#keep your germs to yourself

[music-saveme]

Coworker came to work sick without a mask on, openly coughing and sneezing. If I get sick I’m going to be so mad.

[kenuis]

Man who ever goes to family functions sick your momma is a HO.

[bi-bi-bisexual-pie]

Actually, we do. We always wear masks in any kind of OR setting, so operating room staff literally wear masks all day long. If patients have certain infections (like flu, rhinovirus, pertussis/whooping cough, meningitis, strep) we wear masks in their room and they have to wear masks if they leave their room. (COVID actually requires N95 masks or full on respirators that look like legit space helmets.) Before COVID we wore masks in hospitals all the time already because it’s effective. Imagine that.

Also friendly reminder that medical professionals have always strongly recommended that people wear masks throughout flu season and if you are exhibiting any cold/flu symptoms for decades. Other countries have no problem with it. Americans have always thrown a fit about wearing masks and it makes me embarrassed to be an American.

[seojuhyun]

To all the sick people on the bus, STAY H O M E

[luveline]

James being all cuddly and soft with a newborn baby and reader <3 baby fever is real and very serious rn!!!!!

James can’t believe it. He really can’t. 

Can’t believe you love him. Can’t believe you wanted a baby. Can’t believe you spent nine months of your life growing her, and nurturing her, and here she is. He’s in total ecstasy. 

“You don’t have to keep watching her,” you murmur. “She won’t run away.” 

“But what if I blink and she yawns again?” 

“Jamie…” You reach for him across the bed, careful not to graze the top of the baby’s head. “She’s gonna yawn for the rest of her life. You’ll see plenty of them.” 

“She’s so cute. I can’t stop looking at her.” 

He lowers his head where it’s resting in his hand so you can run your fingers through his hair. Even exhausted, you’re touchy. Love warms your fingertips and the thin skin of his scalp as you rake through his loose curls. 

James curls an arm around the baby gently, so gently. He shuffles closer to her, and you, by extension, where you’re on the other side of her. You might assure him she’s not going anywhere, but you don’t seem to believe it to yourself, glued to her even while you’re half asleep. You trust James to make sure you don't accidentally get too close.

“She’s so beautiful,” James whispers, bringing his curled hand to her face, the flat of his nail against her cheek. He draws a little circle. 

“She looks like her mammy.” 

“Yes, she does.” 

“You think so?” you ask. “I was just kidding. I haven’t really thought about it.” 

James looks at the baby’s face. Her teeny tiny nose, her eyelashes, her perfect skin. He likes to think he can see you in her because of course he can, you made her, you carried her and you grew her. Somehow, the fruit looks like the flower. 

“She’s just as beautiful as you are,” he says surely. 

“All babies are beautiful.” 

“And ours is the most,” James says. She’s barely two days old. It’s insane. 

You’re a tired James has never seen on you, hand sluggish where it continues in his hair. You’re falling asleep again, eyelids blinking heavy and slow, your nose turning into the pillow. Seconds from dreaming. 

James shuffles up the bed to put his head on the pillow with you, the baby between your two bodies. He won’t sleep, he wants you to know he’s near. “I love you,” he reminds you, tapping your forehead with his. 

“Love you… I’m gonna sleep.” 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers, kissing your top lip in a miscalculated show of total adoration. 

You can’t kiss back. You give into sleep and in minutes you’re snoring lightly, breath a whistle where it slips past your lips. 

James gives your sleeping face a few kisses. He cups your cheek, and he curls toward your baby for more staring. He’s spent years already tracing the slopes and lines of your face, and now he has a new one to memorise. He refrains from kissing her, scared of germs, but he finds the small lump of her hand in the swaddle and covers it with his own. “Pretty,” he praises. 

She lets out a breath. Her snore is yours, too. 

[ssahotchnerr]

👉🏼👈🏼 is it ok to request a fic where jack starts trying to take care of the reader the way he sees his dad does? like maybe hotch is away from a case and reader gets sick or sad or idk, so jack takes it upon himself to be there for reader? like maybe he even starts referring reader with the same pet name hotch calls her? tysm!

like dad does

aw 🥹 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of sickness, fluff <3

you awoke with a gentle start; a trail of cold water trickling down the side of your face, pooling vaguely in your ear.

likewise, a more concrete sensation was set on your forehead - a cold compress. most likely a washcloth, and one that hadn't been wrung out too much at that.

but it was relieving, a delightful contrast from your burning forehead.

"oops," a small mumble came directly from your left ear, as well as a soft exhale of a breath. "sorry."

"jack?" you muttered, rather drowsily. you forced your eyes open, finding jack's sweet, concerned face beside you. "what're you doing?"

"i'm taking care of you." he explained softly, his tone so nonchalant as if it were the most obvious and simplest thing in the world. he reached forward, adjusting the top of the blanket that was draped overtop you. "like dad does. he put the washcloth on you yesterday, you 'member?"

he was right; you were on day two, maybe three? of a nasty bout of the flu. quite honestly you didn't know what day it was, they all blurred together, and your scattered sleep schedule didn't help. you offered him a nod.

"thank you." you gave him a small, closed mouth smile. if it weren't for the germs, you'd reach out to touch his cheek. you sat up a bit from your position in bed, your voice hoarse. "where is your dad?"

"a meeting."

your eyebrows furrowed, the facial movement burning your sinuses. "he's home?"

jack nodded, "he's in his office, but he said it might take a long time. so that's why i'm helping you feel better."

his face brightened a bit, as if a realization struck him. he reached into his pant's pocket, retrieving a few cough drops he had shoved in there, dropping them onto your blanket covered chest.

"i'm sorry i can't make you soup." jack apologized, solemnly as his shoulders dropped. "but i'm not allowed to use the stove."

your face softened, the weak smile resurfacing. "that's okay bud, don't worry. you can help dad make some later when he's done, how 'bout that?"

he nodded enthusiastically, before hoisting himself onto your bed.

"hey no no no, i wouldn't," you protested gently, your heart also melting at his action. "i don't want you getting my germs."

"if i get sick i get sick." that's the same thing aaron had said, multiple times, when he insisted on getting into bed with you earlier. jack scooted somewhat close, staying mainly on his father's side of the bed.

"and if i get sick, i don't need to go to school."

you laughed softly, but finding yourself too weak to argue, you did the only thing you could - go right back to sleep.

it was restless; you were in and out of slumber, and could roughly process jack getting up here and there - solely due to the distant sensation of the washcloth leaving and returning to your forehead, dampened once more.

and once aaron's meeting had ceased, he went in to check on you, and was pleasantly surprised, and touched, to see jack accompanying you.

you were out, with jack diligently watching over, while also keeping himself busy - his sketchbook and colored pencils were scattered amongst the bed.

"how's it going?" aaron asked him from the doorway, the door producing a sharp creak as he pushed it forward a tad.

"good. i brought cough drops, the washcloth, and made sure she got lots of rest. just like you did." jack continued to draw as he spoke, before his head shot right up. "can we make soup?"

"sure buddy," aaron nodded, a tinge of pride pulling at his heart. he tilted his head towards the hallway, and jack immediately scrambled off the bed. "c'mon."

[yuulettte]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫?!"

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ )

✰ Tags: gn!reader x various JJK men, fluff, reader has a cold oh NOOOO!!, sfw, just sugary sweet

✰Characters: Gojo, Yuta, Yuji, Geto, Megumi, Nanami

✰ A/N: I tested positive for covid so I decided to be self indulgent.. First time writing hcs for most of these boys ( ´ ▽ ` ) I apologize in advance

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You tell him not to come near you out of habit, but he reminds you about his limitless technique! Can germs touch him? Who knows~

Long movie watching sessions, he'll buy you whatever you want to eat. Shoko told him to make sure you're hydrated, so he might force you to drink. Good luck!

Still manages to make you laugh with his antics. He'll wave his hands over you, using that eccentric tone, "Get better~ get better~!" as if it'll magically heal you

One time you catch him reading articles online on how to take care of a sick partner. The expression on his face is that of pure focus

He eventually gets fed up and says something about how 'the strongest never gets sick!' And thus turns off his technique to cuddle with you. He catches your cold the next day LOL

Guess even the strongest isn't immune to flu season

𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐎𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Attentive in every way. Is absolutely unafraid of getting sick. He always ends up catching whatever bug you have because he takes care of you no matter what

Runs you warm baths. He'll help you wash, dry your hair, and get dressed.

Rubs your back if you're feeling unwell, even when you're not sick ( ´ ▽ ` )

"What do you need? I'll go get it for you. Is there a dish you'd like for me to cook?"

He's an insanely good care taker (no surprise)

Has a habit of buying you plushies whenever you get sick, so your bed is over taken by them after a few years of dating. It's an army.. Or so you call it!

Will give you that sad puppy look if you refuse to let him hold you, even if it's out of love. He just wants to make you feel better

Doesn't let anyone else enter the house unless it's your family, he's your boyfriend and so it's his responsibility to take care of you! (he's protective)

𝐘𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Will show up at your place with a bag full of medicine and goodies

Also doesn't care about catching whatever you have.

"I've got a super good immune system, so it's no problem!"

It's true too, what takes you a week to get over he'll tank in two days. It's actually kinda scary

He'll do whatever he can to make you laugh. And if you can't, then he'll comfort you

You'll have video game tournaments in your bed, and by the end he's always curled around you like a guard dog. The both of you fall asleep like that often

He'll wipe the sweat from your forehead and give you a cooling pad when you wake up as an apology :'D

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He's not very good with germs, so he might keep his distance if you have a nasty virus

He still really cares! Just may approach you with a mask and some anti bacterial

Lots of praise. Reminds you that it'll be okay, you'll feel better soon and he'll make sure of it

"You'll feel better soon my love, don't worry. Just drink this,"

He'll sooth you with his voice to help you fall asleep.

Like Satoru, he'll ask Shoko for advice on how to care for you. He takes to it more naturally, though. It's the dad vibes! Care taking is in his DNA

You find yourself getting sick way less often when spending tons of time with him. He just has that sort of aura?

𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Not the most emotionally attentive, but he'll come over and bring magazines/books for you to read and some medicine

Will sit with you in silence. He doesn't want you to hurt your throat from forcing yourself to talk

If you'd like, he'll summon his shadow dogs for you to cuddle with. He'd do it himself but he doesn't want you to feel sweaty

He's surprisingly strict about what you eat. It has to be homemade and full of nutrients

He cooks recipes that Tsumiki taught him for you ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) they're delicious!

Even if he doesn't show it outwardly, he's honestly extremely worried. He wants you to get better as soon as possible!

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He takes time off work, you're his number one priority. He WILL be the one nursing you back to health

Husband material. He knows all of your favorite sick foods and most effective medications

Firm about you getting rest. "Please, allow me honey," and it's you literally reaching for a cup of water

He cooks meals that are easy on your stomach. Took the time to educate himself on what vitamins to give you

Will likely also catch your sicky, but he honestly doesn't mind because that means more time off with you.

The two of you will be wrapped around each other in bed while he reads to you, both with wet towels on your foreheads <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[ipseitydelrey]

cherry ☆ s. reid

ship spencer reid x afab!reader

content smut, period sex (kinda?), eating out (f!receiving), while on your period, it’s not that gross i swear, he’s a munch ur honour 🙇

word count 1.7k

summary usually during your period, you get really hot and bothered for no particular reason other than hormones. spencer offers to help out with your problem.

a/n im posting this directly after seeing a show at the moulin rouge, it’s currently 2am; this was inspired by my experience at the eras tour in stockholm

Periods are hell for you. Not just because of the cramps, or the blood, but because you just get so horny.

Now, to others it’s completely normal to masturbate while their periods are happening, either with a fingers or with a toy. Period sex is also a thing you’ve heard of, even from your friends who have often recommended the activity.

But to you, doing anything remotely like that, either by yourself or with anyone else, is a no. Mostly because of the messiness and how troublesome it would be to clean it up. So instead of getting relief by just touching youself, you always decide to wait until your period is finished to start doing sexual activities again. Besides, you only just have to go a few days without stimulation.

But this week is hard. You have the urge to just rip your underwear off and play with your clit until your wrist starts to ache all the time. It’s pure agony for you, and sometimes you find youself clenching your thighs together, or pushing your heel against your clothed pussy to get some sort of relief.

In the middle of your monthly period, one day is especially hard. You’re laying on the couch with a heating pad on your abdomen, your hair hidden in your drawstring hood, and your legs on your boyfriend Spencer’s thighs while he reads a book at 20,000 words per minute. He sometimes glances up at you from his novel whenever you squirm a bit, though you’re not sure if he thinks you’re just in pain from your cramps or if he’s able to read through you.

Besides, you know for a fact that your boyfriend won’t help you get off while you’re on your period. Spencer’s known to have a thing with germs, so there’s no way that he’ll touch your pussy, especially if it’s bleeding.

The next time you shift slightly and whine softly, Spencer closes his book and sets it down on the coffee table. “Are you okay, honey?”

“‘M okay,” you respond, your voice muffled by your pillow being cuddled in your arms. You unintentionally clench your thighs together at his caring voice which unfortunately, Spencer notices.

“You sure?” He gently massages your calf, which only adds fuel to the fire. You hate that he’s a profiler now. “Just cramps?”

“Mmph…” You nods your head a bit as you hide your face in the pillow, trying to hide your soft blush.

“Maybe you’re aroused?” He asks suddenly. One of his hands moves up your leg to squeeze your thigh. Profilers.

Again, you nod your head, defeated since he can so clearly see how horny you are. “Mm-hmm.”

“I see,” he mutters under his breath, but you can hear him. Disproving your previous judgements about him, he shifts his position so that he’s directly facing you, leaving one of your legs to hang off the couch and allowing him to be between your legs.

You pull the pillow down to your chest, wanting to see what he’s trying to achieve. “What’re you doing?” you ask, your eyebrow cocked.

“Can I help you?” Spencer suggests, his hands planted on your upper thighs, close to your core.

“With what?”

“You’re aroused,” he points out again. “And you’re in pain. Studies have shown that orgasms can help subside period cramps.”

Oh, that’s probably why your friends keep recommending period sex. But you feel too tired for full-on penetration right now. Yet again, he could maybe help you in another way. “Are you sure? It’s gonna be messy, and I know you don’t like germs, and I just feel gross.” You argue self-deprecatingly.

“Well I can put a towel down.” He gets up from his position between your legs and goes off to the bathroom. From the couch, you can hear him opening cupboards before he comes back with a black towel in hand. He continues with what he was saying. “And I want to help you. It’s not gross, it’s natural. I want to make you feel good. Here, lift up your hips.”

He puts a hand on your hip to guide you as you lift your bottom half up just enough for him to place a towel down and make sure it’s flat before he guides you back down. The towel is only just there if you say yes though, which he eagerly awaits before he does anything else to you.

You sigh, and figure that this might be worth a shot. You drop the pillow to the ground in front of the couch, quickly followed by the heating pad that was on your stomach. “Okay, fine,” you say as enthusiastically as you can which, with your cramps and your tiredness, isn’t really that enthusiastic.

Still, Spencer mouths a silent “thank you” before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants. You lift your hips up once more to make it easier when he tugs them down and off, leaving you in your underwear. Following the same pattern, he once again pulls your period panties off, and you let your hips settle onto the towel-covered couch.

His hands find their way between your thighs and he spreads them just enough for him to have access to your core, wet from your arousal and your blood. The five seconds he spends just staring at your vulnerable pussy, dripping blood onto the towel, are the most nerve-wracking five seconds of your life. You halfway convince yourself that he’s going to back out and leave you like this, horny and bloody with your pants off.

And yet, he buries his head between your legs and starts by gently kissing your heat, then licking a long stripe from the base of your slit all the way up to your sensitive clit, causing an equally long moan to erupt from the depths of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful, honey,” he says before he dives back in again, drawing circles around your bundle of nerves with his tongue before he traps it between his lips and suckles.

You kick your legs up a bit when he focuses on your clit, the stimulation to your sensitive bud ripping sudden moans from your lips. Your hands find their way to the top of his head and you grasp on to his hair tight.

He looks up at you through his lashes, still working his lips around your clit before he moves his tongue down to your slit, licking a bit before thrusting it into your wet cunt. His thumb replaces where his tongue was before, rubbing small tight circles around the bud.

You can’t believe how good he’s making you feel right now, and you can feel your pleasurable knot in your stomach tightening because of his undeserved-but-needed efforts. You don’t know if he’s doing this for you just to be helpful — considering his complicated personal relationship with germs and the like — or if he just really enjoys eating your pussy this much. With each second that passes by having Spencer lapping at your cunt like a man starved, you start to think that it’s the latter thought.

And he can tell you like it too, with the way you moan and arch your back and even when you start to grind your clit against your nose while his tongue is deep in your pussy. Even if you’re wearing a baggy hoodie and were wearing sweatpants, he still manages to make you feel incredibly sexy. Or “sexy” is maybe not the right word — loved; you feel loved in this moment.

He appears to feel the same as well, with the way he moans in content seeing you like this and feeling your fingers nestled in his hair and tugging lightly. With every small pull, a tiny sound emits from his throat and it feels oh so pleasurable on your pussy.

Sensing your impending orgasm, he takes his tongue, wet by your slick and blood, out of your weeping hole and quickly replaces the muscle with his index finger. He slowly pushes the digit in, feeling your walls pulsate around him as he pushes and pulls it in and out in a steady rhythm. A minute later, he adds a second and starts to curl his fingers against that gooey button inside your cunt once he’s knuckle-deep into your warmth.

It’s so much for you; almost too much. Your jaw hangs open in a silent moan and you almost can’t believe it when you start to grind your hips against his thrusting fingers, fucking yourself with his index and middle as it continuously and without fail hits the spongy button everytime.

Your orgasm hits you almost unexpectedly, a wave of pleasure overflows you as your eyes flutter shut and your back arches just a bit more. Your chest heaves while you gasp for air; this is just what you needed during your period. Seeing you’re damn near overwhelmed, Spencer works you through your orgasm, your arousal forming a creamy circle around his still-working fingers.

“There we go, that’s it, you’re doing so well” are among the small praises he breathes onto your pussy while you slowly but surely come down from the high. At the same speed, his fingers slow down until they become stationery, before he pulls them out with a wet squelch, causing you to whimper softly. When your eyes meet next, he can see how glossy your eyes are with satisfcation pulling at the corners of your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You half-lie with a small laugh trailing behind your words. Though to be fair, you definitely needed it.

He pulls himself up to be eye level with you while you’re still laying there on your back catching your breath. You can already see a mixture of your arousal and your blood dribbling down his chin, though he doesn’t seem to mind all that much. “No, but I wanted to.” He says with a dopey smile, still pussy drunk.

Though the lower half of his face is still covered by your juices, he tries to lean in and kiss you, only to be stopped by your hands on his shoulders and you turn your head to the side with an amused smile. “Ew! I don’t wanna taste my blood!”

Spencer scoffed playfully at your reaction. “I just ate you out and I don’t even get a kiss?”

The way he pleads just makes you melt a little and you decide to give in just a bit by gently kissing his cheek. You can feel his cheeks heat up against your lips. Despite his previous openness, he gets flustered and smiles sheepishly, sighing a little. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” you joke, your mouth still planted on his cheek.

i’ve been plane-hopping around europe for over a month so i haven’t had a lot of access to wifi + i nearly failed one of my courses bc my professor was horrible at giving feedback, hopefully this explains my absence and i hope u enjoyed this !! (i posted this in a flurry btw, lmk if there are any errors whatsoever 🫶)

taglist @queermaxwooo @theoraekenslover join the taglist!

[nickywhoisi]

EW NAH DON’T LOOK AT IT YET MEHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A young girl with keen eyes, not more than 17 years of age, steps confidently into her current environment. That being the dimply lit hub room of a building in which she had signed up to be eligible for a particular organization. It was a strange, almost alien-looking room with barely any furbishings inside; all that stood out was a circular, half-donut shaped white desk in the very middle of the room, and a glowing platform-like rise in the floor just below it; an indication where she was expected to stand. With a strong expression on her face, she strode with pride, a very professional kind of pride which was not usually her kind of style. But she thought it appropriate for the moment.

Once she reached the area, the ring of light glowed brighter and brought up a floating holographic screen, matching the same mysterious light blue of the floorlight. As this happened, the girl placed both of her hands firmly on the cool, white desk and looked powerful, as if she perfectly belonged there. In truth, she still had yet to prove herself. A simulated voice rang out in the hollow space.

“Base sequence: human genome confirmed —Alignment: Lawful-Good. Welcome to the data center for the future of humankind. This is the Security Organization for the Preservation of Humanity, Chaldea. Fingerprint, voiceprint, and DNA authentication cleared. Magical Circuit assessment complete.”

At this, the girl made a big grin, practically oozing out an optimistic confidence that was her prerogative. The voice continued on.

“Username matched. You are recognized as a member of the primates. Nice to meet you. You are our final visitor today. We hope you enjoy your time here. We deeply apologize. Another 180 seconds is needed to complete the admission process. Enjoy a simulated battle while you wait.”

At this, the voice paused and the desk that the girl was leaning on lowered slowly into the floor, until it disappeared. Seamless. The room also dimmed around her, until it became pitch black and it was only her left. The girl looked around at the action, but was unfazed. The voice spoke again.

“Regulation: Senior Contract Servants: Saber, Lancer, Archer. There will be no record of your score. Please feel free to enjoy.”

Lights come on again, the girl gets a fake summoner mark on her hand, and she gets into a battle stance, looking real cocky. The room simulates a field in the daylight, with the Servants in front of the girl. 

“Activating Heroic Spirit Summoning System Fate. We hope you have a pleasant experience as a Master for these 180 seconds. Thank you.”

And the girl RUNS PAST THE SERVANTS AND GOES TO BATTLE THE BEASTS HERSELF OMG YOOOOOOO

and around here would be where the prologue cuts off and goes to the next game scenes wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi! i saw you were taking requests for post prison spencer, so hey

i was thinking about spencer meeting a kinda sunshine reader, and it’s like…love at first sight. she’s literally the one to make him smile for good

feel free to add your magic to it, and to ignore it, don’t feel pressure at all!

have a good day/night <3

babe you guys are saving my life with these requests right now! I'm feeling so good about everything I write again <3 enjoy sunshine!reader x post prison!spencer who looks less tense and serious around you

You’re at his desk, sitting there all perfect in your orange button up and flared pants, Mary Janes clicking on the linoleum tile as you tap your pen against your lips. Your hair is scraped back into a ponytail, the plait brushing the spot between your shoulder blades. 

Spencer had asked about you to Penelope, asked about your personality, about how you work- all the important things. What he didn’t ask was if you were gorgeous and Penelope, who loves to divulge, had never said a thing about your looks. 

“Hi, you’re Y/n right?” Spencer’s standing before you, not realising how intimidating he must look till you jolt in your chair. 

You’d been trying to get your morning crossword and read in before the day had officially begun, a habit you’d been trying to keep up with since you started the job. So far it’s been going- the crosswords are boring so you have to pretend to be distracted by it to let it last a bit more than four minutes.

“Oh sorry, I am. You’re Doctor Spencer Reid,” you lean back in your chair, not bothering to hold out a hand to you. Penelope had grilled you on his aversion to germs and touching people more than needed. “I’m sorry about taking over your desk, but they didn’t have any free ones.” 

Spencer shakes his head, you take a moment to look him over. His hair is a bit looser than you’d imagined, Penelope said curly hair and you’d thought tight spirals- he has pretty loose ringlets, dark and mocha-like.

He smells like leather and something else, maybe plum and black currant- it’s a bit of an all encompassing smell that you like already. He’s much prettier too, he looks tired, but still pretty. His stubble presents a problem, you know it’s going to be your downfall. 

“It’s alright, we keep a tight ship. Have they been treating you well?” 

You tilt your head, “The team or the unsubs? Because it’s been too many cases to have real team building.” You grin when Spencer huffs, making his lips twitch. “But I think getting concussed while saving Newbie’s ass counts for something.” 

Luke grumbles as he walks by with his coffee, “You were hired after I was,” patting Spencer on the back when the taller, lithe, man rolls a chair to sit opposite you. 

“Do you still experience headaches or migraines?” Spencer kicks himself when he sees your tongue poke into your cheek- you’re trying hard not to smile at his question. He also thinks he’s doing a shoddy job of flirting but that can be fixed- he’s been in prison for the last three months, he just needs to get back in the swing of things. 

“I’m pretty sure your first official day back starts with you in Emily’s office and not giving me an impromptu physical, Dr. Reid.” His lips twitch again, cheeks jumping as he shakes his head. 

“It’s just a check-up, no physical yet.” he stands, not really giving himself time to overthink what he’s just said. It’s more than a little presumptuous on his part but you don’t call him an asshole or swear at him, so he thinks he’s okay with it. 

“Do you want your desk back, Spencer?” you’re earnest in asking, not wanting to fuck up his routines and his norm. You can tell you like him already and it’s hardly been a fifteen minute conversation. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take the one right there.” Spencer points a finger to the desk right in behind yours with a little less severity to his lips, his stubble looking even more attractive as he does so. 

You watch him walk away, willing yourself to be professional about all this, he may be hot but he’s your coworker and you know all about close proximity relationships possibly being shams. You’re not here for that, so Spencer will be a good friend. 

You make your way into the kitchen, steps light as you reach for your mug- a cute blue mug with an orca as the handle. 

“So you come in and the kid’s already obsessed with you?” Rossi’s right beside you, making you jump as you put more than the recommended amount of tablespoons of coffee into your mug. 

“It’s not like that, you all made him out to be this awkward shy mess and he isn’t.” You try to sound as casual as you can, but you profile your own voice and know how it sounds to everyone- wistful. 

“Maybe he’s seen a pretty girl and the ‘awkward shy mess’ melted away,” Rossi places his hands on your shoulders. “He’s a good kid. You can trust in that.” 

You roll your eyes, stirring your coffee. “I’m pretty sure he’s in his thirties, Rossi.” You take the milk from him, pouring it in till your coffee is just at the lip of your mug and smile. “Definitely too old.” 

Rossi waves his hand, “I’ve been married four times, old isn’t a marker for romance anymore. Not when you’re only twenty four.” He leaves you be for a moment, and on your walk back to your desk to fill out the remaining crosswords you mull over his words. 

As you sit, you look down and find it all filled out in black ink, opposed to your blue and you know who did it, if the messy scrawled message is anything to go by- ‘You should get The Washington Post puzzles, much more stimulating.’

[enderlovez]

No Germs Found

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Content Warning: non-sexual nudity, strong language in reference to the temperature, blushy Spence, mentions of heat stroke, pain from the heat, mentions of murder, slightly NSFW at the end, Spencer likes boobs- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?

A/N This is kind of a continuation of another one of my works called Germs, but they don't necessarily need to be read side by side. There's only one mention of something that happened in the first part, and it's not really that important to the story, so...

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

None of you really anticipated being on another case so soon, at least not in the same place you'd just gotten home from a few days before, and the place you all seemed to... strongly dislike.

Maybe 'dislike' isn't the right word, but one thing is for sure — the moment you step foot off the jet, you feel like you're covered from head to toe in sweat, and your throat dried up like a fish in a desert.

Not to mention how you' were all stuck in a stuffy room all day, with crappy air conditioning that did absolutely nothing for anyone. So far you had practically nothing on the unsub, they were slippery as soap, and that stress — the stress of not knowing who they are, who they are going to kill next — has you in a very grumpy mood.

And despite the inconveniences, the day still somehow finds a way to get worse.

That much is clear as Hotch strolls up to our group of people with an annoyed look on his face — granted he almost always looks like that when we're having a hard time finding anything on the unsub.

"There was a malfunction in their system, and they overbooked their rooms," he says simply, only earning a choir of groans from us, "so we're going to have to double up tonight."

You throw your head back, a heavy sigh escaping your mouth. It's been a long day, and all you want is to lay around without your clothes on and go to sleep — but you can't exactly do that with someone else in there with you.

"You're free to pick your roommate yourself, but please, for the love of God, keep it professional," he finishes as he drops a small pile of numbered keys onto the little table in the reception.

Everyone immediately splits off into pairs, while you make no move to do anything, laying back on the armchair with your neck bent over the top, eyes closed against the white fluorescent lights.

"You know, frequent hyperextension of the neck can have negative effects on its structure and function," a familiar voice says from above you. "Around fifteen to twenty-five percent of North Americans experience lasting effects, such as chronic pain and nerve issues."

You peel your eyes open to find none other than the brilliant Spencer Reid standing over your head, dangling a key over your face, and just like that, all your apprehension melts away.

"Stop flirting with me, Spencer, it's incredibly unprofessional," you joke lightheartedly, a vibrant smile overtaking your face as you pluck the key from his fingers.

He doesn't seem to realize you're joking, though, because he immediately goes to defend himself, stuttering adorably and blushing firetruck red. "No, um, I wasn't — I would never flirt with you!" he tries to defend himself, only realizing a second later how it might've come off. "I-I mean I would, but that's not what I was trying to do."

You shake your head and laugh, standing from the armchair and threading your arm through his so you can lead him down the hallway towards the room you both would be staying in.

The room that was, technically, booked for only one person.

The room that only has one bed.

It's not like you don't want to share a bed with him, you're more worried that he might not want it, with his whole 'germ' thing. Not that he really seemed to care about that the other day, when he drank straight from your water bottle without a care in the world, then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd like," he offers quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

You immediately dismiss that idea, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spencer, that's not fair," you say quickly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "That is, as long as you're alright with me sleeping in my underwear, because I will be doing that."

Of course you're half-joking — if there's any indication that he's uncomfortable with that idea you'll just sleep in a t-shirt and shorts, it's just that you'd much rather not in this heat.

"N-no, no," he says, his voice pitched just a little too high. He's blushing from head to toe, you know that without even looking at him. "You can s-sleep in whatever you want to, I don't mind."

It's entirely unprofessional, you know that, but you really can't help it as you instantly begin tearing your sweat-drenched clothes from your body, tossing them around haphazardly until you're left in only your bra and underwear. You don't waste another second, flopping onto the bed, briefly stretching your limbs out, then rolling to one side.

It's a relief to be out of those clothes...

Only now do you realize that Spencer has not moved an inch from were he was standing when you initially asked the question, face bright red, breathing uneven as he tries desperately to keep his eyes from dipping from your face.

"Come on, I don't bite," you say quietly, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed, meanly deciding it would be funny to tease him, "not unless you ask very nicely."

Nervously, he drops his stuff beside the door and makes his way towards the bed, siting on the edge of his side. You're sure you can see him sneaking glances down at your chest every now and then, when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Who is he kidding? You're always paying attention to him, clinging onto every word he says like you'll die if you forget a single one.

"Come on, Spencer," you urge, "you've literally shared spit with me, don't get all shy now."

You're phrasing it that way as a joke, and you're sure he knows that.

But the next words that come out of his mouth leave you stunned, mouth dropped open and butterflies stampeding through your stomach, heart beating a million miles an hour.

You're not expecting something like this to come out of his mouth, really, but after his strange confidence the other day in drinking all your water and asking you out, you're not sure what to expect now.

"Can you please bite me, then?"

[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Strawberry Lemonade

Summary: Spencer and you have a summer fling before you start your masters in theater, but you both fall in love. A chance encounter years later will give you the chance to reconnect.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Broadway fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: summer love, suggestive content (16+), happy ending

Word count: 6.7k

a/n: this is cuteee i imagine season 1 spencer at the beginning and season 7 spencer at the end but its up to you hehe

main masterlist

Six years ago…

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you heard the voice before you felt the cold liquid soaking through your shirt, chilling your skin. The sensation was sudden and startling, making you gasp and jump back instinctively.

“Ah!” you exclaimed, eyes wide as you looked down at the spreading stain on your clothes. It was a shock, but more amusing than upsetting.

“I—I didn’t see you, I am so, so sorry. Um, let me get you a napkin,” the man rushed out, his voice laced with genuine panic as he scrambled to make amends.

You finally looked up at him, and despite the situation, a smile tugged at your lips. “Whoa, wait, it’s okay!” you reassured him, waving your hands to calm him down. “What did you spill on me?” you asked, your tone light and humorous as you took in his flushed, slightly disheveled appearance.

“Strawberry lemonade…” he admitted, wincing as if expecting you to be upset.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I might be sticky, but at least I’ll smell good!” The sound of your laughter seemed to ease his anxiety, and for a moment, he looked relieved, albeit still a bit embarrassed. 

“I’m really sorry again,” he said, his tone sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was so focused I just wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

“Seriously, it’s okay!” you assured him, still smiling. “I can just head home and change. I didn’t have any big plans today anyway.”

“Still, it’s inconvenient,” he insisted, clearly feeling guilty.

“Oh well, you’re just keeping my day interesting. Do you want to do that all summer long?” you joked, the lighthearted comment slipping out before you could stop yourself.

“Huh?” He blinked, momentarily confused by your question.

You chuckled, shaking your head at your own boldness. “I’m watching my parents’ house for the summer. Not sure what I’m going to do… I probably shouldn’t have told you that, random male stranger.”

His expression shifted to one of concern. “Uh, no, you should not tell people that. But, I am in the FBI, actually. I catch the people you shouldn’t tell that you’re watching your parents’ house.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, curiosity and skepticism bubbling up inside you. “Wow! That’s cool, and I totally don’t believe you at all,” you laughed again, the sound warm and infectious. You noticed how his eyes seemed to light up at the sound of your laughter.

He fumbled for a moment, clearly eager to prove himself. After a brief struggle, he managed to retrieve his badge from his pocket. “Here,” he said, holding it out for you to see, the credentials gleaming under the light.

You leaned in slightly to inspect it, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Alright, I believe you, Spencer Reid,” you said, pronouncing his name with a teasing lilt.

The blush that spread across his cheeks was instant and endearing. “Thanks, um…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t know your name.

“Y/N L/N,” you said, extending your hand toward him, your smile never wavering.

He glanced at your hand, then back up at you, a hint of nervousness still lingering in his eyes. “It’s actually safer for us to kiss with all of the germs that are passed through hands touching,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden awkwardness. “Well, if you buy me a drink instead of spilling one on me, I’ll give you that kiss,” you teased, your voice carrying a playful challenge.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his blush deepening as he realized you were serious. For a moment, he was speechless, but then a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Deal,” he said softly, his heart racing as he met your gaze.

—

You had gotten Spencer Reid’s number after your first encounter, agreeing to find a time to get that drink he owed you. The anticipation of seeing him again had you smiling as you got ready for your casual meetup. You wanted to see if he was just as endearing without the strawberry lemonade incident.

As you approached the café, you spotted Spencer sitting at a small table outside. His posture was slightly tense, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup as he scanned the surroundings nervously. When he saw you approaching, though, his face lit up with a shy but genuine smile, one that instantly warmed your heart.

“Spencer!” you called out, waving as you neared the table.

“Hi, Y/N,” he responded, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

When you reached the table, you noticed two drinks already waiting. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Did you order for me?” you asked, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Spencer nodded, looking bashful as he explained, “I did. You mentioned that you liked chai lattes, so I got you one.”

Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness, and you couldn’t help but smile even wider. “You are the sweetest! Thank you!” You took a seat across from him, picking up the warm cup and taking a sip. The spiced, creamy flavor was perfect, and you let out an appreciative hum. “It’s delicious, and look at that! It made it into my mouth and not on my clothes,” you teased, your eyes twinkling with humor.

Spencer chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, I promise not to ruin your clothes this time,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a small smile.

You leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in your eye. “What about next time?”

Spencer choked on his drink, caught off guard by your playful question. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, finding his awkwardness endearing. Once he recovered, he grinned sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I’ll work on my coordination before then,” he replied, his voice laced with embarrassment and amusement.

You giggled, shaking your head. “I’m just messing with you, Spencer. But I’m glad you’re thinking ahead.”

He relaxed even more, clearly enjoying your company as much as you were enjoying his. The conversation flowed easily between you two, filled with light banter, shared stories, and plenty of laughter. It was clear that this was just the beginning of something special—something that neither of you could have predicted from a simple spilled drink.

—

As the summer days drifted by, Spencer had become a regular fixture in your life. He was your constant companion, always ready for an adventure whenever his demanding job allowed. Whether it was movie nights on the couch, intense games of chess in the park, or wandering through the quiet halls of a museum, every moment with him was something you cherished. But today, you were ready to take things to the next level, to let him know just how much you enjoyed his company in a way that left little room for misinterpretation.

Spencer was coming over again, this time for a swim in the lake behind your parents’ house. He’d been over many times before, but today was different. Today, you were determined to make your intentions clear.

The sound of his car pulling up the driveway sent a thrill of anticipation through you. You smoothed down your cover-up and opened the door just as he was about to knock. “Hey, babe,” you greeted him with a playful grin, the casual endearment slipping from your lips effortlessly.

Spencer’s cheeks immediately flushed a light shade of pink, clearly caught off guard. He wasn’t used to pet names, especially not from someone like you—someone who had become increasingly important to him over these past few months. “Hi, Y/N,” he managed to reply, his voice soft and a little unsure.

“Are you ready to swim?” you asked, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you leaned against the doorframe.

“Mhm,” he nodded, lifting the small bag he brought with him. “I brought my swimsuit.”

“Awe, damn,” you pouted dramatically, teasing him with a sparkle in your eye. “I thought we were going skinny dipping.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he stammered, “Y/N!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, biting your lip to suppress a grin. “I’m joking! Maybe…” you added with a wink before turning to lead him inside. You could feel his eyes on you, nervousness and curiosity radiating from him.

Once he changed, you led Spencer out to the dock that stretched over the lake. The sun was warm, the water inviting, and the setting was perfect. Spencer was busy setting up the beach chairs, focused on getting everything just right, when you called out to him.

“Hey, Spencer, can you help me out?” Your voice was light, almost innocent.

He turned to see what you needed, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he caught sight of you. There you stood, your cover-up discarded to reveal a tiny swimsuit that left very little to the imagination. The way the fabric clung to your curves, barely covering what it needed to, had Spencer’s mind spinning. He was completely unprepared for this.

“Su–sure,” he stammered, struggling to keep his gaze respectful even as his face turned a deep shade of crimson.

You smiled at his reaction, a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. You had his attention now, that much was clear. “Thanks,” you said, moving closer to him, letting your arm brush against his as you reached for the sunscreen. “Would you mind helping me with my back?”

Spencer swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting as he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

As he carefully applied the sunscreen, his fingers trembling slightly as they skimmed over your skin, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

“Mmm, your hands are so warm, Spencer. This feels nice,” you murmured, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands worked gently across your back. You could feel the heat radiating from his palms, soothing against your skin. 

Spencer made a small, high-pitched sound that was almost a squeak, clearly caught off guard by your comment. “I’m—uh, I’m glad,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

As his hands reached your shoulders, you rolled them, leaning back into his touch, allowing yourself to let out a soft, almost involuntary, sound of pleasure. It was subtle, but you knew it would have an effect on him. “Can you get my lower back too, please?” you asked, your voice laced with just enough sweetness to make him melt.

“Ok—okay,” Spencer managed to say, his breath hitching as he moved his hands lower. When his fingers finally reached your lower back, you couldn’t resist arching it just a bit, causing your hips to shift subtly, drawing his attention further down.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, turning your head slightly to glance back at him with a mischievous smile. “You’re good with your hands.”

Spencer’s face was bright red by now, and he cleared his throat, quickly pulling his hands away as if they’d been burned. “Um, you’re all done! Let’s, uh, let’s get in the water!” he blurted out, almost too fast for the words to be coherent.

You couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying the effect you had on him. “Don’t you need sunscreen?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you watched him turn his back to you, clearly flustered.

“Nope!” he shouted, his voice a bit higher than usual, before making a beeline for the edge of the dock. Without a second thought, he dove into the lake, the cold water a welcome relief from the heat you’d stirred up inside him.

You watched, amused, as Spencer resurfaced, his hair plastered to his forehead as he pushed it back with one hand. He looked at you with wide eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite place. You knew he was trying to compose himself, but you could tell you’d rattled him in the best way possible.

“Water’s great!” he called out, trying to sound casual, though his voice still carried a note of nervousness. “You should join me.”

You smirked, taking your time as you walked to the edge of the dock. “Oh, I plan to,” you said, your tone playful as you prepared to jump in after him, the summer day suddenly feeling a whole lot warmer.

You and Spencer splashed around in the cool water, laughing and enjoying the kind of carefree fun that usually only comes with childhood. The day was perfect, the sun shining down, the water glistening, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth growing in your chest every time you looked at him. There was something so endearing about Spencer, especially now with his big, round eyes wide with wonder, his wet hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. He was so pretty.

“Y/N?” Spencer called out suddenly, a hint of concern in his voice as he glanced around, squinting since he had left his glasses on the dock. You had slipped beneath the surface, and he couldn’t see where you had gone.

“Ahh!” he yelped when he felt hands on his waist, the surprise making him jump. But before he could fully process what was happening, you popped up right in front of him, grinning as you wiped the water and hair from your face.

“Hi,” you whispered softly, the playfulness in your eyes unmistakable.

“You scared me,” he admitted, still catching his breath from the sudden startle.

“Sorry, Spence,” you replied, your voice gentle, though there was a lingering note of amusement.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice softer now as he looked at you, his nerves easing but still very much present.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing closer. He stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. Feeling bold, you decided to make your next move, wrapping your legs around his torso as well, anchoring yourself to him in the water. His hands instinctively moved to support you, his fingers brushing your waist as he tried to steady himself.

“You’re like a koala,” Spencer observed, his voice a bit breathless, the situation clearly getting to him.

“Mmm, do koalas like wet nerds?” you teased, your lips just inches from his, your breath warm against his damp skin.

“What—” he began, but before he could finish, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, your heart racing as you made your intentions clear.

For a moment, Spencer froze, clearly caught off guard by the suddenness of your kiss. Panic started to bubble up inside you, and you quickly pulled back, searching his face for any sign that you’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry, was that not okay?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry as you began to second-guess yourself.

But before you could spiral too far, Spencer’s hand cupped your face, his touch gentle but firm. He didn’t say a word, just pulled you back toward him, his other hand sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the warmth of his lips on yours, the cool water lapping around you, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building between you all summer.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a passion that surprised you, his usual shyness nowhere to be found. You melted into him, feeling the last of your doubts wash away as you wrapped yourself even tighter around him, the world fading until it was just you and Spencer, lost in the moment, lost in each other.

—

The day at the lake marked the beginning of your official relationship with Spencer, and from then on, your summer together blossomed into the kind of romance you’d always dreamed of. There were countless moments that felt like they were straight out of a movie—bouquets of flowers delivered unexpectedly, rosy cheeks from laughter, bike rides on cobblestone streets, and endless time spent in each other’s company. Spencer was always so thoughtful, his gestures sweet and genuine, and you couldn’t help but fall deeper for him with every passing day.

But as the summer days dwindled, so did the time you had left before returning to school. One afternoon, Spencer walked into the living room of your parents’ house, his face bright with excitement. “Hey, love,” he said, his voice warm and affectionate as he approached you.

“Hmm?” you responded, glancing up from your computer where you were half-listening while reviewing your reading list for the fall term at Hunter College. 

“There’s this annual FBI gala in September,” Spencer began, leaning down to place a tender kiss on the top of your head. “I was wondering if you’d like to be my date.”

You nodded absentmindedly, still focused on your work. “Uh, sure, babe. Sounds fun!”

Spencer smiled, pleased by your agreement. “Amazing, it’s the last Saturday of September.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned the date that realization hit you, and your heart sank. “Oh no… I’ll be back at school by then.”

“What?” Spencer’s smile faltered, confusion and disappointment flickering across his face as he looked at you.

“Well, I’m going back to school at the beginning of September… I’m only here for the summer, I told you that, baby.”

“I know you did,” Spencer sighed, the disappointment settling in as he plopped down on the couch. “I guess I didn’t think about how soon you were going back.”

Seeing him so crestfallen made your heart ache. You quickly set your computer aside and moved to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. Spencer’s hands instinctively found your waist, holding you close as you nestled against him. “I’m sorry, Spence,” you said softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Maybe I can still come? If I’m not too busy with work and school?”

“Yeah,” he replied, though the frown on his face made it clear he wasn’t convinced. He avoided your gaze, his eyes focused on some distant point.

“Hey,” you whispered, tilting his chin up so he had no choice but to look at you. “We still have all of August, you still have me all to yourself for a whole month.”

“That’s true,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his as you spoke. “Can you think of anything you want to do with me while I’m all yours?” you asked, your voice playful, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you smirked at him.

Spencer’s smile grew a little wider, and he let out a soft chuckle. “I can think of a few things,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze affectionate. “But we might need more than a month.”

“Well then, you better start planning,” you whispered against his lips, before closing the small distance between you in a tender kiss, hoping to chase away the cloud of impending separation with the warmth of your affection.

—

“I can’t believe you leave next week,” Spencer mumbled into your stomach, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into your skin, seeking comfort in the warmth of your body.

Spencer’s words hung in the air, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. You’d known this moment would come, the one where the reality of your impending departure would hit both of you with full force. But hearing him say it, feeling the emotion behind his words, made it all the more real. 

You sighed softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Spence… please stop mentioning it. I don’t want to cry again. Can’t we just enjoy this week?”

He lifted his head slightly, resting his chin on your soft tummy as he looked up at you, his eyes full of regret for bringing it up. “Yes, I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, his voice sincere.

For a moment, you just looked at him, taking in every detail of his face—the way his hair fell into his eyes, the softness of his expression, the beauty that radiated from him so clearly. “You’re so beautiful, Spencer Reid,” you mused, your heart squeezing in your chest at how deeply you felt for him.

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, and then, almost as if he couldn’t hold it back any longer, he said, “I love you.” It was the first time he’d said it, the words slipping out with such raw honesty that they made your breath hitch.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you laughed, even as tears welled up in your eyes, “I said not to make me cry.”

His expression shifted from worry to understanding in an instant, and he quickly sat up, pulling you into his arms, holding you close in the bed. “Why are you crying?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Because I love you too,” you whispered, your smile tinged with sadness as you looked up at him, the reality of your situation crashing down on you.

The look in Spencer’s eyes changed then, deepening into something more intense, more profound. He kissed you, but this time it was different—there was more emotion, more passion than either of you had ever felt before. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise, a declaration, a desperate attempt to hold onto this moment, this connection, for as long as possible.

Slowly, he guided you back down onto the pillows, his body moving between your legs, his hands caressing your sides with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His lips never left yours, the kiss deepening as he settled over you, his breath warm against your skin.

“Spencer?” you whispered hesitantly, your voice trembling slightly. You knew he wasn’t very experienced, and until now, the two of you hadn’t gone further than heavy makeouts. He’d only seen you topless once, and even then, he’d been adorably flustered.

“I’m sure, darling,” he breathed, his voice steady but filled with a nervous excitement that matched your own.

“Oh—okay,” you replied softly, your heart racing as you let yourself sink into the moment, trusting him, trusting this love.

That morning, as the sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room, you lay tangled in the sheets with Spencer. Both of you basking in the intimacy you’d shared, it had been more than just a physical connection; it was a merging of hearts, a deepening of the bond that had grown between you over the summer.

In those moments, with the world outside fading away, you realized that Spencer had stolen your heart completely, just as you had become his first in so many ways. The warmth of the sun on your skin, the softness of the sheets, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath beside you—it all felt like a dream, a perfect culmination of the love that had blossomed between you.

As you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that no matter what the future held, this moment would always be yours.

—

“Okay, so call me as soon as you make it to your apartment. And… text and email as much as you can,” Spencer said, his voice trembling as he fought to keep his composure.

The moment was heavy with emotion as you stood by your car, Spencer’s eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The weight of the impending separation hung between you, thick and tangible, making every word feel like it was being carved into your hearts.

“I will, Spence,” you nodded, your own voice barely steady as you bit your lip, trying desperately to hold back the sob that threatened to break free.

“I love you, please know that,” he whispered, the raw emotion in his words making your heart ache.

“I know, baby, I know,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that conveyed everything you couldn’t put into words. “I love you too, so much.”

As you pulled back slightly, Spencer’s voice cracked with a plea, “Please don’t forget me.”

You stared into his eyes, the depth of your feelings for him clear and unwavering. “Spencer Reid,” you said softly but firmly, “I will never forget you.”

With that, you kissed him one last time, the bittersweet farewell lingering in the air as you both held onto each other for as long as you could.

—

Despite all the promises and the heartfelt goodbyes, life had other plans. The demands of your master’s program and the grueling work on Broadway consumed your time and energy. Spencer, too, became increasingly busy with his responsibilities at the BAU and his guest lectures, often being called away for cases more frequently than before. The distance, both physical and emotional, began to take its toll.

Calls that used to bring comfort and connection started going to voicemail. Texts that once sparked joy and laughter were left unanswered. Emails that used to be filled with affection and updates were opened but never replied to. The busy lives you both led pulled you further apart, until one day, you realized that you hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, then months.

The connection that had once been so strong faded away, not with a dramatic end but with a quiet, painful drift. Despite the love you had for each other, you and Spencer never saw each other again. The summer you shared remained a beautiful, bittersweet memory, a chapter that closed far too soon.

—

Present

The present day found Rossi deep in the midst of orchestrating the final details for JJ and Will’s last-minute wedding. After wrapping up their latest case, he hadn’t expected to be planning a wedding, but he was more than happy to take on the challenge. With everything falling into place—JJ’s mom attending, the guests taken care of, food arranged, his beautiful backyard as the location, and even the rings sorted—the only thing left was the music. Rossi could have easily hired a band, a DJ, or even a string quartet, but he had someone specific in mind.

His thoughts drifted to a young woman he had met years ago, back when she was just starting out on Broadway as a background singer. Rossi had discovered her in a small, back-alley theater during an off-Broadway performance of Rent where she played Mimi. Her performance had been nothing short of phenomenal, and Rossi had made sure to keep in touch with her over the years. She was someone who had made an impression on him, and he liked to check in on those who left a mark.

Pulling out his phone, Rossi quickly typed out a message, hoping she was available. 

Am I the luckiest man alive or can you not be in Virginia tomorrow evening for a wedding?

It didn’t take long for a response to come through. 

A wedding? This is a strange proposal, but I can be there. Send me details!

Rossi smiled, relieved and excited. With her on board, he knew the night would be something truly special.

—

The air was filled with warmth and joy as JJ and Will’s wedding ceremony unfolded, a picture-perfect blend of love and simplicity. A band played soft, unobtrusive music in the background, setting the tone for the intimate occasion. As the ceremony transitioned to the reception, the band continued to provide a gentle soundtrack, allowing everyone to bask in the glow of the newlyweds’ happiness.

But as the moment for the first dance approached, Rossi knew it was time to unveil his final surprise. He made his way to the small makeshift stage, where a microphone stood unused, and with a confident smile, he took hold of it. “Alright everyone, may I have your attention, please?” His voice carried over the crowd, drawing all eyes to him.

The guests turned their attention to Rossi, their expressions warm and expectant. JJ and Will stood together, their hands intertwined, basking in the moment.

“JJ, Will,” Rossi began, his tone heartfelt, “I am so happy for you both. Thank you for allowing us to witness your union, and may you lead a beautiful life together.”

The group erupted into cheers, the love and support for the couple evident in every smiling face.

Rossi’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued, “Now, I do have one last surprise for you…”

JJ, ever the skeptic, raised a brow, her signature look of sass making a brief appearance as she wondered what Rossi had up his sleeve.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rossi announced, his voice brimming with excitement, “all the way from Broadway, please welcome, Y/N L/N…”

The crowd turned with curiosity as you stepped onto the stage, ready to add your own special touch to this unforgettable night.

As you stepped onto the stage, the evening air filled with a gentle buzz of excitement and warmth. “Hello, all! Thank you so much, David,” you began, your voice clear and bright. “I am deeply grateful to be here performing for such a special evening. Thank you for letting me share in the festivities.”

JJ and Will raised their glasses to you, smiles of appreciation on their faces, and the crowd erupted into cheers. But one person did not share in the cheers, silently staring from the back of the group, his expression frozen in shock—Spencer. He never forgot a face, and yours was etched into his memory, even if time had added a few years since your last encounter.

“I was informed this first song is to be the first dance,” you continued, your eyes scanning the crowd, oblivious to the familiar face among them. “So please make room for the lovely couple!” With a graceful flourish, you began your performance, your voice effortlessly filling the space with a soft, ethereal melody that perfectly suited the evening’s romantic atmosphere.

Spencer could hardly believe what he was seeing. You were here. You were real, and you were performing at this very wedding. For someone who lived his life by facts, figures, and logical conclusions, this moment felt almost like destiny. You had come back into his life in the most unexpected way, and it left him reeling.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, as he was hiding out towards the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. But as the evening wore on, he found himself pulled to the dance floor by Penelope Garcia, her bright smile and colorful attire impossible to resist. It was only then, as you sang and your eyes swept across the guests, that you saw him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you kept singing, the professionalism in you pushing through even as your wide eyes tracked his every move.

He was dancing with a woman—tall, beautiful, blonde, and dressed in an outfit that could only be described as whimsical. They moved together easily, and you felt a pang of something you hadn’t expected to feel after all these years—jealousy. It wasn’t that you had any claim on him; so much time had passed, and life had moved on for both of you. But seeing him again, so unexpectedly, brought a rush of old emotions, and suddenly, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

You could feel your pulse quicken as the last notes of your performance faded into the night. The applause was warm and appreciative, but all you could think about was getting off that stage and finding Spencer. The need to talk to him, to see him up close after all these years, was almost overwhelming.

“That concludes my contribution to the gorgeous evening David planned. Thank you all again for allowing me to sing for you,” you said, giving the crowd a gracious smile as you left the stage. As you descended, Rossi was there to escort you, his arm linked with yours as he guided you toward the refreshments. You wasted no time in grabbing a glass of champagne, hoping the bubbles might help settle your nerves.

“That was phenomenal, Y/N. You never disappoint. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice,” Rossi said, his voice full of genuine gratitude.

“It was my pleasure, David. Thank you for always thinking of me,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling inside you.

Before Rossi could say more, a voice you knew all too well sounded from behind you. “Y/N?”

You turned, and there he was—Spencer Reid, standing just a few feet away, looking even more handsome than you remembered. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat as all the emotions you’d been trying to keep at bay came rushing back with full force.

“Hi, Spence,” you managed to say, your voice soft but warm, betraying the flood of feelings coursing through you.

Rossi, ever perceptive, noticed the unspoken tension and slowly began to excuse himself, moving away with the intention of questioning you both later.

Spencer seemed flustered, his mind racing as he tried to process everything. “Wh—what are you doing here? I mean, I know what you’re doing here, but how do you know Rossi?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your emotions in check. “He, uh, he came to one of my shows when I first started performing,” you explained, though your voice was a little choked up, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

Spencer’s eyes widened with surprise. “You perform? Where?”

“Broadway…” you said, a small, almost self-conscious laugh escaping your lips as you watched his reaction.

Spencer’s eyes softened, a mix of pride and awe flickering across his face. “Wow,” he breathed, clearly impressed. “I didn’t know he really meant–that’s… amazing, Y/N.”

For a moment, neither of you knew what to say, the years that had passed between you suddenly feeling both like a lifetime and like no time at all.

Spencer’s voice was soft, almost reverent as he asked, “Do you… want to dance?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of nostalgia and hope. “I’d love to.” You let him take your hand and lead you to the dance floor, feeling a lump form in your throat as you realized just how much you had missed him. As his back turned to you, you quickly dabbed at your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears threatening to spill over.

The team, scattered around the reception, couldn’t help but glance over at the two of you, curiosity piqued. They exchanged looks, silently wondering how their usually women-avoidant genius had managed to snag the singer for a dance.

With Spencer’s hands resting gently on your hips and your arms draped over his shoulders, you felt both light as a feather and heavy as a ton of bricks, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between you. His touch was gentle, reassuring, but there was an underlying tension—years of separation and longing bubbling just beneath the surface.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you right now,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “Are you sure you’re real?”

Spencer, always quick with a quip, responded with a small smile. “Do you often see people that aren’t real?”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping despite the lump in your throat. “No… I just can’t get my mind around it.”

“Me neither,” he admitted, his thumbs rubbing small, soothing circles on your waist.

You looked up at him, your eyes tracing the familiar features of his face, now slightly more mature but just as handsome. “You look so handsome, Spence. You’ve aged like fine wine.”

His blush was immediate, endearing in its sincerity. “Thank you,” he mumbled, clearly flustered. “You look gorgeous. You haven’t aged a bit.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not a profiler, but even I know that’s a lie. Look at these bags!” You pointed to the faint circles under your eyes, a result of late nights and hard work.

Spencer’s gaze softened, and he smiled tenderly. “You’re perfect, maybe I’m just blind to your flaws.”

“Wow, Agent,” you mused, a teasing note in your voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me.”

“Is that okay?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Figured I could make up for lost time.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to steady your breathing. “Spencer…”

He noticed the shift in your expression, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. “I remember that face. What’s wrong? Do you have a partner?”

“No,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Should we keep it friendly? Not much has changed…”

“A lot has changed,” Spencer countered, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Like… I happen to know that if you work on Broadway, you get downtime between shows. You’re here right now, aren’t you?”

“That’s true… but I still have to rehearse, practice, and prepare. And I have an audition next week.”

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes filled with admiration. “And you will do amazing at that audition. Do you want to get dinner after?”

“In New York?” you asked, a bit taken aback by his boldness.

“Mhm,” he hummed, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I’ll take the train, meet you after you blow the casting directors away.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart was pounding. “You’re insane. What if we don’t get along anymore?”

“That would be really unfortunate, and I’d just take the train back,” he snorted, the sound making you laugh despite yourself.

“What if you find out that you only liked me because you didn’t really know me?” you asked, the question heavier than you intended.

“I loved you, think I still do,” Spencer corrected, his voice soft but firm, taking your breath away.

“Right,” you murmured, the gravity of his words settling over you. “So… you just want to date me? After six years?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Even though it’s going to be hard?”

“Absolutely.”

“And we’ll have to do long distance more often than not?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his resolve unwavering.  

“And—” you began, but your words were cut off as Spencer leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and intense, filled with all the emotion and love that had been building up between you for years.

—

“Hey, babe, how was the train?” you asked as Spencer walked up to you, his familiar, comforting presence immediately easing some of your post-audition nerves.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You just auditioned for Hairspray and you’re asking me how my train ride was??” His tone was incredulous, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m anxious and don’t want to think about it, so tell me about your train ride… or kiss me.”

Spencer’s smile softened as he leaned in closer. “I’ll do both,” he said, his voice tender as he bent down to kiss you. But in his eagerness, he completely forgot about the coffee cup in his hand. As he leaned in, the warm drink spilled, splashing down the front of your shirt.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, jumping back as the coffee soaked through the fabric, surprise and exasperation coloring your voice.

Spencer’s eyes widened in horror, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Oh no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—let me—” He fumbled, his usual calm demeanor thrown off by the sudden mishap.

Despite the mess, you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the audition melting away. “It’s okay, Spence,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to blot the coffee stain. “I guess some things never change.” 

Spencer, still flustered but smiling, handed you a handkerchief, grateful that you were taking it in stride. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and you knew he meant it.

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[moonlightspencie]

Please do earlier seasons! Reid and reader cuddling for the first time in their relationship??🙌🏾🙌🏾

cute!!! this is DEFINITELY for the shy!spence truthers

spencer reid x gn!reader

————————

“I made some popcorn,” Spencer smiled softly, sitting next to you with a big bowl.

“Oh, cool,” you grinned, taking some out of the bowl. “Thanks, Spencer.”

He nodded with a small grin, adjusting his spot next to you on the couch. He glanced your way as you pressed play on the movie. At first, he wasn’t so sure about how at home you seemed to be in his apartment. But now, after a few weeks of dating… he found himself liking it quite a lot. You seemed to brighten up the place.

“I think you’ll like this one,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” you smiled brightly. “I’m half convinced you just want to steer me away from enjoying Adam Sandler movies.”

“Wha— no! No, I like your movies,” he blurted out with wide eyes.

You chuckled. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” he let out a breathless laugh. “I actually did like the Wedding Singer. Not my style, but it was funny.”

“It’s great,” you nod, scooting a little closer to him as you grab some more popcorn.

His eyes widen as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. He tries to ignore your proximity as he keeps his gaze set on the movie he chose, but it is getting increasingly more difficult as you scoot closer and closer.

“W-what are you doing?” he mumbles without thinking.

You laugh softly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just… really close.”

“Just wanted to be close to you. Is that okay?”

He swallows, then nods slowly. “O-okay.”

You scoot a little closer, just until your knees are touching, and secretly relish in the fact that his cheeks turn pink at the slightest bit of contact. You leave it at that for a while, until you notice him finally relaxing into the couch cushions. You take that as your moment to strike.

Little by little you lean your upper body nearer to his, eventually resting your head on his shoulder. He lets out the tiniest squeak, tensing up.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Uh….”

“I’ll move if it’s not.”

“No! No, don’t move. I just,” he shakes his head, and let’s out a sigh, “I’ve never… I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“Cuddling?”

“Anything. You know how I am about germs.”

“Are mine really that offensive?” You tease him a little.

He laughs softly. “No, of course not. I just…”

“What?”

“I think I really like you.”

You smile again, and shake your head. “You’re sweet.”

“Do you—”

“Shh. Movie’s playing.”

He blinks in surprise. “But—”

“Shh.”

He hums once, then, very tentatively, let’s his arm fall just around your shoulders. You smile to yourself, glancing up at him.

“I really do like you,” he whispers, looking down at you with wide eyes.

“I know, Spencer,” you sigh, cuddling into him a little further. “I like you, too.”

He squeezes your shoulder the tiniest bit, a soft, shy smile stuck on his face the rest of the night.

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily."