#awkward spencer reid

[it-was-summer]

The Very First... Second... Third Night

A/N: Hey guys, happy fall!!! Fun fact about me, I love Season one reid so much it's not even funny. That's pookie!!!!! Anyways, enjoy this little fluffy cute thing I wrote in a romance-infused haze (I saw that photo of MGG in that pumpkin sweater at knott's berry farms and I needed Spencer in a Halloween way). MAYBE some porn coming soon idk man. Love you all!!-Em <3

Link to the Ao3: The Very First... Second... Third Night ->Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Can't remember if I use any female pronouns for reader, but warning just incase. Season one reid, MENTION OF JEID, SPENCELLE, AND bisexual Reid, Spencer reid being critical of himself, Spencer's POV for the most part, jello mentioned guys, Overstimulated Spencer Reid at a football game, mention of a cemetery, mention of Nosferatu (1922). Kind of proofread, yippie!!!

Genre: Fluffy meet cutes. Pairing: Season One! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader.

Plot: Spencer runs into you twice before but only manages to get your name (and number) the third time.

Word Count: 3,863

First Meeting

Spencer can’t remember the last time this bookstore was so crowded. Personally, he tried to go on early Sunday mornings to avoid the crowds– if any– that came into the shop. Maybe he was being overdramatic. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the store with him. But it was still twenty too many. He softly apologizes to the elderly woman as he squeezes past her in the narrow nonfiction aisle. 

Most of the crowd seemed to be hovering around the fiction area, which was fine with him– the further away, the better. With his head turned to watch the small crowd bustle about the store, he didn’t notice the person standing just inches from him in the aisle. 

You stared at him with a confused expression for a second, thinking surely this man would move eventually. But the moment never came. He was tall with brown hair and long eyelashes. He had the fashion sense of a teacher– correction, teacher’s assistant. You clear your throat softly, hardcover clutched in hand as you watch the man’s head snap over to you, his cheeks flushing red. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Not that you’re hard to miss– I mean in a good way, you’re–” He closes his mouth and swallows hard, looking into your gentle eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

You would have felt a little agitated if he hadn’t seemed so earnest, but this man oozes social anxiety, and your heart takes pity on him. Your lips move to a slow smile, and you whisper a sweet, “That’s alright,” 

Spencer’s sure he’s never seen kinder eyes, “It’s just so busy today. I was looking at the crowd,” 

Your head turns at that, allowing Spencer to take in your features. A light sweater to accommodate the cool air this early-October morning, some Halloween earrings that make Spencer smile, and stunning eyes. “Book signing pop-up, it’ll be crazy until three. At least that's what the stock girl told me.” You’re soft-spoken, too. Spencer can appreciate that.

He nods slightly, looking down at the hardcover in your hand and then over at the crowd again, “Are you not here for the book signing?” 

“Afraid not,” You sigh as you hold up a historical fiction novel, “Me and my historical fiction novel were going to take a gander at some biographies.” 

He can’t help his peaked interest as he licks his lips, “Regarding?” He’s a fan of history himself and is always happy to interact with someone who also shares a love for it. He feels slightly less anxious talking about something he knows.

You twist your lips to the side like you’re silently debating whether or not you should tell him. You look away for a second, your eyes scanning the bookshelves on either side of you. “Salem Witch Trials.” You answer him bluntly. 

Spencer nods like he understands precisely what you mean, “Ah, the more humane witch trials.” It's a funny joke… to him, at least. 

But then your lips twitch upwards as you let out a quiet chuckle, “No burning for us, just rope and intense torture.” 

He feels electric, which is stupid because he shouldn’t feel excited over something as simple as someone joking with him, but he does. He’s been working on it upon Derek’s sarcastic request, and he can’t help but wonder if it is finally paying off now. 

Spencer feels the overwhelming urge to partake in what Garcia describes as ‘info-dumping ,’ but he bites his tongue as he settles on a simple question, “How come?” 

You shrug slightly as you look up at him. The bookstore light keeps making his eyes a soft amber, and you’re having a hard time looking away now. “Halloween tradition.” You watch his eyebrow furrow, raising a hand to explain yourself quickly. “My best friend and I each pick a historical event that is relatively macabre, and then we base our costumes around it and throw a party with a related theme. It’s... It’s stupid.” You say with a smile and a wave of your hand dismissively. 

Meanwhile, Spencer’s too busy thinking you’re the most extraordinary girl he’s ever interacted with. For the first time in his life, he’s desperate for an invite to a stranger’s party—a pretty stranger who has yet to tell him her name. 

“That’s not-” 

A woman’s voice cuts him off as she barrels down the aisle with a grin, “There you are, oh…” Her blue eyes look Spencer up and down carefully, studying him. “Hello, there.” She’s direct and forward and speaks in a tone that tells Spencer to leave you the hell alone. 

He nods curtly, waving slightly at your friend. You sigh out with mock annoyance as you say, “He’s a friendly, put your gun away.” 

“I don’t believe in guns.” 

“They’re very real, trust me.” Is your sarcastic reply before looking at Spencer again. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.” And just like that… you’re gone. 

Second Meeting

Spencer is sure he’ll never see you again, but here he is a week later, still thinking about you on a case. Or rather, he’s thinking about every woman ever and that he’ll never have a chance with any of them… ever. He’s feeling rather lonely, or maybe his self-esteem is taking a certain nose-dive this fine San Diego day. 

It’s not because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t hate his birthday like Elle hates hers– that’s what she told him once—the day started off great: the trick candles, the big birthday hat, his embarrassing crush on JJ. And now, they’re discussing the case, a routine he enjoys. 

His mind, always full of helpful information, quickly recognized the ballad from the 17th century– betwixt death and a lady. After his comment regarding what people could find by typing the word ‘death’ in the search engine, Derek’s laughing, “Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.”

It sticks on him; he would love to let it slide off his back, but he’s not familiar with that kind of territory– dating, that is– so it hits a nerve. A nerve that Spencer didn’t know was so exposed. The worst part is that Derek’s not wrong. Spencer can’t seem to get a date. Not with the pretty intellectual at the bookstore, JJ, or Elle– though that last one feels strange to admit to himself. 

He’s too awkward, speaks too fast, and, according to Gideon, needs to relax more. He’s sure… he’s cute, actually, he doesn’t know if he is. All he knows is that his mind is brilliant, his skills involving women… not so much. 

He’s silently mulling it over as he approaches one of the bulletin boards, muttering lines of the ballad softly when JJ walks up beside him, “Creepy, huh?” Her voice makes him look at her, hesitating as he replies. 

“Actually, uh, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance.” He’s staring at the bulletin for a second before glancing her away, and his cheeks feel hot when he sees the way JJ is looking at him– disinterest. “But, yeah, creepy.” 

He feels like a teenager, and all those years spent in college and not high school are coming back to bite him. He liked girls and boys, too. He should be better at this, he has an IQ of 187 and five degrees to prove it. Spencer walks away from the conversation quickly, his feet carrying him away from the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible. He needs to focus on the case. 

And focus he does. He’s happy to analyze the meaning of the ballads at the crime scenes, his anxiety calming as he settles into the sweet caress of facts. Feelings, beauty, and tastes were all subjective. The objective was his comfort zone.

So it stands to reason that he feels lighter after conversing with Gideon about why the UnSub would start to use the ballad if it wasn’t a part of his signature. However, after the team delivers the profile, his lightness returns to his ruminating thoughts surrounding his lack of social skills. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels the icy breath of repressed memories breathing down his neck. A jammed locker, missing gym clothes, a dark bathroom bolted shut. As the team waits for the UnSub’s suspected phone call to the tip line, he reaches for his bag to pull out a Rubix cube. 

His fingers quickly twist and turn it aimlessly until he feels like it’s mixed around enough for him to solve it again. Elle is sitting in a desk chair in front of him as he solves it. He wants to ask her if she’d ever consider dating him, if she thinks JJ would, or if she feels any self-respecting woman would. He doesn’t, though, the question sounding too desperate in his head to say it out loud. 

Instead, he asks, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” His eyes don’t stray away from the cube for too long as he asks it, scared of what Elle’s gaze might tell him. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when she chuckles and says, “I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.” 

Spencer feels insecure when he speaks again, but he has to know the answer, “Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He looks up at her now, waiting for the brutal blow, which is her answer. 

Elle looks slightly amused. “You ever ask anyone out?” She smiles a little, seeing the genius look genuinely dumbfounded for a second as he thinks about it. 

He never had the confidence to walk up to someone he found attractive and say something interesting enough to warrant a ‘yes’ if he asked them on a date. “No,” 

She gives him a slight shrug of her shoulders, “That’s why you can't get a date.” And Spencer seems to nod at that, and his lips tighten for a second as he nods before he looks away from her again. His focus is pulled back to the case when the UnSub calls, and for a little while, he feels better. 

On the flight home, he’s almost completely forgotten about his spiral as he plays chess with Gideon. When he hands Spencer a small present, a little smile plays on his lips as he says, “But you don’t give birthday presents.” When he finally gets the present open, he feels a little confused as he thanks Gideon for the generous gift– two VIP box seat Redskin tickets. 

He’s excited, nonetheless, to experience something new with Gideon, and Spencer believes him when he says that Spencer will love it. 

“We are. You’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks with a slight grin.

Gideon smiles, “No.” he doesn’t let Spencer’s confusion build for long as he quickly adds, “Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan.” 

“Who?” 

“Only person in the world who calls you Spence.” 

Speaking of the only person in the world that calls him Spence, the date was going terribly. She had invited Penelope; she thought it was a group thing. He begged Hotch and Gideon for some pointers, anything. They reminded him she was already his friend, but that wasn’t very helpful. He knew how to talk to her on a typical day. On a date? Not so much.

Then, she invited Penelope. Now he’s stuck on a date where only one person in the group knows it was supposed to be a date, and he feels nauseous. He’s trying to keep a conversation going, but every time it picks up for a second, he feels himself fumble the metaphorical ball, and it dies again. 

Eventually, he excuses himself to get some air. He’s debating calling Gideon and updating him on how it’s going. His feet pace on the concrete stadium floor. He’s near the elevators, and he can barely hear himself– it’s auditory overload hell. He shuts his eyes tight, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he covers his ears, leaning against the cool wall beside the elevators. 

It’s all muffled, barely helping, but the feeling of the cool wall on his back through his clothes helps relax him slightly. His shoulders relax briefly before he feels two fingers lightly tapping his shoulders, and he’s rigid again. 

Rigid until his eyes snap open to see that it’s you. You from the bookstore, with that same kind smile, same dazzling smile, it is you. You’re yelling over the shouting, but he can barely hear you. You laugh. He can only tell by your facial expression as all the sound falls deaf to his ears over the crowd's yelling. 

Once it calms down, you repeat yourself, “Are you alright?” 

He nods, then you’re giving him a skeptical look, and he slowly shakes his head. 

“Is it the noise?” 

A part of him wants to tell you that it’s everything he is experiencing today, but instead, he whispers a soft “Yes.” 

You twist your lips to the side, looking upset for him. Your empathy is so sweet and pure for him that he feels the knot in his chest unraveling slowly. “Let me buy you a water?” You offer, motioning to a concession stand a few steps away. 

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but you’re grinning as you walk with him to the stand and buy the two of you a bottle. After a sip or two, you say, “I’m not the biggest fan of football games either. My dad loves em’.”

He nods along silently, feeling so socially overwhelmed that he barely has the energy for more conversation. You seem happy to fill the gap: “I ran into you at that bookstore on 8th, right?” 

Spencer’s beaming as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, nodding, speaking for the first time in a while. “Yes.” 

You let out a happy hum, “Small world,” And Spencer agrees with you silently. 

It's the most comfortable he’s felt all week, and he wonders if maybe this failed date of his was a strange blessing in disguise. He’s about to ask for your name when Penelope approaches the two of you, blinking starstruck at Spencer and you as she introduces herself when the crowd begins to cheer again. Any noise he can hear is drowned out, frowning as you shake Penelope’s hand and say your name– a name he cannot hear. Some more words follow, but it's all small talk until you excuse yourself to return to your father in the stands. 

Then he’s the one being dragged away from you, convinced once more that he’ll never see his pretty stranger ever again. 

Third Meeting

It’s the night before Halloween. Ask anyone who knows Spencer; they will tell you he genuinely loves Halloween. It’s a part of him, always has been. He likes that you can dress up as anyone you want to be without judgment. He loves the build-up, the history, and the scents that fill the air. 

So, when he manages to get the night off, he’s quick to try and convince someone from the team to head over to a cemetery not too far from headquarters. Even when he explains how it is for a classic horror movie showing on the graveyard’s lands, everyone declines. 

Now, he’s setting up an oversized quilt on the soft grass, smoothing out the edges of the oversized quilt with his hands before sitting down on it. His hands move to his bag, pulling out a few of his favorite snacks, drinks, and so on as he watches the cemetery slowly fill up with people. 

He’s happy. He feels a little strange at the thought, but he’s happy– even if it is in the middle of a cemetery. 

A gentle voice cuts through the soft quiet of the graveyard, “I knew I was going to run into you sooner or later,” 

He turns his head to look at you, picnic basket and blanket in hand. You smile down at him. He trips over himself as he stands, his cheeks flushing as you laugh at the sight. He rubs his suddenly sweating hands on his button-up as he reluctantly offers you his hand to shake, only to realize that you don’t have a hand available. 

“Can I—” he says softly, “Would it be alright if I—" he swallows hard, his voice cracking lightly. Do you need help with your things?” 

You glance down at your hands, smiling slightly as you shake your head politely. “I’m sure I can find a good spot soon. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

“You’re not, honest. I’m, uh, I’m here alone, and it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.” You silently debate his offer, and then Spencer feels a wave of confidence surge through him, “You can always sit with me if you’d like. I promise I’ll try to be quiet.” 

You seem to think that’s funny as you nod, “Well, it is a silent film.” 

“You don’t have to say yes. I just have a big blanket, and I’m in a good spot to see the screen and–”

“I’ll sit with you,” You cut him off softly, bending down to gently get the picnic basket on the edge of his quilt. Spencer moves out of your way, awkwardly shuffling for a second before he decides this might be a good time to introduce himself. 

“I’m Spencer.” 

You glance up at him as you move to sit on the blanket, smiling as you tell him your name. He licks his lips nervously, nodding as he sits beside you. His nervous eyes dance over your figure as you set your blanket, which he now sees has little cartoon ghosts all over it, to the side of your basket. 

You’re frowning slightly as you reach into the basket, pulling out a small cup of jello and a spoon. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was sharing a blanket with someone, I would have brought another cup.” 

Spencer finds it funny as he leans over to his satchel and pulls out his own cup of jello and spoon, “No need,” 

You laugh lightly as you raise your jello cup to his. “Cheers, then. " Spencer smiles lightly as the two of you tap the edges together for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence while eating jello. 

Spencer’s spoon digs into the jello, and he asks, “Is this your first time seeing Nosferatu ?”

You let out a soft hum as you pull your spoon out of your mouth and quickly nod, “Yes!” You say after swallowing, “What about you?” 

“Third.” 

“Didn’t remember it well enough the first two times?” 

He lets out a shy laugh at that— it feels strange for someone to be unaware of his eidetic memory, and he wonders how long that’ll last. “Not exactly. I guess just like Halloween.” 

“A man of good taste,” You quip back softly, taking a smiling bite of jello. 

Spencer laughs as his eyes watch your lips close around your spoon before he pulls them away to look into your eye, hoping you don’t notice as he stutters lightly. “That’s debatable.” 

You’re looking down at your half-eaten Jello cup. “I’m the judge here. I deem it a fact that you are a man of good taste. You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s how the judicial system works, don’t you know?” You look back at him with a smirk, and Spencer can’t help the chortle that escapes his throat. 

“That is not how the United States judicial system works, but thank you.” 

“Yeah, you look like someone who would know all the inner workings of the judicial system.” 

Spencer can feel his cheeks getting red at how your voice sounds—teasing and a little flirty. Oh my god, were you flirting with him? He’s sure he’s all smiles and red cheeks as he looks at you, changing the topic. “None of your friends wanted to come with you tonight?”

“No, not their scene. It’s okay, though. I’m making a new friend right now.” 

Spencer’s finishing off his Jello as he steals a glance at you again, stars in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.” 

“Sure I do. Your name is Spencer. You like jello, nonfiction, Halloween, and dressing like a teacher’s assistant.” 

Spencer doesn’t want to say you’re wrong, even though he knows you’re just being nice, but he doesn’t want to spend another week without seeing you. He wants to be your friend— he’ll be anything you want him to be. “Could I–” He licks his lips, eyes searching yours nervously. 

You watch him carefully, tilting your head to the side as you look into his brown eyes. The sun is gone now, but the rising moon is shining down on him. He seems so… gentle, like a deer in a quiet forest.  A part of you just wants to scoop him up and bring him home with you, as inappropriate as that is. 

“You wouldn’t have to– It’s alright if you say no. I was just thinking I could give you my number sometime, maybe.” He manages with a gentle huff of air. 

You nod a little, “Sometime, maybe.” You repeat with a slight grin forming on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the projector starting to play the movie, and a hush falls over the cemetery’s lawn. 

Spencer’s voice is a little too loud as he rushes to say, “I mean, now. Would it be alright if I–” A shush cuts him off, and his back straightens quickly as he shuts his mouth. His eyes meet yours for a second before darting over to the projection. 

You’re watching him again, how he’s staring at the screen like his life depends on it. You scoot closer to him, grabbing your folded-up blanket in the process. Once you reach his side, you drape the folded blanket around his shoulders carefully before doing the same to your own. 

His fingers gingerly grab one of the blanket's edges, casting you an apologetic glance for a second as your pants graze against his. You seem unbothered as you lean toward him. “I would love your number after this, " you whisper, looking up into his doe-like eyes before turning your head to watch the film. 

He’s beaming now as he stares at you, and his chest tightens slightly when you lean close to him again. You’re so close he can smell your perfume, the scent tangling with the sweet smell of crisp fall air. “You like costume parties?” Your voice is barely audible. 

He signals that he does silently, his head moving up and down quickly. The sight makes you grin as you mouth a silent, ‘Perfect’ at him before your attention is fully pulled back to the movie. 

Spencer feels warm all over for the rest of the night, and three months from now, he’ll start to believe three is a lucky number as he picks you up for your third date with him and just how perfect everything feels when he kisses you. 

[mfxoxo]

He's so nerdy and awkward, gOd it makes him even hotter

[jemilygifs]

CRIMINAL MINDS 12.03 "Taboo"

[mariasont]

Hello baby borl can you write a spencer reid x reader where they are kind of awkward but they still are relatively outgoing but they never EVER make the first move so they just vaguely flirt with him but very awkwardly like... maybe they have an obscure favorite animal and they tell him about it and then they compare him to it and its funny bc its like.. a slug or a spider (an animal that many ppl dont like and dont find attractive)

Arachnophobia - S.R

a/n: i dont know if baby borl was a misspelling or not but i am obsessed with it and i will now be referring to everyone as that from this point forward

ALSO thank you so much for the request i <3 an awkward reader truly

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: spider! ah!, reader climbing on a chair like that's a little dramatic if you ask me, spencer being a little shit, fluffy fluff, cuties being awkward, comparing spencer to a female spider!

wc: 0.9k

"Oh my god!"

You didn't mean for your scream to be as loud as it was, it was more instinctive than anything, not having enough time to stifle it as you hopped upon the closest desk chair. Unfortunately for you, that chair happened to belong to the object of your affection—Spencer Reid, resident boy genius and pretty boy.

Pretty boy was the understatement of the century. He was the embodiment of aesthetic perfection in your eyes, a vision of loveliness that seemed almost otherworldly.

But that all receded to the edges of your brain, your gaze laser focused on the teeny tiny crawler scuttling across the carpeted floor beneath you.

"Is there a reason you're standing on my chair?"

Spencer's eyes were trained on your shoes, a frown forming as he undoubtedly considered the microbial invasion spreading from your soles to his well-maintained seat.

You couldn't say anything, mouth snapped shut as you just pointed to the hairy thing. He quirked an eyebrow, following your gesture before a soft chuckle escaped him, head shaking in the process.

You narrowed your eyes, not finding the same humor in the situation as he was. "Spencer, it's not funny. Get it please?"

"Well since you asked so nicely." He moved towards a box of tissues on his desk. But you grasped his wrist to stop him, your balance faltering, and a tiny squeal escaped you as you teetered on the edge of the chair.

His hold on your hip was immediate, the closest thing in order to stabilize you is how you rationalized it, saving you from an imminent face-to-floor meeting.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly, a low buzz spreading from your head to the spot where his hand enclosed around. "Don't kill it."

He gave you a pointed look, but then grabbed a plastic cup by the water cooler. You missed his hands on you the second he was gone.

He crouched down to where the spider was crawling around, carefully shoveling it into the cup.

"Don't hurt its legs!"

"I feel like there is a lot of protesting coming from someone who can't even put their feet on the ground right now."

That shut you up. A soft pout found its way to your lips as you folded your arms defensively. His smirk grew at the sight, and you couldn't stop the delightful warmth that bubbled up inside your chest, sticky and potent.

"Once the spider is at a safe distance then I'll come down," you said with a shrug.

He expertly secured the paper over the clear cup's mouth, trapping the spider inside. "All clear."

You watched his hands warily, your lips forming a tight line as you stayed put, eliciting an exasperated eye roll from him. 

"It's not going to hurt you."

"You don't know that."

He angled the cup towards the light, inspecting the bug with a squint. 

"It's unlikely you'll ever be bitten by a spider. They aren't interested in humans. They don't seek us out like mosquitoes or ticks do." He moved the cup in your direction. "This is just a common house spider, known scientifically as Parasteatoda tepidariorum. Completely harmless."

"It doesn't look completely harmless to me," you countered, wrinkling your nose and leaning back.

You almost lost your balance. Again. His hands found your waist. Again.

"How about you come down now?"

"Right, sorry I know you're probably freaking out about my outdoor shoes on your chair."

His hand moved to grab yours as you stepped down. "I'm more concerned about the potential of you cracking your skull."

You beamed, a wide smile lighting up your features as you planted your feet firmly on the carpet. "Eh, I'm pretty much indestructible."

"Tell that to the spider."

You tried to glare at him, but you were sure it came off softer around than edges than you intended, because you weren't really annoyed. Spencer's ease in teasing you was a recent development, it had taken ages to get to this point. The roles used to be reserved, but then you fell in love with him, and now every word you spoke had been nothing but overthought and stiff.

"He is a little cute actually." You stepped closer, gingerly at that, maintaining a safe distance just in case Spencer decided to pull any funny business.

"Well, he's a she."

"Oh, how impolite of me," you said, as you crouched down to bring yourself face-to-face with the spider.

"Interestingly, the female common house spiders are known for its problem-solving abilities when capturing prey. If the first attempt doesn't work, it will try different strategies, which shows a level of adaptability and intelligence."

"Awh, she's kind of like you, isn't she?"

You wanted to slap a hand over your face. You sounded like an idiot. His eyes narrowed, and then that charming little smile broke through, a little uneven, making him all the more appealing.

"That feels offensive."

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes crinkling in response. "It's not, I swear, that was supposed to be a compliment."

"I'd be careful with those compliments, wouldn't want to inflate my ego too much."

Maybe tomorrow you'd tell him how you feel. Probably not.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[unhingedgirlythings]

You’ve got mail

A/N: Okay, I gave you all an awkward Spencer. Now I give less awkward older Spence cuz I love both, and the music I’m listening to right now is just screaming confidence lmao. I also apologise if the writing is funky I tried to edit which I do not do but I’m trying to get better at it lmao ENJOY

SUMMARY : You keep getting Spencer Reid’s Mail, and based on the content of his magazine subscriptions, you wouldn’t be surprised if he murdered you one day. It was strange; you found him quite intriguing, but without context for his odd taste in reading materials, you decided it was probably best to just stay clear and ignore him. But when you order something, it ends up in Reid’s mailbox. You’ll do everything in your power to get it back because you will not survive the embarrassment if he opens that package.so you do what any sane person would…. Break into his apartment.

TAGS: breaking and entering, the universe has it out for reader , hot older Spencer you’re welcome, reader buys a sex toy … that’s it lmao.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The cryptic man living in the apartment next to yours was either a true crime enthusiast or a serial killer in the making. Even though you’d only caught glimpses of him over the years, you sure knew a lot more than you should or wanted to about your neighbour and his interests. The sheer volume of magazines featuring killers, cults and serial rapists that were mistakenly slid through your mail shoot was somewhat concerning at best. You could understand a few subscriptions, as you were a bit of a true crime fiend yourself. Still, the number of subscriptions was far too alarming for anyone to claim sanity.

This was a shame because, despite your caution and best efforts, you often found the idea of a true crime-loving brainiac stuck in your mind, even if he seemed to survive on an unhealthy amount of takeout judging by the copious amount of menus shoved under his door.

Aside from the few gruesome crime magazines, you’d also discovered a fair share of thrillers and classical books catalogues, alongside subscriptions relating to chess and some annoyingly advanced puzzles that always left your brain feeling fried after attempting to solve them. Your curiosity about him grew with each missent letter and subscription, pulling you in despite the logical warning to keep your distance and avoid him at all costs, just in case he was a creepy serial killer fanboy.

Yet you couldn’t even catch him in time to give him his mail back, let alone try to converse in a conversation, so you settled on avoiding him at all costs.

Instead of handing his mail to him like a normal, sane person would, you resorted to shoving all his mail through his door as best you could, along with a note urging him to do something about how much of it you were getting. Despite your best efforts to prevent his mail from becoming a tripping hazard in your apartment, here you were once again standing in front of his apartment door sporting a freshly applied face mask, fuzzy hot pink PJs, and a copy of Serial Killer Weekly in your hand. All you wanted was to get back to the comfort of your couch, but it seemed like fate had other plans.

Forcibly, you jam the magazine into its owner’s mail slot, grimacing as you watch the once-smooth edges start to wrinkle in retaliation. “Seriously, why do they make these things so goddamn small” Your frustrated remarks were interrupted by the sound of keys jingling, followed by footsteps echoing down the hall. “Shoot”, giving up and abandoning the magazine, you book it to your apartment, slamming the door behind yourself just as someone turns the corner. Catching your breath, you rest your back against the door, allowing the sudden burst of adrenaline a second to cool its jets before making your way back to the comfy little blanket-like nest you had been lounging around on all evening. The tea you had previously abandoned was now lukewarm, not ideal, but there was no way in hell you would waste a cup of tea. Bringing the mug up to your lips, you stretch yourself across the couch to where you had thrown your laptop, careful not to spill your drink whilst pulling it back onto your lap as you settle in to resume your nightly internet deep drive.

Did you have a slight online shopping addiction? Yes, yes, you did. It wasn’t unusual for you to shift from reading some odd article describing the history of how pillows were made to one of your bookmarked shopping sites. The one thing you loved about the internet is the abundance of useless random Shit you can buy, and boy, did you love useless random Shit. You knew you should be spending your money on something that you actually needed instead of cute little magnets of animated cats. Still, you were only human, highly irresponsible with money, but human nonetheless. A few minutes quickly turned to hours as you added things to your cart, justifying to yourself their importance and why they were an investment in your happiness. Any thought you had of your neighbour melted away as you got sucked back into the World Wide Web.

An all too familiar irritating burn scratched at your eyes, screaming at you to put the laptop away and go to sleep before you burnt a massive hole through your savings. Just as you were about to give in to the little nagging voice in your head, a scandalous ad floated its way across your screen, perking your interest. It was no secret that your sex life sucked majorly, and you weren’t usually the type to buy risky items. The only things you did own were stupid gag gifts hidden away in your closet that your friends had brought as a joke. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at them, let alone use them; it was as if they were mocking you for not being able to get any.

Maybe you deserved to buy one last thing before calling it a night; you just won’t look at your bank account in the morning and regret your life choices. As sleep starts to catch up, you quickly enter the billing address, not bothering to double-check it, before closing the laptop and making your way to your room.

Weeks had passed since that night; honestly, you had forgotten all about the order until you were interrupted mid-shower, screaming some trashy song with a notification from the postal company. Your package was arriving in the afternoon, so, like any normal person, you put all plans for the day on hold as you waited anxiously, sitting on your couch by the door. There was no way in hell you were going to risk your neighbours seeing the promiscuous packaging; the little old lady living right next door, who you just adored, thought you were such a sweet girl and could do no wrong you’d be damned if you ruined that image for her.

The urge to pee suddenly appeared as you and the door were in the middle of a weird yet intense staring match, you tried focusing all your attention solely on the door . And yet, the bursting need to pee was starting to strain. After pushing yourself to keep it in just a bit longer, you caved. It was only going to take a minute; surely, they wouldn’t drop it off whilst you were doing your business. Snapping away from the door, you push yourself off the couch and bolt towards the toilet, trying to make it in time, not really wanting to pee yourself today or any other day for that matter.

Just as you sit down, your phone lights up, alerting you that your package has arrived and has been dropped off, “Shit, of course, just my luck; here’s to praying Mrs Paddington stays inside. “grumbling whilst you finish up as quickly as possible, you stumble your way out of the bathroom rushing to the door still trying to pull your pants back up. Hastily, Swinging the door open only to reveal absolutely nothing, no package, not even the mailman walking up the hall to hand it over, just an empty hallway. Raising your brow in Confusion, you pull out your phone to double check, yep definitely says it was dropped off ... that’s when you saw it, fear shot its way through your body as you looked up at the address you had put down weeks prior, how you made such a stupid small mistake was beyond you, but fuck did you hate yourself right now.

“Please, god, no, please don’t be doing this to me right now,” you pleaded while clinging to some delusion of hope. You walked over to the little mail slot that belonged to the door just in front of yours.

Bending down, you push it open as far as it would allow; your eye hovered over the tiny opening as you peeked inside, praying to some god that it wasn’t in his apartment. But seeing as your luck was just so amazing right now, there it was, sitting right there on the other side of what you’d assume was a locked door, which, of course, belonged to the one and only neighbour that you swore to yourself you’d avoid like the black plague.

Now you were truly, royally fucked.

All you wanted to do was lay down and die, bury yourself in the ground and never come back. How in the hell did you end up in this situation? To say you were embarrassed was an understatement. Never in your life have you fucked up this badly, and you fuck up frequently. Yet, here you were, banging your head on his door, wanting nothing but to simply disappear and not have to deal with the explanation of why your newly brought vibrator was sitting in his apartment.

As you sat there, forehead pressed against the hard wooden door, ready to admit defeat, a thought crossed your mind.

Who said he needed to ever know about the package?

Was breaking into his apartment one of your brightest ideas? No, probably not, but it was the only one you could come with. No way were you going to just leave it there for him to discover and have whatever dignity you had left destroyed by embarrassment.

Rushing into your apartment for a split second, you grab a trusty bobby pin from the bathroom and make your way back to his apartment, ready to put all the knowledge from the late-night crime shows you’ve binged to good use; it didn’t matter that you’ve never picked a lock before, how hard could it be.

Focusing all your attention on the lock, you shoved the pin in and jiggled it around, hoping something would click into the right place and do something.

Just as you were about to give up and resort to just kicking the door down out of frustration, you heard the clicking noise of the door unlocking. Your face lit up with pride; of course, you never doubted your skills for a second, okay, maybe just a little, but that wasn’t something you were about to focus on right now. Your victory was short-lived as you remembered your little mission. Carefully, you pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment, taking in your surroundings as you did so.

It looked like a library that had exploded everywhere. There were books and files scattered around in a somewhat organised way. Oddly enough, despite the chaos of every surface being covered with reading material, the space was immaculately clean. Confused: You walked past your package towards the cluttered dining room table. You ran your finger across the wooden surface, expecting there to be some dust residue. Yet, despite the house looking abandoned, there wasn’t a spec of dirt anywhere. “What an odd dude. “As hard as it was, you ignored your curiosity, not really wanting to risk being caught snooping through his things.

As you make your way back to your package, you let out a sigh of relief as you pick it up, holding it close to your chest. “Crisis avoided, thank god” Just as you were about to make your way out of the apartment to the safety of your own home, your body was roughly slammed into the table you were inspecting a second ago. Its edges dug uncomfortably into your stomach; your cheek was pressed against the loose sheets of paper as your assailant held you down in place. One hand was wrapped around your wrists, holding them in place behind your back, and the other had a firm grip on the back of your head. The colour quickly drained from your face as a bolt of panic hit your core. “What are you doing in my apartment?” a low, assertive voice grumbled against your back; a shiver ran down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin; suddenly, all the jokes about your neighbour killing you didn’t seem to feel that funny anymore.

“i-I promise there is a perfect explanation for this”, your voice betrayed you as it trembled pathetically, throwing away any image of composure out the window.

“You broke into my apartment? I’m not quite sure if there’s a good explanation for that; you realise you can get up to 10 years in jail for breaking and entering, right. “

Oh shit, you didn’t think about that.

“Seriously, I wasn’t stealing anything; there were no ill intentions. I didn’t even realise you were here. That’s why I broke in the first place” The words were spilling out, and there was no way you were going to be able to stop them. “That sounded bad, didn’t it? “

“Very. “The sound of his feet shuffling around on the wooden floorboards gave you a sickening uneasiness deep in your stomach. “Didn’t look like that to me; what’s this then “his grip loosened as he bent down to where you had dropped the package. There was not a sound coming from you, no pleading or begging. You just stayed there still and silent, knowing there was no point in stopping him now.

There was no need for you to see his face; the image of a shocked expression that your mind conjured up was enough to cause an embarrassing heat in your cheeks. The eerie silence that filled the room definitely didn’t help calm your racing thoughts. Before it could get any more awkward between the two of you, the once-restricting grip holding you securely in place loosened completely, leaving you free to push yourself off the table.

Your eyes danced around the room, making sure to avoid the apologetic look you felt coming from the man in front of you. Not wanting to subject yourself to this torture a second longer, you somehow mustered up the tinniest bit of courage and pushed your way past him, grabbing the box in the process and trying to save what little respectability you had left. Thankfully, there were no protests made as you barged out of the apartment; neither one of you dared to utter a word as he watched you escape back to the safety of your own apartment.

Aggressively, you tossed the scandalous box onto the couch, along with yourself. A loud groan left your body as it made contact with the softer surface. You could already hear your brain overworking itself as it replayed the scene over and over again, disregarding your displeasure. You could feel your stomach starting to churn with each thought, and the urge to puke was becoming more violent.

You knew there was no way in hell you were ever using it now; the feeling of embarrassment was glued to it now, and to be frank, you’d rather drown in a puddle of your own puke than think about today ever, EVER again.

Before you could spiral any further and trap yourself in an overthinking season, a faint knock came from the door, and your head snapped upwards as another knock followed. Not wanting to be rude, you hesitantly got up from your position on the couch, dragging your feet to the door and cautiously opening it, only to be greeted by the last person you wanted to see right now. “May I help you?”

“Hi, umm, I just wanted to apologise for earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you; I thought you were an intruder stealing my mail.”

“Technically, it’s my mail I was stealing, and the breaking in... yeah, I don’t have an excuse for that one.”

“Okay, well again, sorry for, well, everything that went down” The room fell uncomfortably silent; neither of you really knew how to shift the conversation; thankfully, you didn’t have to be the one that broke the silence. “guess I’ll get going then I just wanted to clear the air “sporting a slight smile he turns, retreating to his apartment but before he could reach his door you call out.

“Actually! Can you wait up? I have some of your mail” The chaos from today completely scrambled your brain; you had initially planned to take his mail with you as you technically broke into his apartment, but of course, the panic of him finding your package fucked with your ability to think. Stopping in his tracks, your neighbour gave you a rightly so confused look as he moved back into the apartment to hear you out. “You know you really need to talk to the mailman. I swear if I have to see another crime scene or a creepy middle-aged man’s mug shot, I might lose it. “The slightly crooked smile he responded with had you choking on air; before you make more of a fool of yourself, you turn quickly to sort through the pile of mail on the table, hoping to come across this morning’s additions. “I know, I know “, he sighed deeply as he moved closer, joining you in the search. “I just can never find the chance; I barely get any free time to relax as is” Before you can stop yourself, you regretfully let your filter slip. “Ah, does killing people take up all your time? I suggest retirement” Truly, you were shocked with yourself today; what kind of witch did you piss off to be cursed with suck shitty luck. Just as you had the apology on the way, you were interrupted with a chuckle. “Bold of you to say to someone you think to be a killer,” he smirked down at you, his brow slightly raised, questioning your judgement. “Well shit” As subtly as you could manage, you shuffled around the table, trying to put some distance between the two of you, glancing at him as you go.

The panic started to hit you as your mind began doing summersaults, quickly jumping to conclusions.

“I’m guessing I’m on the list now, huh?” A heavy chuckle filled the room, leaving you dumbfounded. Is he that crazy? He must have caught onto your discomfort and calmed down quickly to shut down your irrational thinking. “Sorry, sorry, no. I actually arrest killers for a living” As if you needed more proof, he pulls out a badge from his wallet and places it on the table. “I can kind of see how those magazines made you think otherwise” thank god you had never felt so relieved in your life, not today, death, not today. Looking down at the badge, your smile slightly fades. FBI… he’s with the FBI… YOU BROKE INTO THE HOUSE OF AN FBI AGENT. “Did I apologise for breaking in? Cuz I’m very, very sorry. “

“Don't stress, I’m not going to arrest you or anything; I get it, just maybe next time, knock?” you giggle as you walk over to him with his mail in hand “, “passing him the mail, your fingers graze against his sending a slight shiver down your spine.

“Thanks,” he says, you nod.

“Thanks for not murdering me” he smiles down at you before backing away towards the door, but just as he goes to leave, he turns back. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, neighbour “he waves goodbye as he shuts your door; once you can no longer hear footsteps, you finally let yourself breathe again.

“Well … least he’s hot,” you shrug off the events of today, turn, and make eye contact with the package in the corner of the room that started it all. “… I did spend money on it, and I’m not one to waste money” There was a long, silent pause as you debated it. “Nah, I shouldn’t. “Shaking your head, you grabbed the remote off the table and walked over to the couch, trying to make yourself comfortable whilst switching on your detective show. Honestly, you really were going to forget all about the toy. Still, once a curly, brown-haired character appeared on the screen that you refused to admit looked way too much like your (hot) neighbour, the urge took over, and before you knew it, you were grabbing the box and shutting your door, hoping you could keep it your little, shameful secret. I mean, doesn’t everyone think about their neighbour whilst they get off

[whoisspence]

this gotta be called the spencer reid face

[angel-vin]

OLEAZE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP WRITING *SPENCER REID* AS SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HOW TO FLIRT AND ISNT AKWAFD THAG FUCKNG NERD IS A NERD!!! STOP!!!!! HE IS AWKWARD AND HE WILL MOST DEFINITELY NOT KNOW IF UR FLIRTING WITH HIM!!!!!!! STOP THHIS DE-NERDIFYING PANDEMIC!

DTOP BEI G ASHAMED ADMIT THAT YIU LVOE NERDS

[t1red-twilight]

through the ages

part 1

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, doesn’t follow cannon super closely (i’m stupid), cursing, mentions of spencelle (bc i said so)

notes: lmao finally got this out

word count: 2.0k

masterlist series masterlist s. r. masterlist

hotch opened the door and brought you in. spencer took note of everything; the curve of your lips, the way you walked. he had never been so enamored with a single person before. sure, he’d had crushes. but never once had he immediately needed to know someone.

aaron’s introduction of you was wordless; the world lagged as spencer gazed upon you but desperately tried to avoid eye contact. every spot of your face, every imperfection had him speechless.

you had just graduated, masters in criminal justice and a minor in sociology from princeton. full ride scholarship, spencer later found out. (your writing was exquisite; very insightful. he looked it up in the hotel later that evening.)

it had been a normal day in the office, as normal as it could be. then, his world stopped when he saw you. after elle had left something in him felt sort of numb; maybe, you could give him a spark.

you sat in the chair directly to his left on the opposite side of the table. one elbow leaned on the desk, and you wordlessly mouthed words he couldn’t make out as the case was described. your eyes flicked over to him, and he quickly looked back at hotch. had you caught him staring, or had you wanted to catch a glimpse of him? he knew that this could maybe mean that you were trying to look at him from the same motivations that he was, enamorment, or maybe you had just sensed him staring like a frog at a fly: quickly, insignificantly.

the only issue was that it seemed you liked morgan.

las vegas, nevada was where the team was headed. being here reminded spencer of things, memories he didn’t care to recall. he noticed how you were hesitant to speak up, a feeling he had been familiar with a few years ago when he first joined the team.

the police station was incredibly stuffy, typical for the las vegas summertime. if you looked out into the road, you could see mirages. the police station had ac, but it was not helpful by any means at all.

spencer looked over at you. your hands were in your lap, and you were intently focused on something that morgan was saying. morgan was sitting on the table in the centers of the conference room, and you were looking up at him.

the stretch of morgan’s muscles underneath his shirt made spencer’s chest pang with envy. what did you think about morgan? was morgan your type? oh, god. maybe spencer didn’t even have a chance.

he didn’t see hotch approaching. “you find anything on the geographical profile, reid?” spencer blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his mind. he turned around to face the map that he had been leaning on. “distracted?” hotch’s eyebrows raised in what spencer knew to be amusement, though he was never hyper-expressive.

“uh- no. i’m alright. all the murders were in the same police jurisdiction, and all within a mile of each other. the focal point of these suggest that the unsub might live-“

-

you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. this introduction could make or break your relationship with the bau team. it didn’t help that you were so young and inexperienced. hell, you were still working on your phd.

aaron hotchner guided you into the room and recited your name and qualifications. however, your eyes were glued to the wall right above the shoulder of a tall man, who had a goatee.

when you peeled your eyes away from the wall, you saw him. he had light brown hair, and starry eyes that were behind thick-rimmed glasses. one of his plump lips was tucked between his teeth.

once hotchner finished, you sat down paid attention as much as you could to the case that you were being sent on. baptism by fire, you guessed.

every now and then, you’d look out of the corner of your eye to look at the man in glasses. hopefully he wouldn’t catch you trying to memorize every freckle and line on his face.

you stayed mostly silent on the jet. you figured that you could mostly shadow the other people on the team before you got the hang of things. the chairs on the jet were not super comfortable; or maybe, you were just ridiculously tense.

you had only been to las vegas one or two times, and one of those times was just driving through. the police station was crowded and full of typical police assholes. that, you were more than used to. a bead of sweat dripped down your back.

when you sat down to look at the police reports one more time, you heard the table creak as someone sat upon it. looking up, you saw the man with the goatee from earlier. “so, where’d you work before you landed this gig?”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. at least he was being casual. still, you dropped your hands to your lap to fiddle with your fingers. “i was an assistant at a firm up in jersey,” you said, pausing briefly. “remind me what your name was again?”

“i’m morgan.” you followed by telling him your name. he must’ve seen you glancing over at the man in glasses repeatedly. he was raptly describing the geographical profile to agent hotchner. “that’s reid, if you didn’t already know.”

“that’s good to know. this morning was a little rushed.” your eyes trailed over agent reid. the way his fingers moved across the map with intense dexterity was enticing.

morgan chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully (even though you couldn’t see it, your gaze still locked on reid). “he’s single,” morgan purred, jumping off the table to return to his previous task.

you felt like a deer caught in the headlights, but morgan was gone before you could protest to what he was alluding to.

-

the case had gone by smoothly. but spencer could hardly even focus when you were within fifty feet of him. he was inexplicably drawn to you.

the jet was much cooler than vegas had been, and the entire team felt relieved. you were the last on, spencer quickly sat upright. were you walking towards him?

you spoke in a soft tone, “can i sit here? all the other seats are taken.” you clasped your hands together, likely out of nerves.

spencer nodded vigorously before he answered. he almost forgot to respond verbally. “yeah!” he said loudly. shit. he didn’t want to seem too eager, he might embarrass himself. “yes, of course you can.” this time, he spoke as quietly and calmly as he could muster while simultaneously scooting over to make room for you on the couch.

he tried to avoid eye contact. luckily, you weren’t even looking in his direction. if you had been, you might see the red creeping up his neck. you had a light floral scent about you, one that reminded him of simpler times when life was less hectic.

“agent reid, right?” you murmured. even though it was just his last name, he loved the way you said it, rolling off your tongue so smoothly and delicately.

he shrugged and leaned back on the couch slightly, trying to relax his shoulders. “doctor, actually, but you can just call me spencer.”

your tongue swiped your bottom lip before you spoke. “spencer. that suits you.” oh god, it did sound great when you said it. it sounded downright angelic; almost as if you were the only person meant to say it.

a silence followed. while being slightly awkward, spencer wasn’t too concerned about it. at least you were sitting next to him and not derek. “did you have a job before this one?”

“yeah, i was a lawyer’s assistant.” your voice was more soft than it had been. spencer looked over at you for the first time since you sat next to him.

“you like the bau so far?”

“how long have you worked for the bau?” you both spoke over each other; you turned and met his gaze. your eyes were beautiful, the lighting of the jet illuminating your face in a perfect way. spencer gestured for you to speak first.

“yeah, it’s alright.” a small smile adorned your lips. spencer wondered what they tasted like, before shutting that thought down completely. he couldn’t be thinking that about his coworker, let alone one he met less than forty eight hours ago.

you mirrored his gesture. “i’ve worked at the bau for a couple of years now.” what a dumb response. why couldn’t he think or speak properly?

his mind kept wandering. “you like it so far?” he whispered.

“yeah, it’s pretty cool.” pretty cool? who even says that? “just let me know if you need anything.” you gave him a warm smile and nodded. the way you smiled made him giddy and filled his stomach with butterflies.

-

being last on the jet didn’t work out well for you. every seat was taken, and the few that weren’t had feet propped up on them. in the back, you could see the couch still had space. perhaps spencer wouldn’t mind?

you walked over hesitantly to the couch. he didn’t notice you right away. “can i sit here? all the other seats are taken,” you noted, rocking on your heels.

he looked up at you, responding brightly. “yeah!” he moved over and spoke more quietly. “yes, of course you can.” there was a good six inches between the two of you, but it was as if you were brushing up against him with how your nerves were treating you.

small talk sucked, but you figured it would probably benefit you in getting to know your coworkers. “agent reid, right?” you recalled morgan’s anecdote from earlier, at the police station. it would really suck if you had somehow managed to forget his name in the time it took to solve the case and fly back to quantico.

“doctor, actually but you can just call me spencer.” shit, you totally just disrespected him. if only agent hotchner had properly introduced everyone when you were introduced.

trying to hide your increasing embarrassment, you tried, again, to be casual. “spencer. that suits you.” you should have apologized. not knowing what to say, you sat in the silence that consumed the rest of the jet. your knee bobbed up and down, you pulled at your fingers, and breathed deeply.

“did you have a job before this one?” he cleared his throat. did everything he did have to be attractive?

“yeah, i was a lawyer’s assistant.”

he had been looking at you, you realized. how long had he been looking at you and you were too skittish to look at him? how could you, with his gorgeous starry eyes.

in another circumstance his ‘interrogation’ would have intimidated you but, you only felt anxious from trying to impress him. “you like the bau so far?”

“how long have you worked for the bau?” the two of you interrupted each other. a laugh was shared and you relaxed for once, your posture looking a little less like you were constipated.

the chill of the jet was setting in; that, or spencer was just giving you goosebumps. he waved his hand in a motion saying that you should respond first. “yeah, it’s alright.” you actually really liked it (despite the morbidity, but that you were used to). but, you had to seem cool. chill, not like you were analyzing every thing he did and said to see if he liked you.

copying what he did, you silently urged that he was good to respond. “i’ve worked at the bau for a couple of years now,” he nodded as he spoke.

small talk did suck, a lot, but at least you were talking to spencer and not alone with your worried thoughts. “you like it so far?” you asked.

“yeah, it’s pretty cool.” his adam’s apple bobbed. “just let me know if you need anything.” you smiled at this, his comfort proving successful. the tension in your spine finally dissipated. it was good that you were at least on good terms with the bau member closest in age with you.

next part

[gummy-cat-writes]

me, trying to work out the layout of spencer's apartment

spencer in the reference photos (they're all from zugzwang)

[ssaseaprince]

Can we talk about how Derek obviously has a type because Spencer and Penelope are so similar.

[fandomscombine]

Oh look it’s a socially awkward genius character that the show runners will keep traumatising every season. (I want them and I will protect with all my being.)

[bambinafangirls]

dropped a (not-so) fun fact to my coworkers and made things kind of awkward. call me spencer reid.

[lavendiepaste]

My brother said offhand at some point that I'd like Reid from Criminal Minds a lot more if he was an awkward nerdy probably autistic girl and I think I have to agree

[womenloverlmao]

hes so awkward i want to fuck him.

[theognatster]

everyone says, I want post prison Spencer, I want later season Spencer. BITCH I want that little awkward season 1-2 Spencer

[lucaswarmhotchocolate]

I think that Morgan is vastly underestimating the amount of women who would throw themselves at Reid being a submissive nerd like. Idk I think he should be blushing and smiling and nervous instead of “in control” of a conversation. He was basically made to be a dominant woman’s plaything yknow