. Even though your retroactive jealousy was stupid, you hated knowing about Spencer had considered losing his virginity to that busty blonde bitch. You did not even know him back then, but all of his BAU's friends always made a point of reminding him of the sudden fling he had with her during a case every time she was mentioned on a TV show. "But... so you think her body is hotter than mine?"

You did not want to let the vulnerability and insecurity show in your tone, so you looked away after your question. Spencer was smart enough to finally understand where so much anger came from when choosing his punishment for the joke. It was not just because you were jealous, it was because you were feeling inferior to Lila.

"What?" Spencer asked with wide eyes, standing up and climbing on top of you, not with a sexual way, even though the white fabric of his boxers was already damp with his pre-cum after trying so long to cum without success. "Of course not! Mommy, you're the hottest person in this whole world."

You huffed immediately, your hands wiping the tears from Spencer's face. He was so cute when he was like that, looking so miserable like a sad bunny. "You only say that because you're my boyfriend and you're desperate to cum too."

Your self-deprecating tone and attempt at slight degradation caused Spencer to grimace and he shook his head, his body still on top of yours. "Maybe I'm really desperate to cum, but you know that I really know you're the most perfect woman there's. I love your body, your face, your taste... I wouldn't trade you for anything or anyone, you know that. There's no one prettier than you." He reaffirmed, stroking your hair as you sighed, relieved by his words, your gaze still turned to the wall so as not to appear too emotional in that situation. "Hey. Look at me, baby..."

His submissive tone disappeared for a little while and you frowned, before blushing when you saw how his eyes shone as he watched you, as if you were the most expensive and incredible work of art inside a museum. "If I weren't your boyfriend, I would be very jealously of the lucky man who would have the pleasure of loving you and being loved by you, the pleasure of worshiping you..."

You laughed lightly, trying hard to deny it. However, Spencer smiled and began to spread kisses down your neck, one of his hands going down to your panties, caressing the hairs you had forgotten to shave recently. Spencer just lowered himself between your legs when he realized that you were considering apologizing due to the hair on your crotch, very embarrassed despite he being the one released from a severe punishment. "Don't do that, please. I love them like that. I swear, it's so pretty and horny." Spencer assured you, opening your legs and kissing the inside of your thighs, focusing on licking your unshaved crotch and taking the opportunity to appreciate how the drops of your juices left the hair wet and with a delightful sweet taste.

"S-Spencie... You don't have to do this. Your punishment is already over..." You argued between moans when your boyfriend rubbed his nose against your pussy, adding drops of his tears to your sensitive and very wet core.

"This isn't a punishment, Mommy. Trust me, I love doing this and I love your hairs. This is just part of my forgiveness, I wanna taste you." Spencer smirked looking up, using the pointed part of his tongue to rub your clit with circular motions. Now, it did not matter if you were planning to punish him by leaving him without sex for weeks. It did not matter if he had cried for so many minutes. It did not matter if he was cumming in his own underwear and messing the fabric and the sheets. Now, everything that mattered to Spencer was getting back to being your good boy and eating you out until you were completely satisfied. Until you truly believed that you were the only Goddess he believed in and he would always worship.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

184 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 days ago

Note

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense.

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place.

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given.

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working.

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day.

Your phone beeps in your hand.

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now.

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer.

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says.

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you.

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Any wobbles?”

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say.

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away.

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background.

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly.

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?”

You clear your throat. “Fine.”

“I was thinking I’d come over?”

“You’re outside?” you ask.

“How’d you know that?”

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.”

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.”

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask.

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask.

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?”

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it.

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.”

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home.

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.”

“For other things?”

“Nothing.”

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.”

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm.

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?”

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.”

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away.

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest.

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?”

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.”

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.”

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.”

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says.

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.”

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles.

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve.

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat.

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur.

“If you’ll have me.”

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Just feel wrong.”

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?”

“Feels weird.”

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.”

“You don’t have to… worry about me.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.”

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.”

“I really feel like I’m not even me.”

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?”

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear.

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily.

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.”

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.”

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you.

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.”

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.”

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper.

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.”

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?”

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say.

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.”

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #hotchner!reader

518 notes · View notes

etclouie · 7 hours ago

Note

hey sugar, for your celebration event (congrats btw) could you write the prompt below with our lovely spencer please? if not completely okay

“Just calm down, things will be fine.”

“My wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down.”

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; “Just calm down, things will be fine.” “My wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down.” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; husband!spencer, reader is kidnapped/at gunpoint but it’s not described, just spencer battling internally with his worries, angst kinda, if i missed anything lmk

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; send reqs pretty please🫶

— celebrate 600 with me?

the sound of muffled footsteps trailed throughout the dark alley, just beyond the warehouse doors.

inside, Spencer was pacing frantically, his mind running in every direction— but always back to you.

ever since you had started dating Spencer, and then marrying him, the mere thought of you always seemed to calm him down.

but now, now was the opposite.

his hands were shaking and his breath shallow. every thought about you turning into a worry if they’d get to you in time or not.

“Spence, stop pacing”

Dereks voice pulled him from his thoughts, even if just for a minute. his voice firm despite his efforts to calm down Spencer.

“just calm down, things’ll be fine”

he continued, his hands grasping Spencer’s shoulders to try and still him but Spencer jerked away. his eyes wide with panic as he started pacing again.

“my wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down?!”

Spencer’s voice cracked, the frustration mixing with the raw fear that churned in his chest.

every breath he took made it harder for him to stop thinking of you, of holding you against his chest and never letting go again.

“i get it, but right now losing your head won’t help her. we need you focussed”

Derek continued trying to soothe him, and despite his restraints another sigh fell from Spencer’s lips.

Spencer clenched his fists as he stared at the floor, trying to force the fear down. yet his thoughts still ran straight back to you.

the fear of seeing you hurt overtook every feeling he had in that moment, the thought being his worst nightmare.

“she’s strong”

Derek added quietly, watching as Spencer tilted his head to meet Dereks eyes before he nodded slowly.

“she can handle herself”

Spencer’s breath hitched at that. he knew it was true, hell he was the one that taught you how to defend yourself.

but the idea of you handling yourself in a dangerous situation like this was something Spencer admired about you, but it only made his helplessness gnaw harder at his insides in this moment.

he wasn’t there. he wasn’t able to protect you.

“i don’t know if i can do this”

Spencer blurted out, his voice quiet but Derek still heard him. speaking to himself mainly instead of to Derek.

“we’ll get her back”

Derek said, his voice unwavering as he held Spencer’s gaze. the eye contact make him anxious, pulling away and scratching at his neck as the worry continued to bubble in his belly.

"you’re gonna get her back, but you have to stay with us. we need you to think clearly."

a moment of silence passed between them, Spencer still trying to steady his breathing while his eyes flickered to the door of the warehouse.

every second felt like an eternity.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to push back the questions spinning around his head. he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it, he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it.

you were his anchor, his reason for getting up every day— his being to see you smile each and every day. but now, now he was powerless to protect you.

“let’s get her back”

he finally spoke, voice hoarse but determined.

Derek gave him a curt nod, both of them moving toward the door and ready to act. Spencer on his left, the weight of the world on his shoulder but with one goal in his head— but he wasn’t alone.

not this time, not while they still had a chance.

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

#𝜗𝜚 ㅤ― louie’s 600 follower special ⊹#⋆˚࿔ louie writes 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#𝜗𝜚 spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom #reid x reader #reid criminal minds #reqs open

94 notes · View notes

lillaberry · 2 days ago

Text

What if, instead of hitting up a geneticist, Spencer would start to drink energy drinks to cure his migranes

Cue hyperactivity bc of the sugar and caffeine

This has Rossi thinking that the kid is on adderal

I think he would love monster (the white can)

#i hate the maeve storyline hope y’all know that #energy drinks work against migranes #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine

41 notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

Text

A Reid Christmas

Summary: A few Christmas prompts mashed up from this link !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: holidays, fluff

Warnings/Includes: a kiss maybe..., this is sooo chesy

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: i am in a christmas mood and i want to spend it with Spencer Reid

main masterlist

The first time you stepped into the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Despite your experience in Human Resources, this assignment was a significant departure from the typical office conflicts you mediated. Erin Strauss herself had requested your assistance in an internal investigation involving the BAU’s Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. Apparently, accusations had surfaced suggesting Hotchner had bent a few rules, presumably in an effort to protect his team.

You walked into the bullpen wearing your usual crisp blazer and pencil skirt, clipboard in hand, determined to remain impartial and professional. You could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity and apprehension from the team as they watched you approach Hotchner's office. They were used to being scrutinized by external forces, but having HR conduct an investigation in their workspace was a new one.

Hotch, as they called him, was calm, collected, and unwaveringly professional throughout the entire process. You conducted your interviews meticulously, documenting every detail while observing the dynamics of the team. You spoke with Morgan, whose easy charm and casual demeanor couldn’t completely mask his wariness; with JJ, whose warmth was tinged with protectiveness for her team; and with Rossi, whose years of experience made him sharp and insightful. Emily Prentiss was direct but guarded, and Penelope Garcia was her colorful, effervescent self, despite clearly disliking your presence in their sanctum.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

Your first meeting with him was brief, almost rushed. He’d walked into the conference room where you were working, a stack of files in hand, his tie slightly askew. He apologized for interrupting, his voice quick and soft, as though he was already analyzing you and your purpose there.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, surprised by the firm but gentle grip. “I, um, wasn’t aware we had a guest this week. Are you working with the team?”

“Not exactly,” you replied with a polite smile, offering your name. “I’m here conducting an internal investigation on behalf of Erin Strauss.”

His eyebrows raised in recognition of the name, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he nodded, offered a fleeting smile, and excused himself. It was brief, yet something about his presence lingered in your mind.

Over the course of the week, you caught glimpses of Spencer in action. He moved like his mind was always three steps ahead of everyone else, which, based on his IQ and eidetic memory, it probably was. You couldn’t help but admire his passion for his work, his encyclopedic knowledge of nearly everything, and the quiet, almost awkward way he interacted with his colleagues.

By the end of your investigation, you’d gathered enough evidence to conclude that Hotch was innocent of the accusations. It was clear that his actions, while unconventional at times, were always in the best interest of his team and the cases they pursued. You presented your findings to Strauss, ensuring that your report was thorough and unbiased.

On your last day in the BAU, Spencer stopped by your temporary desk. He held a book in his hands, a slim volume with a worn cover.

“I noticed you reading during your breaks,” he began, his voice soft but clear. “You, uh, seemed to favor non-fiction, so I thought you might like this. It’s one of my favorites.” He handed the book to you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You looked at the cover and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just Spencer,” he corrected quickly, his ears tinged pink. “And, um, thank you. For, you know… being fair. To Hotch. To all of us.”

“It’s my job,” you replied warmly. “But you’re welcome.”

As you left the BAU that evening, book in hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your week there had been more than just another assignment. Meeting Spencer Reid had been… unexpected. You didn’t yet know how much that brief encounter would change things, but something about it made you smile all the way home.

The next Monday started like any other. Your morning coffee sat steaming on your desk as you sifted through a stack of paperwork, preparing for a meeting. Everything was perfectly routine until you noticed an envelope that hadn’t been there earlier. It was plain white, slightly creased, and unmarked except for your name, written in a careful, slightly curled scrawl that instantly brought a smile to your lips.

You picked it up, already curious, and slid a nail under the seal to open it. Inside was a neatly folded piece of stationery. The handwriting, now familiar after that week in the BAU, made your heart skip just a little. It was undeniably Spencer Reid’s.

You unfolded the paper, eager to see what he’d written.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter doesn’t come across as strange. I’ve never been particularly skilled at expressing myself in person, especially when it comes to matters that make me nervous, so I thought writing might be a better option.

I wanted to thank you again for the work you did with the BAU last week. You were fair, professional, and kind—qualities that are sometimes hard to come by in situations like that. It’s clear that you’re exceptional at what you do, and it was genuinely nice to have you around.

That brings me to the reason for this letter. I’ve been debating whether to write it all weekend, and if you’re reading this, it means I finally worked up the courage. I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner sometime. There’s a little Italian restaurant near the Smithsonian that I think you’d enjoy. Of course, if Italian isn’t your preference, I’m more than happy to go somewhere else.

If this isn’t something you’re interested in, I completely understand, and I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Either way, I wanted to let you know that I enjoyed meeting you and hope our paths cross again.

Sincerely,

Spencer Reid

You finished reading the letter, your cheeks warm and a soft smile tugging at your lips. The fact that he’d taken the time to write a letter—so formal, so earnest—touched you deeply. It wasn’t every day that someone asked you on a date in such a thoughtful way.

You glanced at the clock, debating how to respond. After a moment, you pulled out a piece of your own stationery and began writing back.

Spencer,

Thank you for your letter—it was a lovely surprise to find it on my desk this morning. I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. Italian sounds perfect, and I trust your recommendation.

Let me know what day works best for you. I’m looking forward to it.

Y/N

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

As you finished the note, a small thrill ran through you. You had no idea where this might lead, but one thing was certain: you couldn’t wait to see him again. You tucked your response into an envelope, sealed it, and headed toward the BAU to deliver it personally.

The bullpen was bustling with activity when you arrived, the second you stepped through the doors, though, the atmosphere shifted. A few heads turned, and you could feel the curious glances of Derek and Emily as you offered them a polite smile and a quick “Good morning.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you approached Spencer’s desk, your heart pounding against your ribs. He was seated, deeply engrossed in a stack of case files, his long fingers flipping through pages with a precision that somehow made you more nervous. The moment he looked up and his gaze locked with yours, you saw it—a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if bracing himself for rejection.

For a split second, you wondered if this was a mistake, if he would regret asking you out or if you’d misread the sweetness in his letter. But then you reminded yourself why you were here and smiled, a warm, sweet smile you hoped would ease his worry.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him. He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

“H-hi,” he managed, his voice just as soft, laced with nervous energy. His hands fidgeted with the papers in front of him, then quickly stilled when he realized he was doing it.

You held out the envelope, the edges of your smile turning playful as you added a wink. “I think this belongs to you,” you said lightly. The moment he reached out and his fingers brushed yours to take the note, you turned, leaving before the heat of his gaze and your own nerves could make you second-guess yourself.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, a sensation that made your stomach flutter in the best way. You glanced back briefly, catching the way his expression had shifted—his brows slightly raised, his lips parted in surprise, and the smallest hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Spencer sat frozen for a moment, still staring at the envelope in his hands. Slowly, he opened it, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the note inside. He recognized your handwriting instantly, and his eyes scanned the words with a growing sense of disbelief and elation.

By the time he finished reading, Spencer was grinning—an unrestrained, joyful smile that lit up his whole face.

“Yo, Reid,” Derek called out from his desk, his voice breaking through Spencer’s trance. “You okay, man? You look like you just won the lottery.”

Spencer quickly folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered, his tone betraying just how far from fine he really was.

But Derek wasn’t buying it, and neither was Emily, who leaned over with an amused smirk. “Spill, Boy Wonder. What did she give you?”

Spencer shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him as he stood, smoothing down his tie. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the way his smile lingered betrayed just how much it wasn’t nothing.

As he turned back to his desk, his mind was already racing—planning, anticipating, and counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

—

The air was crisp, with just the right hint of winter’s chill, as you walked alongside Spencer toward the town square. The streets were lined with twinkling lights and festive decorations, a soft buzz of excitement filling the air as families, couples, and friends gathered for the annual tree lighting celebration. You had been looking forward to this for days, the idea of experiencing a classic Christmas event stirring a childlike giddiness in you.

Spencer, on the other hand, had been skeptical. When you’d first suggested the tree lighting for your date, he’d tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “It sounds… kind of cheesy,” he had admitted, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s the point,” you’d replied with a laugh. “It’s supposed to be cheesy. I never got to celebrate Christmas growing up. My parents didn’t believe in it, so… I want to see what the buzz is about. Please, Spencer?”

And how could he say no to that? The way your eyes lit up at the mere suggestion of the event made it impossible for him to resist. So here you were, bundled up in scarves and gloves, your breath visible in the frosty air as you made your way through the growing crowd.

The square was alive with activity, a large tree standing proudly in the center, its bare branches waiting to be illuminated. A choir sang carols near the base of the tree, their voices weaving through the laughter and chatter of the crowd. Vendors lined the sidewalks, selling hot cocoa, roasted chestnuts, and handmade ornaments.

“Let’s get some cocoa,” you suggested, tugging him toward one of the stands. Spencer let himself be pulled along, his long legs easily keeping pace with yours.

As you waited in line, he turned to you, his expression curious. “So, no Christmas growing up? Not even a tree?”

You shook your head, your breath puffing in the cold air. “Not a single ornament or candy cane. My parents thought it was frivolous. But I always loved the idea of it—the lights, the warmth, the magic. I’d watch Christmas movies and dream about what it would be like.”

Spencer’s face softened, and he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours. “Then I’m glad we’re here tonight. You deserve to experience all of it.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. After getting your cocoa, the two of you found a spot near the tree, the anticipation in the crowd growing as the time for the lighting drew near.

When the countdown began, you turned to Spencer, your excitement bubbling over. “This is it!” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with joy.

He couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm, his heart squeezing in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. As the crowd shouted, “Three… two… one!” the tree came to life, thousands of lights twinkling in vibrant colors, casting a warm glow over the square.

You gasped, your face lighting up in awe as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers around you.

Spencer wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at you, your expression radiant in the glow of the lights. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

When you turned back to him, catching his gaze, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. The moment was perfect, the air between you filled with something unspoken but undeniable.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said, your voice warm. “Even if it’s a little cheesy.”

Spencer smiled, his hand finding yours. “Cheesy isn’t so bad,” he admitted. “Especially if it makes you this happy.”

The two of you strolled through the square, your hands brushing occasionally as you walked. The festive lights cast a warm glow on the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with the sound of carolers and the gentle hum of happy conversations. Your cocoa had cooled by now, but neither of you seemed to mind, too caught up in the magic of the evening.

Spencer pointed out the intricacies of the hand-carved ornaments displayed at one of the vendor stalls, his voice soft but animated as he explained the origins of some of the designs. You listened intently, charmed by the passion in his words, the way his eyes lit up when he shared something he found fascinating.

And then, as if the universe itself decided to add its own touch of perfection to the night, a soft flurry of snow began to fall. You looked up in surprise, a delighted laugh escaping your lips as the delicate flakes drifted down from the sky. The crowd around you buzzed with excitement, children darting through the snow and couples huddling closer together.

“The first snow of the season,” you murmured, holding your hand out to catch a flake. It melted instantly against your glove, but the chill lingered, making you shiver slightly.

Spencer tilted his head back, his gaze following the snowflakes as they fell. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath clouded the air in front of him, and when he looked back at you, his expression softened.

You stood there for a moment, the world around you fading into the background. The square, the lights, the music—all of it seemed to blur into a quiet hum as your eyes locked with his. The snow gathered lightly on his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked, standing there with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

“I think…” Spencer began, his voice tentative as he took a small step closer. “I think I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart pounding as he reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek. The touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he let them drop.

“Then maybe you should,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, but not from the cold.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, and he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You stood on your toes to meet him halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was warm, tender, and filled with a kind of sweetness that made your chest ache. It wasn’t rushed or practiced—it was soft and genuine, as though neither of you wanted to break the spell the moment had cast.

The snow fell gently around you, dusting your shoulders and hair, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was Spencer’s hand coming to rest lightly on your waist, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to stand still.

When you finally pulled back, the tips of your noses brushing, you opened your eyes to find Spencer gazing at you with an expression that made your heart skip. His cheeks were pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, you couldn’t be sure, but his smile was unmistakable.

“That was…” He paused, searching for the right word. “That was perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound carrying in the crisp winter air. “It really was.”

Spencer reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. “You, um… you’ve made tonight unforgettable.”

“So have you,” you replied, your voice warm. And as the snow continued to fall, you found yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something truly magical.

—

As the days turned into weeks and the holiday season picked up pace, you and Spencer began spending more and more time together. It started with casual dinners and coffee dates but quickly grew into a comfortable rhythm of late-night conversations, spontaneous plans, and shared moments that brought a new kind of warmth to both your lives.

Spencer, ever observant and thoughtful, seemed to remember every little thing you’d said about wanting to experience Christmas the way you’d always dreamed. He took it upon himself to make this season unforgettable for you, and the results were nothing short of magical.

One evening, he showed up at your apartment with a small stack of DVDs in hand, a proud but slightly sheepish smile on his face. "I thought maybe we could have a Christmas movie night," he said, holding up the collection like a peace offering. "You mentioned you didn’t get to watch a lot of them growing up, so I picked out a few classics."

You couldn’t help but grin, already charmed by the effort he’d put into it. "That sounds perfect. What did you bring?"

As you flipped through the stack, your smile widened. There was It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, Elf, and A Christmas Story, among others. But when you got to Die Hard, you raised an eyebrow and held it up with a laugh. "Seriously? Die Hard?"

Spencer adjusted his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "It’s set during Christmas. That technically makes it a Christmas movie."

"Oh, you’re one of those people," you teased, poking his side as he squirmed slightly under your touch. "I’m not sure I can agree with you on that."

He shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s a classic. You’ll see."

The evening was spent curled up on the couch under a cozy blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between the two of you. Spencer had insisted on starting with It’s a Wonderful Life, claiming it was the quintessential Christmas movie. You had agreed, though not without playfully poking fun at his almost academic defense of its merits.

By the time Elf rolled around, the bickering had reached a friendly crescendo. "Will Ferrell as a grown man in an elf costume? Really?" Spencer asked, his tone skeptical but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Yes, really," you shot back, grinning. "It’s hilarious and heartwarming, and if you don’t laugh at the ‘angry elf’ scene, I might have to reevaluate this relationship."

"Fair warning," he replied with a small chuckle, "I don’t laugh easily at slapstick humor."

But when the scene came, and Buddy the Elf called Miles Finch an "angry elf," Spencer let out a laugh so unexpected and genuine that it made you laugh harder just from hearing it.

"See?" you said triumphantly, nudging his shoulder. "I told you it’s funny."

Spencer shook his head, still chuckling. "Fine, you win this round."

The debates over Christmas movies became a running theme for the season. He swore by the timeless elegance of White Christmas, while you couldn’t get enough of the chaotic hilarity of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You both agreed, however, that Love Actually had its moments but was wildly overrated.

"Okay, but Die Hard is still the best Christmas movie," Spencer would insist every time, earning a dramatic groan from you.

"You’re impossible," you’d reply with mock exasperation, though the smile on your face gave away just how much you loved these little arguments.

Between the movie nights, the impromptu snowball fights, and the endless discussions over which holiday tradition to try next, Spencer was determined to give you the perfect Christmas season. And with every laugh, every shared glance, and every stolen kiss under the mistletoe, you couldn’t help but think he was succeeding.

—

The evening began with Spencer showing up at your door, his arms overflowing with bags of oddly-shaped gifts and rolls of colorful wrapping paper. His sheepish grin was enough to make your heart melt before the night even started.

“I may have overestimated my ability to wrap these on my own,” he admitted as he stepped inside, carefully setting everything down on your living room floor.

You arched an eyebrow at the assortment of gifts spilling out of the bags. “Spencer, how many people are you shopping for?”

“Not many,” he replied defensively. “Just my mom, the team, Henry… and you.”

Your face warmed at the last part, but you decided to tease him instead of letting it show. “Well, let’s see what we’re working with. But just so you know, if you’re terrible at this, I reserve the right to laugh.”

“I expected nothing less,” he quipped, his grin widening.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to unfold. Spencer’s approach to wrapping gifts was as meticulous as his research, but unfortunately, precision didn’t translate to skill. By the time he’d managed to tape one corner of a box, you were already stifling a laugh, your hand pressed to your mouth.

“What?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed as he held up his first attempt. The paper was unevenly cut, the tape crisscrossed in random directions, and the edges bulged where they shouldn’t.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said between giggles, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “A true work of art.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “I don’t think art is supposed to be this lopsided.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, sitting down beside him and taking the gift gently from his hands. “Let me help you. Watch and learn.”

You walked him through the process, showing him how to fold the edges neatly and tape them discreetly. He tried to mimic your movements, but somehow his wrapping attempts still ended up slightly crooked. You didn’t mind, though—it was endearing, watching him try so hard.

“You’re too nice to laugh at me again,” he said after his third attempt, glancing at you with mock suspicion.

“Oh, I’m laughing on the inside,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But you’re improving. Kind of.”

When the gifts were finally wrapped (with a mix of your expertise and his earnest efforts), you moved on to building a gingerbread house for Henry. Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet as he carefully held up the walls of the tiny structure, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re doing great,” you said encouragingly, but when one of the walls started to tilt, you couldn’t resist stepping in. You walked over and gently placed your hands over his, steadying the gingerbread walls.

Spencer froze at your touch, his heart skipping a beat. He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he took in the patience and warmth in your expression. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that made your own heart flutter.

“Teamwork,” you said with a small smile. “That’s what Christmas is all about, right?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, still looking at you.

Once the house was haphazardly assembled—complete with a slightly leaning roof and more icing than structurally necessary—Spencer produced a box of ornaments and tinsel for your tree. “I thought we could decorate your tree, too,” he said, his tone hopeful.

The idea was sweet, but execution? Not Spencer’s strong suit. Within minutes, there was tinsel tangled in his hair, a rogue strand of lights coiled around his wrist, and more glitter on the floor than on the ornaments.

“There is tinsel. Everywhere,” you said, dissolving into laughter as you surveyed the chaotic scene. “I think you got more of it on yourself than the tree.”

Spencer pouted, brushing a strand of tinsel off his shoulder. “I guess I’m not very good at Christmas.”

“Aw, don’t be such a Scrooge,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shot back, but his faux irritation was betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips.

By the time the night ended, the gifts were wrapped, the gingerbread house was (miraculously) intact, and the tree was decorated—albeit slightly crooked and glitter-covered. But to you, it was perfect, because it was filled with moments like these: Spencer’s quiet laughter, his shy smiles, and the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you.

“You’re not bad at Christmas, Spencer,” you said as the two of you stood by the tree, admiring your work. “You’re just… uniquely festive.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

And as you leaned into him, the glow of the tree casting a warm light over the room, you realized this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—and it was all thanks to Spencer.

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

139 notes · View notes