#spencer blurbs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelostmagicians · 28 days ago

Text

Two Teas and a Coffee | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer’s changed, but JJ hasn’t realized it or the aftermath of JJ’s confession and how it should’ve gone [3.3k]

Warnings: Fluff, Spencer being in love with you, angst

♡

JJ never saw it coming.

Not at first.

She had seen every version of Spencer Reid—the awkward genius, the baby profiler, the grieving man who had lost so much. She had seen him at his highest and his lowest, and through it all, she had always thought she knew him better than anyone else.

So when you entered the picture, she didn’t think much of it.

You were fresh meat, eager to prove yourself, and naturally, you gravitated toward Spencer. Everyone did, at first. His mind was a magnet for curiosity. He was brilliant, fascinating, full of facts that would bore most people into the ground

But you weren’t most people.

JJ noticed that much early on—how you never seemed annoyed by Spencer’s ramblings, how you never cut him off or rolled your eyes the way some of them did when he rambled on for too long. You actually listened. You asked questions. You encouraged him.

At the time, JJ thought you were just kind. She appreciated it, really. Spencer had been lonely since Morgan left, and he needed someone. She assumed that was all you were—someone filling a space, a way to keep him from retreating back inside himself the way he had after Maeve.

She didn’t realize it was anything more.

Not when Spencer began seeing more of you outside work.

Not when you were the first person he asked for after a case.

Not even when he hugged you a little too tightly after a tough day.

—

She convinced herself it was just a close friendship.

And then prison happened.

JJ had cried in response to the verdict, but you were broken.

She found you in the hall after they carried Spencer away. You were propping yourself against the wall, eyes on the floor, hands trembling at your sides. When she called your name, you didn’t look up at first.

"You okay?" JJ asked, echoing her question to Spencer from the night before.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "No." “He didn’t deserve this,” you croaked, voice heavy with emotion.

“I know,” she said.

“He—” You took a deep, shuddering breath. “He’s not going to be okay in there.”

She stood beside you. "He’s strong. He’ll get through this."

You shook your head. "You don’t get it, JJ." Your voice cracked. "I can’t lose him."

JJ didn’t understand. Not then. She had always been protective of Spencer, but the way you said it was different. It wasn’t just concern—it was something deeper, something raw. And for the first time, she wondered just how much Spencer meant to you.

—

Then he got out.

And the first person he hugged was you.

JJ had been right there, had reached for him instinctively, but before she could even take a step, Spencer had gone straight to you.

He buried his face in your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you, like he needed to feel you to believe this was real. And you—God, the way you held him, whispering reassurances, grounding him—JJ had never seen anything like it.

That should have been her first clue.

But it wasn’t.

Not until she told him she loved him.

The moment the words escaped her lips, she saw the way his whole body froze. He didn’t look at her the way she had hoped, the way people do in movies when they realize they’ve been in love all along.

He looked shocked.

And maybe—just maybe— a little disappointed.

After they were rescued, after the chaos, after everything settled. He had gone straight to you. He didn’t come to her. Not to ask how she was doing. Not to talk about the confession. Not to do anything.

That, more than anything, sent a burning, ugly rage surging through her.

Then, not long after, she saw him kiss you.

Before she could look away, his hands were on your face, and he was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it.

JJ felt something crack inside her.

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he kissed you—the certainty, the desperation, like he couldn’t bear to go another second without showing you how he felt.

She had never seen Spencer like that before.

Not with Maeve.

Not with anyone.

—

So when Spencer finally came to find her, she was already bracing for a fight.

"You shouldn’t have told me, it wasn’t fair" he told her the second he walked into the BAU’s empty break room, his voice strained with tension.

JJ blinked, caught off guard by the directness. "What?”

"You shouldn’t have told me you loved me," he said again, firmer this time. "It was selfish, JJ."

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, so now it’s selfish to tell someone how you feel?"

"Yes!" Spencer snapped, stepping closer, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite name. "Because I didn’t need to know that. You didn’t need to say it. What did you think was going to happen? That I’d just—what? Drop everything? That I’d throw myself at you?"

JJ flinched. "Spence—"

"You don’t get to do that," he cut her off, a sharp edge to his voice. "I’m not your backup plan, JJ."

"That’s not what this is about!" she shot back, feeling the heat rise in her chest.

"Then what is it about?" Spencer demanded. "Because as far as I can tell, you dropped this confession on me after years of nothing, when I finally found someone who makes me happy. And now—now what? I’m supposed to apologize? I’m supposed to feel guilty?"

JJ exhaled sharply, her fingernails digging into her arms. "I didn’t know I was going to say it, Spencer. I didn’t plan for this, I didn’t—”. "I don’t know what I expected!” She yelled, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. "But I didn’t expect you to just—just disregard my feelings like this! I didn’t expect you to move on so fast!”

"Fast?" Spencer laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Fast? JJ, I have spent years thinking I wasn’t good enough for anyone. I have spent years being alone, thinking no one could ever love me the way I wanted to be loved. And now, when I finally have someone who does, you think I should just—what? Erase that? Drop everything? Forget that you have a husband and a family? To wait for you?"

JJ swallowed hard, the words hitting her like a blow.

"You never even gave me a chance to begin with," Spencer said, his voice soft, but still fierce. "And maybe, maybe there was a time where I would have jumped at this—where I would have given anything to hear you say you loved me." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But that time has passed, JJ. And you—you need to be happy for me. The way I’m happy for you and Will."

JJ felt something in her snap.

"You’re choosing her over me," she accused, her voice breaking.

Spencer’s face twisted with something like disappointment. "JJ—"

"You are!” she insisted. "I’ve known you longer than she has, Spencer! I’ve been there for you! I’ve seen you at your worst—"

"And yet you never saw me at all."

The words stopped her cold.

"You may have known me longer," Spencer said, his voice quiet, more raw. "But you never really knew me. You never cared to understand me."

JJ opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Because she knew, in that moment, that he was right.

—

JJ didn’t go straight home after the argument.

She sat in her car for a while, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, Spencer’s words repeating over and over in her mind.

"You may have known me longer, but you never really knew me. You never cared to understand me."

She had never seen him that angry before.

JJ wasn’t even sure what she had been expecting when she confessed to him, but it wasn’t that. Not the sharp edge in his voice, the sheer finality in the way he spoke. Like whatever bridge that had once existed between them was now burned to ash.

Eventually, she made herself drive home, even though she didn’t feel ready to face her family.

But the moment she stepped inside, Henry sprinted into her arms, and Michael wasn’t far behind, chattering excitedly about something he had done that day.

JJ swallowed the lump in her throat and crouched down, hugging them both tightly.

Will was in the kitchen, finishing up dinner, glancing over his shoulder with that easy smile of his. "Hey, babe. I heard from Emily, Are you okay? Did you get checked out?"

JJ hesitated. Then she nodded. "Yeah, just feel like shit."

Will didn’t press. He just wiped his hands and walked over, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Go sit, I got everything."

She watched him as he moved through the kitchen, effortlessly balancing cooking and keeping an eye on the boys. He had always been like that—steady, reliable, taking care of things before she even needed to ask.

She had never doubted Will’s love for her. That he would always put her and their family first.

And she had always wanted that for Spencer, too. She wanted him to be happy, to find someone who would love him the way he deserved.

On the drive home she tried to convince herself that’s all this was. That she was just watching out for him. Making sure he didn’t get hurt again.

But now, standing in her warm, bustling home, with Will taking care of dinner and the boys playing at her feet, she felt something ugly crawl up her spine.

Because Spencer finally had a chance at happiness- happiness with someone else, someone that wasn’t her.

And she was jealous.

She thought about how Spencer had gone straight to you after his release. The way he held you. The way he kissed you. The way he chose you.

Did he take care of you the way Will took care of her?

When you had a bad day, did Spencer know exactly how to comfort you? Did he cook for you? Hold you? Brush your hair out of your face, without a second thought, the way Will did for her?

If she and Spencer had gotten together—if she had realized her feelings sooner—what would they be doing right now? Would Spencer be standing in the kitchen, making dinner, smiling at her like she was his whole world?

JJ clenched her fists.

She had no right to feel this way.

She had a family. A husband who loved her. She had made her choices, and she had never regretted them.

So why did it feel like she lost something?

Why was there an ache inside her she couldn’t quite name?

Maybe because, for the first time, she was coming to terms with the fact that she and Spencer were never going to happen.

And it was her fault.

—

JJ tried not to let it get to her.

She and Spencer had years of friendship between them. A bond that couldn’t be broken so easily.

One night—one argument—didn’t change that.

And yet, things between them hadn’t been the same since.

There was an awkwardness now, something heavy that settled between them in the quiet moments. It wasn’t that Spencer was avoiding her—if anything, he was trying. She could see it in the way he made an effort to talk to her, the way he still offered her those random tidbits of information he knew she’d find interesting, the way he searched for cracks in the wall she had built.

But JJ wasn’t sure if she wanted to let him back in.

Because every time she looked at him, she remembered the fight. His words, sharp and unforgiving. The way he had looked at her—not like a friend, not like someone he trusted, but like someone who had failed him.

She knew Spencer well enough to know he wasn’t trying to hurt her. But that didn’t change the fact that she still felt angry.

At him.

At you.

You, who knew nothing of the past—who had no idea about her history with Spencer or the complicated web of feelings she had buried so long ago that she convinced herself they didn’t matter.

And yet, she couldn’t escape you.

You were everywhere.

Weeks had passed since that night. Since Spencer’s words cut deeper than she cared to admit.

The way Spencer gravitated toward you in the bullpen, how he always seemed to position himself near you, even when there was plenty of space elsewhere. The way he looked at you—soft and unguarded, as if you were something precious and rare.

She realized, with a strange sort of ache, that she had never seen him look at anyone like that before.

And it wasn’t just him.

You never seemed exasperated when Spencer launched into one of his long-winded rants, the kind that had even the most patient members of the team zoning out. Instead, you listened intently, nodding along, asking questions, actually absorbing the information.

JJ had spent years learning how to keep up with Spencer, but you? You made it look effortless.

Then there were the subtler things, the things that spoke volumes even in the silence.

Spencer had always been fidgety, his mind moving a mile a minute, his body following suit—bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, shifting from foot to foot. But she noticed now that whenever his leg started bouncing under the table, all it took was the briefest touch from you—a gentle hand on his arm, a slight brush of your fingers—and he immediately stilled, his entire body relaxing.

JJ wasn’t sure if you even realized you did it.

But Spencer did.

And he let you.

He wasn’t a huge fan of pda, at least not in front of the team. But lately, it seemed like the distance between you two had disappeared. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he seemed to be doing little things—things she would have never imagined him doing with anyone else.

She noticed it now: the way his fingers casually brushed against yours when you passed him a file, the way he gave you a soft smile when you caught his eye, the way he kept looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

And the others had noticed, too.

Luke had raised an eyebrow when Spencer absentmindedly reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Emily had smirked when Spencer leaned down to whisper something in your ear and you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. Even Rossi had made a passing remark about how Spencer seemed different lately, more at ease.

But what struck JJ the most was the way you and Spencer seemed to exist in your own little world, oblivious to how obvious it all was.

It was frustrating, the way she kept catching herself looking for something—some proof that she still knew Spencer better than anyone else. That he wasn’t really different, that you weren’t the only one who saw him.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Maybe she was just trying to remind herself that she still knew Spencer, that there was still some part of him that was hers—even if it wasn’t in the way she had once imagined, but in the way that came from years of friendship, of understanding each other in ways no one else did.

But it was getting harder to fool herself of that.

Because the way Spencer was with you… it was different.

JJ had spent years convincing herself that she and Spencer had a connection that no one else could touch. But now, she was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t sure what to do about it.

—

The three of you were stationed at a table, going through case files late into the evening. JJ had barely said a word to Spencer that didn’t pertain to the case, and she knew he noticed.

“Do you want something to drink?” Spencer asked after a while, his voice tentative, another olive branch extended her way. “Coffee? Water?”

JJ glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. He was trying, she knew that. But it still didn’t sit right with her—the way he was acting like things were fine, like they could just slot back into place without addressing the damage that had been done.

Before she could answer, you spoke up.

“I’ll get it, Spence,” you said, shaking your head lightly as you stood. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. Both of you relax for once and stop thinking about the case, at least until I’m back.”

Spencer hesitated, but at the slight nudge of your hand against his arm, he gave in, slumping back into his chair.

JJ watched the exchange in silence.

It was so easy for you, the way you just knew what he needed before he even did.

The awkwardness was palpable, even as you walked back into the room, three cups in hand. The atmosphere between her and Spencer had been tense, but now, it was like everything had shifted.

You placed a cup of coffee in front of JJ, a cup of tea in front of yourself, and a cup of tea in front of Spencer, your movements careful, but sluggish from the lack of sleep.

“Two teas and a coffee,” you said lightly, your back to them as you made your way over to the board, eyes scanning the case notes.

JJ blinked, her gaze drifting from Spencer to you, then to Spencer again.

“You don’t drink coffee anymore?” she asked, trying to sound neutral.

Spencer shifted in his seat, his posture suddenly stiff. “Not really.”

JJ swallowed. “Since when?”

Spencer didn’t look at her immediately. Instead, his gaze was on you, the familiar soft smile that had been reserved for so few people now spreading across his face. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shrugged, a subtle but unmistakable affection in his posture.

“I don’t know. A while, I guess,” he answered simply, his voice low and easy.

JJ’s stomach twisted in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She’d seen it—the way Spencer looked at you, the way he sounded when he spoke to you. He was different now, and the realization hit JJ hard.

She hadn’t been paying attention. She hadn’t been listening, hadn’t truly seen what had been right in front of her.

And suddenly, it felt like the weight of her frustration—the anger that had been building for weeks—was slipping away. Maybe, just maybe, she had been looking at the situation all wrong.

JJ looked at Spencer for a long moment, realizing just how wrong she’d been. She had let her own bitterness and hurt cloud her judgment, had let the past define their friendship, when what really mattered was the present. And she wanted to fix that.

With a deep breath, she smiled at Spencer, the tension in her shoulders easing.

She stood up, walking over to where you were standing at the board. You looked up briefly as she approached, and JJ could see the soft warmth in your eyes.

“I was thinking about the timeline,” JJ began, standing beside you now, glancing at the board, eager to refocus on the task at hand.

You nodded. “Yeah, the key thing is we need to tie everything together—look for patterns in the victim’s movements.”

As JJ stood there, side by side with you, she knew now that Spencer was right. And as she watched you both—watched you understand him, steady him, love him—she realized something painful. There had never been a chance for her. Not really. Not since you walked into his life. Maybe, if you had never entered the picture, there would have been a future for her and Spencer. But that’s all he was to her now.

Her biggest what if.

And you?

You were his always.

2K notes · View notes

crsssie · 4 months ago

Text

down the neck - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader

"Stop breathing down my neck." You huff, glancing through the scope at the unsub.

"Well, I have to lay low too, no?" Spencer frowns.

"It doesn't matter." You squint, humming. "Hit the button and ask Hotch if I can shoot. Be fast."

"Hotch, we have a clear shot."

"I have a clear shot."

"Snippy—"

"Fire."

You click your tongue, pulling the trigger once to hit the unsub's hand and a second to snipe the gun out of range as Morgan flies into the place. You watch through the scope as Spencer looks through the binoculars, and you only start to sit up when you see Morgan pull the unsub out. Then, you actually sit up and start packing up.

"Stop breathing down my neck." You huff.

"You weren't complaining when I—"

You hold a finger to your lips, pointing at your earpiece as Spencer blinks, laughing when you hear a cough in your ears from Hotch.

"Sorry."

"Need I remind you both of—"

"Nope." You puff out your cheeks, slinging the gun around to your back as Spencer raises a brow. "Actually, I think Reid needs a quick reminder. He'd love to go through another HR meeting about how we shouldn't be fraternizing with—"

"We're good, Hotch." Spencer cuts you off, rolling his eyes at you. "We'll see you back at the station."

"You're driving." You mumble, turning off your mic. "Two dollars and I'll drive. Four dollars and I'll make a stop at McDonalds."

"And for five?"

"I'll sneak in a kiss plus everything else."

"I think that can be arranged." He hums, pulling out a five as you press your lips to his, tongue swiping over your bottom lips as he chases when you pull away. You stick your tongue out teasingly as you take the five, craning your neck so that his lips would hit your neck instead. "Hey."

"I'll drop a ten if you—"

"Reid."

You laugh as Spencer jolts straight, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sound of Hotch.

"Turn off your mic next time."

"Roger that, sir."

You're too busy laughing the rest of the way back to be able to drive. (but spencer has no complaints when you hand him back the five with a chaste kiss to his lips).

#me when 2 ppl tell me they wanna read more: SAY LESS #☾.snippy #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #☾.blurbs #making one flop post at a time it's not much but it's honest work #im writing this as i watch the series btw bc im stuck waiting until season 8 to continue my actual fic #sigh. sigh emoji. SIGH. BIG SIGH.#i have one (1) fear. mischaracterizing spencer. (i say. mischaracterizing him ok yolo ig idgaf anymore cringe is dead 2 me)#my jaw just dropped wdym one of THE spencer writers reblogged this piece WHAT

3K notes · View notes

i-get-obsessed-fast · 2 months ago

Text

Under Watch

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x Hotch’s Daughter .・゜✭・.

Summary: A string of murders on your college campus brings your estranged father and his team to investigate. To keep you safe, he assigns Spencer Reid to watch over you.

A/N: this takes place in the season 6, I just wanted glasses Reid to be in the pics, also not proofread I will come back and correct it later :) xoxox

BYR(b4 u Reid): babysitter Reid, Strict Hotch, Murder, guns, knives, SA, semi-detailed murder description, cuss words, talks of alcohol, kidnappings, stalking, and detailed make out sesh. | hopefully I don’t forget anything!

“I’m free tonight. We can start working on the project.” You tell the guy walking beside you as you both step out of the lecture hall.

“Yeah, that works. How’s seven?” He asks, holding the door open for you.

“That should be fine.” You say with a small smile

You don’t know him well, barely noticed him until today when he’d ask if you’d be his partner. But before the conversation could continue, a voice cuts through the noise of campus.

“Y/n!”

You turn, scanning the crowd until your eyes land on him. Your father stands in the middle of the quad, his team beside him. The weight of their stares settles over you.

Your brows furrow as you step toward them.

“Why are you here?” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t back down.

Your father’s expression hardens. “You don’t know? Do you not stay informed on what happens around you?”

His tone makes you stiffen. “Mr. Hotchner.” The dean interjects carefully, stepping forward. “We’ve chosen to keep things as contained as possible. We don’t want to incite panic among the students.”

“Not warning them is more dangerous.” Rossi counters, unimpressed.

The dean exhales. “I understand your concerns but unless you’ve run a college campus, you don’t understand the position we’re in.”

You glance past your father at his team. Faces you recognize from home but haven’t seen since you left Virginia. They watch the exchange closely, some with sympathy, others with quiet apprehension.

“What’s going on?” You finally ask.

Your father doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for your arm, his grip firm but not forceful. “Come with us.”

You were led into the campus security building, where case files are scattered across tables. Your eyes flick to a white-board in the next room, crime scene photos pinned in a neat but unsettling arrangement.

“Shut that.” his voice is sharp, and when you glance back at him, his expression his unreadable.

“We were called here because there's been a series of murders on campus. Young woman.” he says, locking eyes with you.

For the first time, you see it, the fear beneath his controlled demeanor.

You don’t know how to respond, but when he lays down three photographs, fear settles in your chest.

“Sarah Johnston, Abigail Smith, Elizabeth Adam’s.” He lists “Do you see a pattern?”

Your stomach twists. Hair color, similar build. Even the way they smiled in their photos. You and these girls resembled each other.

“Could be a coincidence,” you murmur, though you don't believe it.

“It’s not, he has a type.” he firmly says “You can't be alone on this campus. Travel in groups, carry your pepper spray, and you are not to be alone with any male students.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I have a project to do with a guy from my class-”

“Meet in a public space, surrounded by people.” Rossi interjects.

“The library is packed, and the study rooms are booked.”

“Cancel.” your father orders. “Tell him you're sick, do it now.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Your father stares. That look, the one that's ended entire arguments without him saying another word. You hesitate, but your fingers move, typing the message before holding up your phone for his approval.

“Good.” he nods, then turns to Reid. “Take her to her dorm, please.”

“I can walk myself.”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why can't you just listen for once?” his voice rises, frustration creeping in.

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut.

“What about everyone else?” you challenge, voice tight. “The girls who aren't getting warnings? The ones who don't have an agent escorting them to their dorms? This isn't fair. I'm just a student like the rest of them. I don't need your protection.”

“You don't understand, and right now, I don't care if you do.” he says, his tone final. “My only concern is getting you to your room. And you're staying there for the rest of the night. Reid, take her.”

“If it helps.” Emily adds gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “A statement is going out today. The school is setting up hotlines, resources, and people will be warned.”

You let out a slow breath. It doesn't make you feel better. Not really.

“Fine.” you turn on your heel, heading for the door. Spencer Reid following right behind you.

The walk back to your dorm is quiet, not awkward, just silent.

When you step inside, you toss your bag onto your bed and gesture toward the other one. “You can sit there. My roommate dropped out a while ago, so no one uses it.”

Reid hesitates before sitting. “Does your dad know?”

You glance at home, confused. “Why would he?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that’s something a father would want to know.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our relationship is… complicated.”

“Yeah.” He says, nodding slightly. “I get that.”

You eye him for a second. “You and your dad close?”

Reid shifts in his seat, before you can take it back, he says. “He left my mom and me when I was a kid.”

You frown. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t affect me anymore.”

There’s a moment of quiet before you decide to change the subject. “I have some games. Do you like Jenga?”

That earns a small chuckle from him. “Yeah.”

You kneel beside your bed, pulling out the game. There were probably better things you could be doing, like assignments or your project, but this seemed like a better way to pass the time.

As you both set up the blocks on the floor, you smirk. “Usually when I play, my friends and I have a rule. Whoever knocks it over takes two shots.”

Reid gives you an amused look. “Are you even legal to drink?” You raise an eyebrow. “What, are you gonna tell my dad?”

He tilts his head. “Should I?”

You laugh. “I don’t think it’ll surprise him, I’m pretty sure he expects worse.”

Reid’s expression shifts slightly. “You know, your dad talks about you a lot. He’s very proud of you.” You freeze for a second. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Reid nodded.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead gestures to the game. “You go first.”

The game begins, each turn making the tower more unsteady. Eventually, Spencer study’s the blocks carefully, trying to find a safe one to pull.

“This is getting difficult.” He mutters, eyes narrowed.

You laugh, watching as he finally picks one and pushes it, only for the entire tower to collapse.

“Shit.” He murmurs under his breath causing your eyes to widen. “Did you just cuss?” You teased.

Reid shakes his head with a smirk, while you get up and dig through your closet. When you return, you hold up a bottle. “Two shots?”

His eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “I’m working.” You scrunch your face. “Is it really called working when you’re watching an adult?”

“I’m still on duty.” He argues. “Your dad would fire me.”

You roll your eyes. “My dad loves you. But fine Spencer, be lame.” Before he could reply, there’s a knock at the door. You both glance at each other.

“I got it, " you say, heading toward the door forgetting there was a killer on the loose and Spencer Reid wasn’t in your room to play games.

Spencer moves ahead of you. “I’ll get it.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. You step back as he opens the door.

Standing there is Eli, the guy from your class.

“Oh, uh… is y/n here?” Eli asks, looking past Spencer. You step forward going to the door. “Eli? What are you doing here?”

“I saw your message. Just wanted to check on you.” He says, then glances at the bottle in your hand. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Having a party?”

You quickly lower the bottle. “No, I was just-no.” You stutter.

Eli raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look sick.”

You sigh. “Yeah…I’m not. I just can’t do the project tonight. I’m sorry.” Eli glances between you and Reid before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”

Silence lingers between the three of you. It’s awkward.

“Wait.” You ask suddenly. “How did you find my room?”

“Lisa.” He answers quickly. “I asked her.”

You nod, but something about it feels… off. You glance at Spencer, who’s watching Eli closely, brows drawn together like he’s analyzing something.

Eli clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you guys be. Let me know when we can start the project.”

“Yeah, I will.” You say, before shutting the door.

You turn to Spencer. “That was awkward.” He nodded. “Is that your friend?”

“No. Barely know him. Just a project partner.” You say.

“Hmm.” Spencer’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression unreadable. You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He says, but there’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. “You just can’t be too sure about people.”

You nod. “Do you think the unsub will be caught tonight?” He exhales, his lips pressing together in thought. “I’m not sure. So far, he hasn’t left much evidence behind.”

“How does he do it?” You ask, curiosity outweighing your nerves. Spencer hesitates. “I don’t think your dad would appreciate me telling you.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I don’t think that’s my dad’s choice.”

He sighs, clearly understanding your frustration. After a moment, he finally gives in.

“He stalks them.” Spencer says, his voice lower now. “He waits until they’re alone, takes them somewhere secluded. He hurts them… bad. And then he.” His jaw tightens before finishing. “He assaults them. It’s brutal y/n. That’s why Hotch is so worried.”

Your breath catches. His gaze is firm, searching yours, waiting for a reaction. And for a second, you don’t know what to say. You had meant what you said to your dad about it not being fair, but hearing this… it makes you feel something else.

“If he stalks them, does that make his killings far apart?” You ask, your voice quieter now.

Spencer nods. “He’s projected to strike again in a few days, but we are trying to prevent that. He only keeps his victims for a few hours, but he takes his time choosing them. He studies them.”

Goosebumps rise along your arms, and suddenly, the walls of your dorm feel too close. “I need air.”

Spencer watches you for a moment before offering. “Well can walk around?”

You nod.

The two of you walk with no destination, the sky shifting into soft oranges and purples as the sun starts to set. The air is cooler now, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable.

“So.” Spencer finally says, breaking the quiet. “How are you liking college?”

You glance at him, appreciating his efforts. “It’s been good. A lot of people to meet, a lot of things to do.”

He nods. “When I was in college, I didn’t really… do much.” You let out a small laugh. “Weren’t you, like, fourteen?”

He smirks. “Yeah. That might have had something to do with it.” You tilt your head. “What’s it like? Being that smart?”

Spencer thinks for a moment before answering. “Uh- I don’t know. Sometimes it’s good. Other times it feels like… too much. Even for myself.”

“Must be exhausting.” You murmur

“Can be.” He admits.

The wind picks up slightly, and you shiver without meaning to. You mentally curse yourself for not bringing a jacket.

Spencer notices. without a word, he shrugs off his own. “Here. Take mine.”

You shake your head. “What? No, it’s cold. You need it.”

“I was starting to feel hot in it anyway.” He says, holding it out to you. You narrow your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Spencer.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he just steps closer and drapes the jacket over your shoulders himself, his hands brushing against you for just a second longer than necessary.

You blink up at him, caught off guard.

“Now you have to take it.” He says simply.

You huff but pull it tighter around yourself, the fabric warm. “Fine.” Spencer smirks, satisfied.

You glance down, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He replied, giving you the same soft smile, and with that you both continued walking.

The conversation mostly consisting of Spencer throwing out random facts.

Just as he finished explaining why flamingoes stand on one leg, you glanced down and noticed your shoelace had come undone.

“Damn.” You muttered

Before you could react, Spencer crouched down without hesitation, his long fingers grabbing the laces. He tied them quickly, but his movements were gentle, careful.

You swallowed, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. It was a simple sweet gesture.

“Thanks.” You murmured.

He looked up at you, his eyes catching yours for just a second too long before he stood back up. You cleared your throat, motioning toward a nearby bench.

The two of you sat down, silence setting over for a brief moment before you turned toward him. “So, Spencer, do you have a girlfriend?”

The question clearly caught him off guard. His capture stiffened slightly, and he glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-no. Why?”

You shrugged. “Because you do all these nice little things. Feels like there has to be a girl.”

He shook his head. “No girlfriend.”

“Hmm.” You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s surprising.” Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “Why?”

“Because.” You said simply, “You’re sweet. You’re smart.” Then, without much thought, you reached up and lightly brushed your fingers through his hair. “And you’re pretty good-looking.”

The reaction was instant. His whole face turned red, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Even his ears betrayed him, turning an adorable shade of pink.

“I-I just… I don’t know.” He stammered. “I’m busy, I guess.”

“Yeah.” You hummed, leaning back against the bench. Then, he smirked slightly, his confidence suddenly returning. “Why do you care?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. I’m just nosey, must be genetic.”

“Right.” He said, nodding as if he didn’t believe you for a second. You narrowed your eyes at him, amused by his boldness. Before you could stop yourself, you turned the question back on him.

“Well, do you think I have a boyfriend?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Yeah.” You answered casually, watching as his smirk faltered for just a second. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the small shift, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly against his lap.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He said

You let the silence hang for a bit too long before grinning. “I’m joking, Spencer. I don’t have one.”

He exhaled, shaking his head as he turned toward you, unimpressed. “Yeah, I think I can see why.”

You gasped, shoving his shoulder slightly. “Wow. Sassy.”

Spencer just laughed, and you found yourself staring at him a little too long, watching the way his smile softened his features.

Then, almost instinctively, the teasing faded. The space between you seemed smaller. His gaze flickering to your lips, so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

Your heart picked up speed.

“You know.” You said, your voice lower now. “For someone who’s never had a girlfriend, you sure don’t suck at flirting.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Who says I’m flirting?” You arched a brow. “Oh, so you just tie everyone’s shoes for them, and hand out your coat?”

He smirked but didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted just slightly toward you.

Neither of you spoke, but something was different now, he was watching you in a way he hadn’t before, like he was debating something.

And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned in first. He met you halfway.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge it was happening. But then Spencer’s hand found your jaw, his touch delicate, and suddenly, it wasn’t hesitant anymore.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his button up, pulling him just a little closer, feeling the warmth of him against you.

Spencer’s lips moved against yours with surprising confidence, his fingers firm against your jaw as he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, pleading for entrance, and you don’t hesitate to grant it.

A quiet sigh escaped you, your hands instinctively tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

“Spencer.” You breathed between kisses, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His lips left your mouth only to find the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck. The contrast was dizzying.

The Spencer you knew, the one who rattled off statistics and fidgeted when people stood too close felt miles away from the one currently leaving a trail of heat against your skin.

Had you really been gone that long?

Deep down, a part of you had always wondered about him.

You’d always thought he was cute. He was different from you in almost every way. Careful where you are reckless, and logical where you are impulsive.

Maybe that was why you found yourself so drawn to him.

His hands moved from your jaw to your throat, his fingers grazing lower, trailing down your body until they landed on your waist. His touch was warm, grounding.

You weren’t sure if you were pulling him closer or if he was the one doing it, but the space between you two was practically nonexistent.

Then, suddenly, he stiffened.

Spencer pulled back so fast it left you breathless, his wide eyes darting around. “Did you hear that?”

You blinked, still dazed. “What?”

“I think I heard something.” His body tensed, one hand instinctively resting on his gun as he stood, scanning the area.

You quickly straightened, glancing around. The campus was quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of crickets and rustling leaves from the breeze.

“Maybe we should head back.” You suggested, still trying to catch your breath.

Spencer nodded, but not before his gaze flickered back to you, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss you’d just shared.

“Yeah.” He said, his voice quieter now. “It’s late.”

The both of you walk back in silence, both thinking about the actions that took place a moment ago.

As you finally reach your dorm, something on the floor catches your eye. A pink envelope.

Spencer notices it too, his sharp gaze narrowing. Without hesitation, he bends down to grab it. “It just has your name.” He says, his voice low. He hands it over, and you take it.

You open it without thinking much, assuming it’s some harmless note. But the moment you pull out what’s inside, a wave of fear washes over you.

“Oh my god.”

Your voice trembles as your fingers clutch the two Polaroid photos. The first is of you and Spencer kissing. His hand cupping your jaw, the image capturing the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

The second photo was when Spencer was scanning the area after hearing a strange noise, his hand on his gun. Someone had been watching. Someone had been right there.

You shove the photos toward Spencer. His expression hardens as he studies them, brows furrowing deeply. He looked furious.

“We have to give these to the team.” He says firmly.

“No, it’s probably just a prank.” You argue, though your voice is weak. You’re desperate to convince yourself, but even you don’t believe it.

Spencer shakes his head. “We can’t be too sure. I’m sorry.” He apologizes as he slides the photos back into the envelope.

You swallow hard, the weight of it all crashing down. “My dad’s going to be upset.”

Spencer steps toward you, his fingers brushing the strands of your hair behind your ear. “It’s going to be alright.” He assures you.

Your eyes scan him, and you can see guilt flashing across his face. You know he feels responsible, and you can’t help but feel the same.

Without another word, he pulls out his phone. “We have something that might be connected.” He says into the receiver, his voice clipped. “Alright. We’ll be on our way.”

The walk to campus security is silent, the dread growing heavier with every step. When you arrive, your father is already there, his signature stoic expression barely concealing his concern.

“What is it?” He asks, striding toward you both.

You and Spencer exchange a quick, uneasy glance. Spencer hands him the envelope.

Your father opens the envelope, his eyes flickering over the contents. The tension in the room is unbearable. You swear you can hear Spencer’s heartbeat.

“What is this?” Hotch’s voice is low, but the restrained anger is clear. His gaze shifts to you, demanding answers.

“They were taken of us… not too long ago.” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't respond immediately. The weight of his silence is crushing.

“So, I send an agent to watch over you, and instead, you make him go against orders. You kiss him while a murderer is on the loose, on your campus, targeting girls.” his words cut through you.

“I-I know. I'm sorry.” you stammer, instinctively glancing at Spencer. “It was my fault.”

But Spencer immediately shakes his head. “No it wasn’t. I’m the one that didn’t follow orders, it’s not her fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is. You both had orders, and you failed to comply.” He looks directly at Spencer. “Reid, join JJ. Now.”

Spencer hesitates, clearly torn, but nods. He gives you one last glance before walking away.

“Y/n.” Your father’s voice lowers. “We need to talk.”

You follow him into an empty room, the door clicking shut behind you. The air is thick with unspoken words. You brace yourself, expecting the worst. But when your father finally speaks, it isn’t the scolding you anticipated.

“Do you think you might know who took these?” His tone is calm, but his eyes remain sharp.

You’re caught off guard. “No. I don’t.”

“Think y/n. Is there anyone - someone you’ve been seeing? Someone who might have been watching you?”

You rack your brain, the panic making it hard to focus. “There’s… Eli. The guy I’m working on a project with. He came by to check on me, but that’s really the only person I’ve talked to.”

Your father nods, processing. “And your roommate, do you think she seems like the type to give out your whereabouts? Does she seem untrustworthy?”

You shake your head. “I don’t have one.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” You admit, your voice small.

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were alone in your dorm? That was the one thing I take comfort in while you are away, knowing there was someone else there.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

His expression softens just a fraction, but the frustration is still evident. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I need to question Eli. What class?”

“Psychology.” You say

He gives you a short nod and turns to leave. You follow him out, but the tension lingers.

“Garcia can you look through the schools files for an Eli, a class he takes is psychology with y/n.” He says on the phone.

“I don’t think it’s him.” You say quietly. “I’ve barely seen him around.”

“And that.” Derek interjects, stepping beside you, “Makes him even more suspicious.”

Emily nods in agreement. “If he’s the unsub, he could’ve been targeting you. Sudden appearances aren’t always coincidences.”

You sigh, and take a seat in one of the chairs, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Despite the hum of voices around you, exhaustion wins. Your eyes fluttered close, and before you realize it, sleep over takes you.

“Okay, Garcia gave me the location of Eli’s apartment.” Your dad’s stern voice snaps you awake. “Morgan and JJ, come with me. Prentiss and Rossi, stay here and keep an eye on them.”

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sit up. “What’s going on?”

Your father doesn’t answer, already halfway through to door. Emily steps closer, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “They found Eli’s apartment. But, y/n … Eli was never enrolled in your class.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“He’s been sneaking in.” She says softly. “Pretending to be a student. We think he’s been watching you for a while.”

You stare at her, the words sinking in. Your pulse races as the realization hits. “Oh my god.”

“It’s becoming clear that you were most likely one of his next victims.” Rossi joins in, their eyes both full of empathy.

“But he seemed so…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word. Normal doesn’t feel right. Not now.

“I know.” Emily says, nodding. “It’s difficult. But we’re close to figuring this out. You’re safe now.”

You swallow, the reassurance barely easing your nerves. Rossi lays a reassuring hand on your should giving it a gentle squeeze “It’s going to be okay kid.” He says you nodded and watched as he walked away.

You sit back down, gathering the information you’ve just been told.

Just as the heavy silence settles in, Emily tilts her head, smirking slightly. “That’s a nice sweater.”

Confused, you glance down. It’s only then you remember, Spencer’s sweater. The sleeves are a little long, the faint scent of his cologne lingering.

“Oh. Uh it’s not mine.” You mumble, tugging at the hem. Emily’s smirk deepens. “I know.”

Without another word, she stands and walks toward one of the other rooms, leaving you with your thoughts. You let out a long breath, rubbing your hands over your face. The stress is unbearable.

“Here.” Spencer’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He holds out a cup of coffee, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thank you.” You murmur, the warmth of the cup grounding you, he gave you a soft warm smile. “I’m sorry Spencer.” You apologize.

His eyes scan your face. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

You blink at him. “You’re acting as if I didn’t kiss you back.” He says. Heat creeps up your neck. “I just feel like this is my fault.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re stuck here instead of searching Eli’s apartment. Emily having to babysit now. And all because-”

“Because we went for a walk?” Spencer finishes, raising an eyebrow. “And kissed? You do realize that without that walk, and that kiss, we probably wouldn’t have gotten this close to catching him.”

His words sink in. The guilt that’s been gnawing at you lessens, just a little.

“So in some weird, messed-up way.” He continues, his voice softer. “It’s a good thing.”

You manage a small smile. “I guess.”

Spencer’s grin grows, and for a second, the tension in the air lightens. “Well, I should get out of here before Emily comes back.”

“Probably a good idea.”

With one last lingering look, he turns and heads out. The warmth of the moment fades as the waiting continues. Minutes pass, then thirty. You sip the last of your coffee, anxiety prickling beneath your skin.

The sudden sound of the door opening draws your attention. Your father and Morgan stride inside, and between them, handcuffed and smirking, is Eli.

“Prentiss, Reid.” Hotch says, his voice sharp. “Join JJ at Eli’s apartment. She’s going through it now.”

Spencer and Emily don’t waste a second, slipping out of the building. You barely register them leaving, your focus locked on Eli. He walks past you, and despite the restraints, his presence feels suffocating.

“It’s not over.” He evilly smiles as the words left his mouth, your blood runs cold.

“Don’t speak to her!” Your father snaps, his voice booming. In an instant, Hotch has Eli shoved against the wall, his face pressed hard against the surface.

You flinch, heart stammering. Eli only laughs. The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“y/n.” Morgan’s voice is calm but firm as he steps closer. “If you need anything, we’re here. Don’t go anywhere alone. Got it?”

You nod, barely able to find your voice. “Got it.”

Morgan gives you a reassuring nod before following your father into the makeshift interrogation room. You’re left there, your mind racing. Emily’s words from earlier echo in your head.

“You’re safe now”

You want to believe that, but with Eli’s words burned into your memory, it’s hard to feel safe at all.

After what felt like hours, you made your way to the restroom, you splash cold water on your face, the droplets sliding down your skin as you brace your hands on the sink.

The reflection staring back at you is pale and exhausted, the weight of everything visible in your eyes. You close them for a moment, willing the lingering feeling to disappear.

But then, the sound of a lock clicking behind you jolts you awake.

Your heart leaps as you whip around. A man stands in the front of the door, his expression twisted with excitement. He’s holding a gun, the metallic glint catching the harsh bathroom light.

“We’re going to do this the easy way, okay Claire?” His voice is disturbingly calm, like he’s rehearsed these words a thousand times.

“Claire?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not Claire.”

But he doesn’t listen. He steps forward, his grip tightening around the gun. You instinctively back away.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, though his eyes are wild. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you with me.”

He’s closing in now, his body looming. You can feel the panic rising, your chest tightening. Every part of you screams to run, but the barrel of the gun hovers dangerously close.

“Let’s go home, Claire.”

The words send a chill down your spine. You open your mouth to scream, but before you can make a sound, the gun is at your temple. The cold steel sends a shock through you.

“We’re going to be quiet, okay?” He growls, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t make me shoot you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your pulse pounds. You can feel his erratic breathing, the tension in the air thick and suffocating. Every instinct tells you to fight, to scream, but you don’t.

“Okay.” You force out, your voice trembling.

He grabs your arm, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you towards the door. Each step is slow, calculated. He cracks the door open, peering down the empty hallway. You silently pray that someone will come, your dad, Morgan, Rossi, anyone.

But the hall remains empty.

No one sees.

No one hears.

And then, he’s dragging you through the exit.

——

Back in the interrogation room, Eli sits slouched in the chair, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“You’re making a mistake.” He taunts, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “A mistake?”

Eli nods, chuckling to himself. “I knew you’d come. That’s why I was home. You’re too predictable. And while you’re all in here wasting time on me…” he leans forward, savoring every word. “No one’s watching your daughter.”

The room shifts in an instant. The air turns cold. Hotch’s face darkens, fear flashing through his eyes.

“Morgan, Rossi. Stay here.” Hotch orders, his voice sharp. Without another word, he storms out. His movements are frantic, searching every corner of the building. Empty chairs, empty hallways. The tension grows unbearable.

“Where the hell is she?” He demands, slamming his fists on the table when he returns. The sound echoes through the room.

Eli simply smirks. “I don’t know.”

——

The van jerks violently as the man speeds through the dark streets. Your wrists ache from the rope biting into your skin, and the duct tape over your mouth muffles your desperate pleads.

He’s erratic, mumbling to himself as he drives. You pray for the sight of flashing police lights, for anyone who might notice how reckless he’s being. But the roads remain empty.

After what feels like eternity, the van screeches to a stop.

“We’re here.” He announces, giddy like a child on Christmas morning.

He yanks open the back doors, his rough hands grabbing at you. You scream, the sound muffled and desperate. You kick, pounding your fists against his back as he hauls you over his shoulder. But it doesn’t faze him.

The air shifts as he carries you inside. The stench is unbearable, a rancid mixture of mildew, rot, and something metallic. The walls are stained, rust creeping across the cracked concrete. Water pools around the floor, dark and slick.

He dumps you onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Before you can react, he pulls a heavy chain from the corner, the rusted links clinking together.

“This is so you don’t try and leave like the others.” He sneers

The chain clamps around your neck, the padlock snapping shut. The weight is suffocating, restricting your movements to only a few feet. You twist and pull, but it’s useless.

He crouches in front of you, his grin wide with satisfaction. “We’re finally together, Claire. Just like I promised.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at him, your heart continues to pound violently. The panic threatens to consume you, but you fight it. You have to stay calm. You have to find a way out.

But as he watches you with twisted delight, the truth sinks in. No one knows where you are.

The tape rips from your mouth, the sting sharp against your skin. You gasp, your chest heaving, but before you can speak, the man crouches in front of you, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Before we continue, Claire.” He says, his voice low and deliberate “I need you to be truthful.”

Your glare sharpens, every nerve in your body screaming to fight. “I’m not Claire, you psycho! Let me go!”

The words barely leave your lips before his hands snap to your face, gripping your chin tightly. The veins in his neck bulge with fury.

“You are Claire!”

His trembling hand digs into his pocket, pulling out a worn photo. He shoves it into your view. “This is us, Claire! Before you decided to leave!”

The woman in the photo has your face, or almost. The same features, the same hair.

“That’s not me.” You whisper, shaking your head.

“You always like to lie!” He growls, his voice cracking. He finally lets go, pushing you back against the cold wall as he paces, running his free hand through his greasy hair.

Then he stops.

“Who was that guy?” His voice drops, seething. “The scrawny agent. Why were you with him?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

His teeth clench. “Why did you let him touch you?” He snarls. “Why did you let him look at you like that?!”

He’s talking about Spencer.

“No, no.” You stammer, your pulse racing. “He’s no one. You don’t have to worry about him.”

But it’s too late. The idea is planted, festering in his mind. He shakes his head, a bitter grin twisting his lips.

“I need him here.” He says, his voice trembling with conviction. “I’m going to bring him here.”

“No!” You cry, panic lacing your voice. “You don’t need him! You have me!”

“You need to help me, Claire!” He pleads, crouching down once more. His eyes are wide, frantic. “You have to get him here.”

Tears burn your eyes as you shake your head. “I can't do that.”

He reaches forward, his rough thumb swiping a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, darling. It's going to be okay.”

But it won't be.

“Tell me the number.” his voice cracks, dangerous edge creeping in. “I wont.” you whisper.

His hand snaps to his belt, pulling out a small knife. The light catches the dull blade.

“Why are you making me do this?!” he roars, the knife flashing. Before you can move, the cold steel slices across your arm. The pain is immediate, searing. You scream, clutching at the bleeding wound.

——

“Y/n is missing.”

JJ’s words hit like a bullet. Spencer’s heart drops.

“What?” He breathes, his voice sharp. “How? Someone was supposed to be watching her.”

“We don’t know, but Hotch needs us.”

Without another thought, they leave Eli’s apartment and rush back to campus. Spencer’s mind races, his breath short. This can’t be happening.

Emily and JJ make their way into the building but before Spencer reaches the door behind them, his phone rings.

His hands fumble as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Spencer.” Your voice quivers on the other end. “It’s me.”

His chest tightens. “Y/n! Where are you? Hold on! Let me get Hotch.”

“No!” Your voice cracks. “Spencer, don’t. Please… just come. He wants you here, and he says he’ll hurt me if you bring the team.”

“Y/n.” Spencer runs a trembling hand through his hair, panic gripping him.

“Come unarmed.” You whisper. “The address is 3840 Cherry road.”

The line crackles. And then-

“Don’t come, Spencer! Please!”

A sickening thud enters through the phone, your muffled cries follow.

“y/n!” Spencer shouts, his voice breaking. But there’s no answer.

The line goes dead.

His hands shake as he scribbles the address onto a scrap of paper, dropping it where someone will find it. Without another word, he bolts for the SUV.

——

The building looms ahead, rotting, desolate. Spencer moves quickly, his steps silent. The walls are damp, stained with water and time. The stench of mold lingers.

Then he sees you. Sitting against a wall, your head hanging low.

“Y/n.” He gasps, rushing to your side. Blood stains your lips, your nose, and a fresh cut marks your cheek. You’re barely conscious, your head lolling.

“Spencer?” You murmur, your voice weak. But as your eyes adjust, terror flashes across your face.

“No.” You whisper, your hands weakly pushing him away. “Why did you come? I told you not to.”

Before Spencer can respond, a voice rings out.

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Spencer freezes. You both turn, dread pulling in your stomach. The man stands, his eyes blazing with fury.

He lunges, grabbing Spencer and shoving him to the ground, he then pulls out a gun.

“You don’t want to do this.” Spencer says, his hands raised. “We can talk.”

“Why were you with Claire?” The man’s voice booms, echoing through the building. “She doesn’t want you! She wants me!”

“Claire?” Spencer asks cautiously, trying to keep him talking. “Don’t say her name!”

“You want the truth?” Spencer’s voice is steady now, his eyes never leaving the gun. “She doesn’t want you. She never did.”

You stare at him in shock, wondering if he’s gone crazy.

“She wants me.” Spencer presses, his voice low “She doesn’t want you.”

“Do you want me to explain more of what we did?, what you didn’t get to see?” Spencer asked. “What is he talking about?” The unsub asked as he made his way towards you angrily. “You slut!” He spat in your face, but before he could strike you a gunshot echos.

The man in front of you crumbles, blood stains his chest. His eyes go wide, and the life drains from him.

You gasp, and look to see Spencer standing, his gun drawn, chest heaving.

He rushes to get the keys out of the pockets of the dead man, then to you unlocking the chain from your neck, and untying your wrists. The moment you’re free, you collapse into his arms.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, holding you tightly, his hand going up and down your back. “You’re safe now.”

You cling to him, sobbing. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” Spencer breathes, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of footsteps echo. “They’re in here!” Morgan’s voice rings out.

Hotch bursts through the doors, his eyes locking onto you and Spencer. You let go of Spencer and make your way towards your dad, stumbling, but he needs you halfway and catches you in his arms, tightly pulling you against him.

He was scared to let you go, scared you’d disappear.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, his voice thick with guilt.

You shook your head not wanting to hear his apologies, you were just thankful to be able to see him again.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Hotch’s hand gently cups your face, his fingers tracing the cuts. He nods, his voice trembling.

“We’ll go home, baby.”

——

1 month later…

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and stepped into the familiar hum of the BAU office. Jacks small hand gripped yours tightly while the other held a plate of cookies, still warm from the oven. As you passed through the glass doors, a wave of familiar faces greeted you, their smiles wide with excitement.

“Y/n!” JJ’s voice rang out first, her arms already reaching for you. She pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you slightly before Emily joined in.

“I was wondering when we’d get a visit!” Emily grinned, her dark eyes bright.

“Yeah, I would’ve come sooner but-”

“But I told her to stay home and rest.” Your dad cut in, his voice warm as he appeared beside you. Jack immediately wiggled free to run into his arms.

“Makes sense, recovery is important.” Rossi added, his fatherly tone laced with relief.

“Yeah, but it could’ve been worse.” You said, shrugging. “I’m just glad I healed up so quickly.”

“We all are, kid.” Derek said, squeezing your shoulder. His easy grin was one you’d miss.

“And what do we have here?” Penelope asked, her bright eyes locked on the plate in your hands.

“Cookies.” You answered, holding the plate up. “I wanted to thank you all. For everything. For helping me.”

A chorus of “Aww’s” and “Yay’s” echoed through the bullpen, and you set the plate on the nearest desk as the team eagerly grabbed a treat. Your father’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, his grip, strong and steady.

“Thank you.” He said softly, his voice just for you.

you met his gaze, the tension that had once existed between you now barely a shadow. “Thank you, dad. I wouldn’t be here without you. I’m sorry for how things were before. But I’m glad we’re…better now.”

His eyes softened, and he kissed the top of your head, a rare display of affection that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

As the others laughed and chatted, you scanned the room instinctively. And there he was.

Through the glass walls of an office, Spencer Reid stood, his tall frame slightly hunched as he watched you. His eyes met yours, warm and hesitant. Without thinking, you smiled. He moved towards you, his steps quick.

“Y/n.” He said

“Spencer.” The way his name left your lips felt far too easy. “How are you feeling? Are you- are you okay?” His voice was careful, but the concern was evident.

“I’m good. Really good.” You reassured him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than ever, actually.”

His smile mirrored yours, though his eyes lingered on you like he was still checking for any sign of pain. “That’s…that’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”

“You should grab a cookie before Morgan eats the whole plate.” You joked, tilting your head toward the group. “yeah, I probably should.” He laughed softly, but he didn’t move.

His gaze held yours, something unspoken passing between you.

“How about you? How’ve you been?” you asked, shifting slightly closer. “Oh, you know. Same old routine,” he said with a small shrug. “Books. Cases. A lot of facts no one asked for.”

You grinned. “Still no girlfriend then?”

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Uh, no. No girlfriend.”

“Shame.” You teased. “I finally turn twenty-one tomorrow, you know. So if you’re free we can finally have that drink you denied me last time at my dorm.”

He blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” You grinned. “And now you don’t have an excuse.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’d like that a lot.”

“Good.” You lingered on the word, savoring how his cheeks turned reddened.

“I could pick you up.” He offered quickly. “If you want.”

“Perfect.” You nodded. “I live with my dad now, so just come by.”

“You moved back to Virginia?”

“Yeah, I transferred. It’s… nice being here. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” Spencer said softly. “Maybe we can, uh, hang out more.”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Cool.” His voice cracked slightly, and the way his eyes flickered down to the floor only made him more endearing.

“Cool.” You echoed playfully, reaching for his hand. “But first, cookies!”

You tugged him gently, his hand gently squeezed yours, neither of you said anything, but the warmth lingered.

You and Jack stayed a bit longer, but the team eventually had to get back to work. With a few more laughs and lingering hugs, it was time to go.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys,” you said, gripping Jack’s small hand. “Don’t be a stranger!” Penelope called with a wide grin.

“You’re always welcome,” Emily added. “And next time, bring cupcakes,” Rossi teased, flashing his signature smirk.

You laughed, the warmth of their affection lingering. “I will. Promise.”

After waving goodbye, you led Jack through the glass doors and out to the parking lot. Once you reached your car, you carefully buckled him into the backseat, ensuring he was comfortable.

“y/n.”

You froze, the sound of your name stirring something electric inside you. Turning, you saw Spencer walking toward you, his long strides closing the distance quickly. Before you could even process it, his hands cupped your jaw, fingers tracing the delicate lines of your face. And then, his lips were on yours.

It was sudden, desperate. His mouth moved against yours, soft and warm, but the urgency behind it set your skin on fire. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp air, and the world seemed to blur around you.

You pulled back, breathless, your wide eyes meeting his. “What was that?” you asked, though your lips still tingled from the kiss.

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer stammered, just as stunned as you were. His thumb brushed your cheek as if trying to memorize the moment. “I just felt like… I needed to do that.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him back in. This time, it wasn’t rushed. Your hands slipped around his neck, fingertips tangling in his hair as his lips met yours once more. He responded instantly, his body pressing closer, the kiss deepening. Your tongue traced along his, and a soft, quiet groan escaped him, a sound that made warmth coil low in your stomach.

You could’ve stayed like that forever. The way he held you, the way his mouth tasted like coffee and something distinctly Spencer, it all felt intoxicating.

But then you remembered, the kid you’re responsible for in the back of your car.

“Spencer,” you murmured against his lips, reluctantly pulling away. “I have to go.”

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “If you’re free tonight… I’d love to come over. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I’m free.”

“Good.”

He stepped back, but not without stealing one last lingering glance. Ever the gentleman, he opened the car door for you, waiting as you slipped inside.

“Drive safe,” he said softly, his hand still resting on the doorframe. You gave him a playful wink. “I will.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot, Jack’s voice piped up from the backseat.

“Eww.”

You caught his grin in the rearview mirror and brought a finger to your lips. “Shhh.”

He burst into laughter, and despite the embarrassment, a giddy warmth settled in your chest. . .

hope you guys love this, it took so long to write but I’m glad it’s finally finished! Lmk your thoughts<3

Thank you to everyone who reposts, and leave kind messages, you guys are the reason I continue writing! I appreciate it so much!

Tag list

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings

Check out my other works here<3

2K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 6 months ago

Note

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid smut

3K notes · View notes

goofygubegubler · 1 month ago

Text

‘𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓.

Spencer eating you for your dear life, ‘cause baby, he’s a giver.

wc: 2.4k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, fingering, vibrator use, overstimulation, sleepy sex?, mild power dynamics, teasing, implied age gap

A/N: Spencer is absolutely a giver in my mind, and I hope you all enjoy this! This is my first one-shot and my first time writing smut, so please feel free to share any feedback—I’d really appreciate it! My asks are always open.

Spencer is a giver—there's no doubt about it. He has studied you with a scholar's precision, but his devotion is deeper, almost reverent. He knows where to touch, how to kiss—his mouth slow and consuming, savoring every second, unraveling you with the deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, a teasing sting that he soothes with a lingering press, a soft contrast to the hunger simmering beneath his touch.

And his hands—God, his hands. They move over you like he’s composing something exquisite, mapping each curve, each tremor, each stuttered breath with an intimacy that feels instinctual. He knows how to dismantle you, how to wind you so tightly in pleasure that you shatter in his grasp. His words pour into your ear, dark and teasing, igniting a heat that pools low and aching, leaving you breathless beneath him.

Sleep clings to you in slow waves, pulling you under, weaving you into something intoxicating, something inevitable. His hands find you first—fingertips gliding over your skin like a whisper of possession, tracing your curves, teasing, promising. The heat of his breath spills against your neck, the hushed murmur of your name curling like smoke in the thick air.

Then, his mouth—God, his mouth—claims yours, slow and insistent. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before his teeth catch, a bite of sharp, deliberate hunger.

You’re not in bed anymore. You’re pressed against the bookshelf, trembling under his touch, the rough wood biting into your spine, grounding you in the feverish haze. A book slips from your hands, forgotten the moment his lips trail lower, marking their path with slow, open-mouthed kisses.

He hums against your skin, his voice dark, indulgent. "Keep reading for me."

The command slithers down your spine, igniting something helplessly wanton inside you. You try—God, you try—to obey, lips parting, voice trembling, but the second his fingers sink deep, curling just right, the words unravel, lost in a gasp as he drags you under.

A sharp inhale rips you from the dream, the ghost of his touch still imprinted on your skin, heat curling deep and insatiable. Your thighs clench in a feeble attempt at relief, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough—not when you wake up to find him lying beside you, lips parted, his breathing slow and steady, a cruel reminder that the hands you crave are just beyond reach.

Biting your lip, you slip a hand toward the nightstand, fingers grazing the smooth edge before you pull the drawer open just enough to reach inside. Your fingers find the well-worn spine of your favorite spicy book first—the one Spencer pretends to roll his eyes at but listens to whenever you read aloud in bed.

Beneath it, tucked away like a secret, is the small vibrator you keep for nights just like this—when Spencer is working late, when the ache refuses to fade, when his absence leaves you restless and wanting. You know better. You should just use your fingers—quieter, safer—but this? This is too good to resist. The way it hums against you, the way it sends pleasure curling through your veins in thick, decadent waves.

It’s never been a replacement for Spencer, not really, but God, it’s close enough to take the edge off when you need it most. Your pulse quickens as you wrap your fingers around it, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your belly. You hesitate, casting a glance at him—his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep—before exhaling softly, determination settling in your bones.

You start slow, pressing the toy against your clit through your panties, barely turning it on, letting the low hum tease you like the ghost of his touch. A quiet gasp escapes, your hips tilting into the sensation, but even this—God, even this—isn’t him.

Frustration coils tighter in your belly, the need for more gnawing at you, demanding. With a shaky exhale, you lift your hips, sliding your panties down, the cool air a stark contrast against the heat between your thighs. The vibrator follows, gliding against slick, sensitive skin, sending pleasure rolling through you in slow, deliberate waves.

Your breath stutters, fingers tightening around the toy as you sink into the feeling, chasing the edge, knowing it won’t ever feel as good as Spencer but unable to stop yourself from trying. The quiet hum of the vibrator is nearly drowned out by your own heavy breaths, the way your body trembles beneath the weight of your own need. Maybe if you just keep quiet, if you move slow—

But then—a shift. The bed dips. A sharp inhale from beside you.

Before panic can settle, warmth floods your senses—a heavy hand pressing against your stomach, grounding you in the moment. His touch is slow, deliberate, fingers splayed, sliding lower until they brush against yours, still gripping the toy. He hums low in his throat, voice thick with sleep yet unmistakably amused.

"Couldn't wait for me, could you?"

Spencer’s fingers curl over yours, his grip firm as he slowly pries the vibrator from your grasp. The moment it’s in his control, the pressure changes—subtly, precise, his touch calculated in a way that makes your breath catch. The sudden shift sends a sharp jolt of pleasure spiraling through you, tearing a gasp from your lips.

"Spencer—" It’s barely a whimper, swallowed by the way his body shifts closer, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your jaw, soft and teasing. "Let me help."

His focus is singular. Unwavering.

"Besides," he murmured, pressing another kiss higher, teeth grazing sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver, "it’s only 5:17 a.m." Another pause, another deliberate press of his mouth. "I don’t have to get ready until six." His breath is warm, teasing, wicked. "Plenty of time to enjoy myself."

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers weakly carding through his hair. "You are such a giver, Spence."

His lips curve against your skin, and without missing a beat, he hums, "I do pride myself on my generosity."

Before you can reply, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still making your thighs tremble, he licks a slow, teasing stripe up your center. A full-body shudder ripples through you, your nerves still alight with oversensitivity. His hands tighten around your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin, keeping you spread open, fully at his mercy. His mouth is warm and relentless, his tongue flicking, circling, pressing just right—like he’s savoring every tiny whimper and every shuddered breath.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your overstimulated body. "Still shaking," he muses, voice muffled against your slick skin. "So sensitive, but I think you can take just a little more, don’t you?"

He shifts, sealing his lips around your clit, sucking with slow, deliberate pressure, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you from squirming away. Your breath stutters, hips twitching involuntarily as pleasure coils hot and sharp in your stomach, overwhelming, dizzying. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough.

"Fuck—Spencer—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. "Mmm. Say my name like that again."

His tongue presses deeper, his pace unrelenting, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming away. He’s thorough and determined, making sure every flick and swirl sends you hurtling toward that inevitable edge. And just when you think you might catch a break, his fingers join in—sliding inside you, curling just right, stroking in rhythm with his mouth.

You gasp, arching into him, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. "Spencer, oh my—"

"That’s it," he coaxed between teasing licks. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping you in place. His mouth never wavers, his fingers never falter, dragging another sharp cry from your throat as another orgasm crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shivering. You’re still gasping for air when he pulls back just enough to murmur, "Still with me?"

You manage a weak, trembling nod, half-lost in the afterglow, and for a second, you think he might give you a reprieve.

But then he moves again—this time, slower, more deliberate. His fingers stroke along your inner thigh, coaxing, teasing. His breath is warm as he presses a kiss just above your knee, then another, trailing higher, the anticipation making your skin prickle.

"Spence—" you whimper, voice barely above a breath. "Sensitive."

He hums, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. "I know. That’s what makes it fun."

Then, without warning, his mouth is on you again, softer this time, but no less devastating. His tongue moves with careful precision, his fingers pressing deeper, curving just right. You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed, and when your hand weakly pushes at his head, he merely chuckles against you.

"That’s not our safeword, sweetheart."

You whimper, unable to do anything but surrender as he drags you to the edge again, slow and thorough, relentless in his devotion. The pressure builds again, unbearable, and when you finally shatter beneath him for the third time, he groans, swallowing every broken sound that spills from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before you feel him again—his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "One more. Just one more."

You shake your head weakly, though your body betrays you, already arching into his touch. Your mind is hazy, barely clinging to the waking world, but Spencer? He’s focused, singular in his intent.

His mouth is on you again, lazy and indulgent, his tongue dragging slow, torturous circles that make your stomach tighten. His fingers press inside, stretching, teasing, working you open with practiced ease. You whimper, toes curling, every nerve alight.

"Almost there," he murmurs, voice frayed, breathless. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me."

Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under with no hope of resurfacing. Your body trembles, shuddering apart beneath him, and this time—even Spencer groans, his breath hitching as if he’s feeling it just as intensely as you are. His hands flex against your hips, tightening like he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to take even more.

He presses one last, lingering kiss to your thigh before letting his head drop against you, exhaling a shaking breath.

Your vision wavers, the edges smudging into deep, inky black as the pleasure crests and breaks. The last thing you register is the warmth of Spencer’s mouth, the reverberation of his voice against your skin—low, coaxing, reverent.

Then, everything fades.

You resurface gradually—like wading through molasses, every inch of you weighted, sore in the most indulgent, well-earned way. The sheets are a tangled wreck around you, clinging to your overheated skin, undeniable evidence of everything Spencer just did to you. Your limbs are useless, your thoughts thick and sluggish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of him.

And yet.

Spencer is already awake.

“It’s 6:37 AM,” he announces smugly, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “In case you were wondering.”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Oh my God.”

“No, just Spencer,” he corrects, voice warm and teasing. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

When you manage to blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you almost makes you laugh—if you had the energy. Spencer stands there, utterly unbothered, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers covered in tiny owls. His curls are a disaster, sticking up wildly, and his lips are still pink from pressing them against every inch of your body.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Are you—” You swallow, voice hoarse. “Are you gloating?”

Spencer tilts his head, considering. “I’d say it’s more of a… reasonable acknowledgment of my achievements.”

You make a weak sound of protest. He grins.

The mattress shifts as he crawls back toward you, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder—sweet, affectionate, in direct contrast to the way he ruined you not even thirty minutes ago.

Then, with an absolutely insufferable level of satisfaction, he murmurs, “Four times.”

You let out a wheezy breath, still not recovered enough to fight him on this. “I know, Spencer.”

He hums, trailing his lips up the side of your neck. “Just making sure it’s fully processed.”

You blindly shove at his shoulder, but it’s weak. He barely moves.

Instead, he settles beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers idly stroking along your spine. He’s quiet for a moment—until he glances at the clock. And then, you see it. The exact moment he realizes his mistake.

His smirk flickers.

A pause. Then, lightly:

“I may have miscalculated.”

You snort. “You think?”

Spencer lets out a thoughtful hum, completely unrepentant as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your forehead. “In my defense, I failed to account for… the lingering effects.” He shifts, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Or my own overwhelming enthusiasm.”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at him. “You have work in an hour.”

He nods solemnly. “I’m aware.”

“I have work in two.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“You owe me.”

Something flickers in his expression—thoughtful, determined. Then, without a word, he slips out of bed.

You frown. “Spencer?”

“Fixing it,” he calls, already halfway to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of your favorite coffee and a plate with a perfectly toasted bagel. He sets them on the nightstand with the precision of a man delivering an official peace offering before climbing back into bed and wrapping himself around you again.

You eye him suspiciously. “This is your plan?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

You sigh, taking a sip. It’s perfect. Of course, it is.

“You’re still in trouble,” you mumble, though the warmth of his body and the way he’s lazily stroking your back suggest otherwise.

Spencer just grins against your skin, utterly unbothered. “That’s fair.” A beat of silence. Then, far too pleased with himself, he murmurs, “But just so you’re aware… I already have a plan for making it up to you.”

You groan. Spencer just tucks you closer, and you don’t even have the energy to argue.

Then, after a moment of quiet, his voice comes soft and smug against your ear:

“You know, I am a giver.”

You huff a laugh, exhausted and hopelessly fond. “Shut up, Spencer.”

But all he does is press another kiss to your temple, grinning against your skin.

2K notes · View notes

cerisereids · 1 month ago

Text

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗛𝗶𝗺 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗠𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- early seasons!Spencer Reid x bombshell!Reader

Summary- You’re completely and totally enamored with Spencer Reid. When you have to flirt as part of a case, he is not happy.

Contains- not proofread we die like men, fem!reader, mention of reader's boobs and ass, the most unhinged work place flirting you've ever seen, Spencer is Horny, the case isn't rly canon compliant but fuck it we ball, nasty suspect who reader has to flirt with, Spencer gets insecure, they make-up and make out on the jet

A/N: divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

The soft, golden glow of sunlight filters through the window. The glimmer coats the BAU in an extra layer of warmth from the early spring chill. You adjust your light pink blouse as you approach the desk of your favorite coworker, Spencer Reid. You prop yourself up on his desk, your floral skirt pulling taut around your hips as you settle.

You swing your legs playfully, waiting for him to turn his attention away from his case file and on to you. A small smile curves his lips, and you know you got him. A heeled foot hooks behind his shin, running along the length of it until his gaze finally finds you. His eyes shine when they meet yours, a large hand moving to grip your ankle and bring it to his knee. He keeps it there, a soothing thumb rubbing the expanse of the skin there.

Your heart flutters at the action, his own cheeks tinting pink at his temerity. This has been a recent update between the two of you, Spencer's touch, his affection. Since you started at the bureau, only a few short months after him, you've been fascinated by the genius sitting beneath you now. At first, he was shocked by your immediate friendship, not used to such affection without having to earn it. In the past few months, though, his hands will graze your waist, his hugs lingering a moment too long. This change in behavior sparks a flicker of hope in your chest. Hope that, maybe, he sees you the way you see him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, he looks nothing like me..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

He shivers as you move off his lap, settling into his side as you begin to descend on Quantico. A flight home has never felt so long.

2K notes · View notes

bisexualtwinkk · 5 months ago

Text

don’t make it obvious s.r

flirty!reader x early seasons spencer reid

Summary: Morgan just can’t believe you actually flirt with spencer.

a/n: My first fic! I still can take season 1 spencer out of my mind, that’s all. And also, I love to imagine him all flustered and shy. xoxo NEW PART POSTED AND PINNED ON MY PROFILE

“I just think you do all this as an entertainment, pretty” morgan said looking across the bullpen, more specifically to the 6’1 nerdy man with the prettiest honey-like eyes.

“shut up, morgan, I’m tired of explaining the same thing to all of you” a sigh escaped my lips while I arranged all the paperwork we had left after a horrible case of human trafficking in D.C.

“what thing are we talking about? ‘cause if we are talking about the missing cookies, garcia took them” prentiss said sitting on top of the desk besides mine.

“we are talking about the not so secret crush our best dressed agent here” morgan pointed at me, making my laugh a little, “as on our I dress like a grandpa doctor”

“oh my god, dereck, that is so superficial of you to say! and is not a secret crush, I like to say nice things to my friends , you say things way out off line to garcia and no one bats an eye, but if I flirt a little with spence everyone goes crazy ”

“sorry honey, but if you think you can hide something while working around profilers, you are very wrong” prentiss taped my nose and standing from the desk.

“you guys make me sick, you know that? I’ll go to spend time with my favorite friend’ I grabbed my coffee and walked to spencer’s desk, escaping the teasing from my coworkers.

spencer was too busy writing to notice when I sat on the desk beside him. his hair was slicked back, making his face look even more sculpted, and prettier, than usual. he was wearing a simple white shirt and a black tie, a casual and comfortable look.

“hi, spence, sorry I didn’t come earlier to talk, handsome, was kinda busy with the pile of papers on my desk” he blinked rapidly when the word handsome left my mouth.

“H-hey” he coughed a little, “don’t worry, I can help you if you want, did you now that a higher percentage of women report feeling burned out compared to men at their level? I don’t mind helping you, as long as you want, of course” spence spoke quickly, making me smile.

“if you want to spend time with me you can say it, you know? I really love spending time with you, spence” I played with the end of his tie, watching his addam’s apple move and his face turning an adorable shade of pink. “and thank you, I accept your help, you are the best spence” I give him a quick peck on the cheek while walking away and seeing morgan with a smirk on his face.

“try not to make it that obvious next time” he pushed me in a playful way, laughing at my, more than spencer’s, red face.

“shut up, morgan”

I’m totally screwed by that man, I swear.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer season 1 #criminal minds #dr reid #shy spencer #x reader #derek morgan #fanfic #blurb #fluff #spencer x femme reader #female reader #flirt reader #fem reader

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.”

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?”

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic offers you a smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you.

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red.

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you.

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head.

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her.

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?”

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder.

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin.

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought.

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his.

“How are you feeling?” he asks you.

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.”

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head.

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests.

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“Not really.”

“Just try. It helped last time.”

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed.

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.”

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.”

“I just don’t like this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

“I really feel like I messed things up.”

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm.

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?”

“It just…it feels like…”

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.”

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.”

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps.

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.”

“I’m just an intern.”

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.”

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket.

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.”

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.”

“I don’t feel very well.”

“Are your eyes still closed?”

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?”

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is.

“Try closing them.”

“Oh. This is better, thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

2K notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 3 months ago

Text

pretty boy

summary - the team is out for drinks and people can’t stop hitting on your boyfriend

pairing - spencer reid x bau!gf

word count - +1k

“He’s so hot.”

“Ugh that hair!”

“He is so kissable.”

You had only been at the bar for an hour and you’d already hit your limit for the amount of women that have hit on your boyfriend.

The worst thing about it, is that Spencer is so oblivious to it that you feel silly for being even a little bit jealous.

You were currently at the bar ordering some drinks and were listening to a group of girls lust after your boyfriend, who was currently sitting with the rest of the team in a booth.

“I mean seriously… he looks like he’d know how to please a woman.” One of them said.

You gave the girls a brief look to make sure you weren’t making things up in your head and to your dismay they were all looking Spencer’s way. Curse him for sitting at the end of the booth.

You then looked back to Spencer who was listening intensely to something Rossi was saying.

He did look good. Like, really good.

He’d recently had a haircut that made him look that little bit older, whilst also keeping that youth. Hotch had told him he looked like he was part of a boy-band, which in a way he did. The hot one, if he was.

You loved his new hair. It was so fluffy and soft. Perfect to run your hands through.

It just irked you that other people were thinking the same thing. And so openly.

He was even extra handsome tonight with his work clothes on. It was hot so he had taken off his waistcoat, so it was just his shirt - which he had rolled the sleeves up on - his loose tie and his fitted trousers.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” One of them said, making you tense up.

You wished the bartender would hurry up so you could go back and sit next to Spencer already. You trust Spencer more than anything - but it was these girls you didn’t trust.

“Oh my God. Never mind. He’s coming over here. How’s my hair?”

You thanked the bartender as he placed the drinks on a circular tray in front of you.

The girls were all nervously excited next to you.

Until they weren’t.

Because you felt Spencer slide up behind you, resting one of his hands at the bottom of your spine and the other placed on the bar edge.

“You okay?” He asked, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as you swayed your body into his.

Spencer was standing perpendicular to you so it gave you the opportunity to rest the side of your head on his chest. It allowed you to just breathe him in as if it were just you and him in the room.

You nodded slowly, not really knowing how else to answer.

“Need help with these?” He asked, tapping the tray.

“Please.”

“M’kay. I’ll get these. You grab some straws.”

You were sad when his hand left your back to reach for the tray of drinks. You also really wanted to take Spencer away from these girls though.

Before you could both go back, one of the girls touched Spencer on his forearm and questioned him.

“Excuse me, are you two together?” She asked, only looking at Spencer for the answer. It was almost as if you were invisible.

“Uh, yeah. We are.” Spencer gave a polite smile.

“Oh.” She said, surprised.

Spencer didn’t respond and neither did you. He just smiled before nudging you to keep walking.

Once you were out of their earshot he asked, “That was weird right?”

“Yeah.” It was your turn to give him a small smile this time, keeping your head down as you returned to the booth.

<.><.><.>

The atmosphere had changed.

You had felt good at the start of the night - an hour ago - but now everything felt a little different.

It no doubt had everything to do with the girls that had been surprised that Spencer was dating you. Also it didn’t help that Spencer still looked great and was gaining more and more hungry eyes.

You sipped your drink even though you weren’t interested in having a good time any more. You wanted to be alert in case you needed to be for Spencer’s sake.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Spencer said.

He was still sat on the end of the booth, but he had one arm tucker over the back of the booth and down around your shoulder to keep you pressed close to him. For someone who was okay with not fully understanding social interactions, he had always done a perfect job of being with you.

The rest of the team were talking and laughing over drinks.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head.

“It’s not if it’s bothering you.” Spencer argued.

“It’s silly.”

You looked from the team to the rest of the bar where people were still looking Spencer’s way.

Damn, why did he have to be so attractive?

You weren’t sure how to approach the subject with Spencer though. He was too sweet to take his gaze off you for even a second to notice how many gazes were on him. It wasn’t even a him problem. Good for him for looking so pretty, but it was just difficult trying to be okay with the extra attention that him being pretty came with.

It sounded so stupid and it didn’t even make sense to you, so it was impossible trying to think of how to bring it up to Spencer.

“Is it the case?” Spencer asked.

You sighed, “No.”

“Did I do something? I feel like that’s quite likely.”

You shook your head, feeling yourself getting worked up about this.

Spencer’s arm pulled you further into his body and his other arm detached from his drink so he could rest his palm on your thigh.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

“You’re not ruining my night. I just don’t like seeing you upset.”

“I know.”

“Well, you tell me when you want to leave and we’ll go okay?”

“Okay.”

<.><.><.>

Spencer was brushing his teeth when you blurted out those three words.

“Sorry if I was weird tonight.” You apologised, finishing off your nighttime routine in Spencer’s apartment.

He mumbled something along the lines of ‘it doesn’t matter’, but it was hard to tell when he had a mouth full of toothpaste.

Your chest heaved heavy breaths as you watched him with adoration.

He looked so soft and homely standing in his bathroom, brushing his teeth in his pyjamas with you. He was just so damn perfect and it was because of that that you had to tell him.

“It was your hair!” You blurted out before you could control yourself.

“Huh?” He questioned with a mouthful of toothpaste still. He took a brief glance to the mirror to check his hair before turning back to you.

“Your hair! I think it’s made you really hot. N-not that you weren’t hot before Spence but- oh my god, what am I saying?” You let out a shaky breath before continuing, “I was jealous okay? Really jealous because everyone at that bar was staring at you like they wanted you and I-I know you and me are— and you would never— and I — but I just…

Spencer spat out his toothpaste.

“Y/N…”

“I couldn’t stop thinking that like you’re mine and what right did they have to chat you up, let alone look at you that way? I mean—.”

“Babe…”

“I love you, okay?!” You proclaimed. You stood there in shock for a moment, not knowing where to take this now that you’d announced that.

“Y/N…”

“I do.” You nodded rapidly, “I do, I really do love you a-and I think it really hit me tonight when I saw you being loved on by all those other women.”

Spencer dropped his toothbrush and took a step towards you.

“All of that tonight was because you love me?” He questioned, trying to wrap his head around this.

“I think so, yeah.”

You pulled the sleeves of your jumper down over your hands as something to fidget with. You were growing nervous now for Spencer to say something.

“Well that makes sense.” He nodded, “I.. I think that means I love you too.”

“Really?” You asked, eyes wide as you watched him figure things out for himself.

“Yeah. I mean… I was frustrated as you sounded at all those men looking at you all night. It was driving me crazy.”

“People looking at me?” You frowned.

“You were the prettiest person in the room.”

“Spence…” You pouted, feeling your eyes tear with happy emotions.

You can’t believe that he had been feeling the exact same as you all this time. All it would have taken was a conversation earlier to talk things through and you both wouldn’t have been feeling so vulnerable.

“I love you, Y/N, even though I’m telling you in the most un-romantic setting.”

“You’re wrong. This is like the most romantic it could be for me.” You smiled and looped your arms around his neck. You felt his come around your waist.

“This?”

“Yeah. You, me and a little bit of toothpaste. That’s all I need to know that I love you.”

“And my hair.”

“Huh?”

“I distinctly remember you talking about how hot my hair was before…” He chuckled and you thumped your forehead down on his chest to escape the embarrassment.

“Stop.”

“No, never. Just like I’m never getting another haircut.”

You lifted your head at that, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him with heart eyes.

“I could live with that.” You smiled.

Spencer stayed looking at you for a few moments.

You could tell he was taking a minute to process everything as well as continue to study every little feature on your face. You prompted him to say something when he stared a little too long though.

“Just like seeing you smile. That’s all.” He said.

It was as simple as that.

You both loved each other. You both loved seeing each other smile. To keep that a forever kind of thing you would have to promise communication and accept there’ll be moments of jealousy. Those moments will be made better though when you remind each other that it’s each other you’re going home to.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fic rec #spencer reid bau #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid jealous

1K notes · View notes

headkiss · 4 months ago

Note

anna oh anna. i see you’re taking spencer request and was wondering if you’d be willing to write something with a childhood friend visiting spencer and the team just embarrassing him cause they can tell they have feelings for each other?

love you anna💗💗

omg erin ik this request is old but i hope u love it anyway 🫶🫶 | 0.9k words of bestfriend!reid fluff!!!

Despite nearly a lifetime of friendship, today is the first time you’re visiting Spencer in Quantico.

You grew up as neighbors, and your friendship wasn’t a slow, gradual thing. Instead, one day, as a kid, you’d knocked on his door and declared him your best friend. He didn’t fight you on it, and that was it.

Whenever he goes back to Vegas to visit his mom, Spencer never fails to visit you, too. Sometimes he stays over and you fall asleep watching movies on your couch, sometimes he can’t stay any longer than a quick meal.

You talk on the phone at least once a week, and you text Spencer every day, though he rarely manages to reply with more than a smiley face because of his thing with technology. You know he reads them all, though.

All of that and still, you’d never been to Quantico until now.

Spencer always told you it wasn’t worth it, that there wasn’t all that much to see and he’d probably get called away on a case, anyway. Selfishly, you would have liked to stay in his apartment even if he was away. To snoop at all of the books he has lying around and be surrounded by him.

After much badgering over the phone, he’d finally invited you to come for a visit and you jumped at the opportunity.

Spencer’s excited to see you. He always is. But something about you coming to Quantico had always made him nervous, like if you got too close to his job, you’d be in danger. Or, less logically, like he’d have to share you with his team, in a sense, and he really liked having you to himself.

Of course, they know about you — he’s got a framed picture of the two of you as teenagers on his desk — but they’ve never met you. Spencer loves his team, and they’ve heard him speak to you on the phone and have asked him about you countless times, but so much of himself is involved in the job, and you’re almost like an escape for him.

Somewhere safe, somewhere separate.

He traces a fingertip across the top of the frame on his desk when the elevator beeps, and the sound of your footsteps reach his ears. He knows it’s you from those alone.

Spencer stands just as you reach the bullpen, and as soon as you spot him you let out a tiny squeal and rush over. He welcomes you into his arms easier than he does anyone else, your arms tight around his neck, his supporting the small of your back.

“Hi, Spence,” you say, cheek against his shoulder, smile in your voice.

“Hi,” he returns, his mouth a breath away from your hair.

Garcia and JJ are standing by the entryway of the bullpen, watching you and Spencer with these knowing looks on their faces. Emily walks up a moment later, just as you pull away from the hug and ruffle Spencer’s hair.

“Is that…?” she asks.

“Yup,” JJ says.

“And they’re just friends?” Emily adds.

“According to them.”

“Sweet, clueless creatures,” comes from Penelope.

Unaware, or maybe just uncaring, of your audience, you fiddle with Spencer’s tie, then his vest, “Look at you. So professional.”

“I actually dress like this most of the time.”

“And look at your badge!” You flick it where it’s clipped to his pocket. “Can I have one?”

“You’re wearing a visitor’s badge.”

“So not as cool.” You scan your eyes across his desk, pausing at the picture of the two of you. You hadn’t known that was there, and your heart squeezes a bit at the thought of him keeping it where he can see it. “Did you just put that picture there for my visit?”

“Of course not,” he scratches the back of his neck lightly. “It’s always been there. They like to tease me about it.”

“Spence,” you start, eyes flicking over his face. You want to say something stupid and cheesy about how sweet he is, about how warm that makes you feel. Instead, you say “You’ve even got your glasses on. Very smart, Dr. Reid.”

Back by the entrance, Rossi and Morgan join the others. “Reid’s friend from home?” Dave checks.

“Uh-huh,” Garcia nods.

“And they’re still just friends?” Derek points between the two of you.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia all nod.

“Kids,” Rossi sighs.

You push Spencer’s glasses back up his nose gently. “Or should I say, the resident boygenius.”

“How did you-”

“Oh, I met Penelope in the elevator. She’s lovely.” You turn around and wave at her.

She waves back, beaming.

It’s then that Spencer realizes the entire team has been watching your exchange all along. He closes his eyes and huffs before taking you over to them and introducing you, even though he’s aware they know who you are.

Derek turns his charm on a little extra when he says hello to you, and Spencer’s hands twitch at his sides, his brows scrunched.

When JJ and Garcia distract you with a story that’s sure to be an embarrassing one, Morgan nudges Spencer’s shoulder with his, “She’s pretty great.”

“She’s the best person I know.”

Derek doesn’t even pretend to be wounded at that. He only grins like he knows something.

Hotch watches through the window of his office, that barely-there upward tug of his mouth on his face. He hasn’t seen Spencer smile the way he does with you in a long time.

394 notes · View notes

seasprincess · 3 months ago

Text

MDNI ☆Spencer Reid and how he eats you out…

warnings: self explanatory

pre prison spencer/sub! Spencer

This man has no idea what he was doing the first time. You had to guide him, telling him what to do with his fingers. Where he should lick. What felt good and what didn’t.

And he absolutely loved it.

He loved it so much that when he is touching himself he’s remembering the feeling of you against his tongue. The way you were shaking beneath his touch made his heart skip. He couldn’t believe he was the one to make you feel like that. Inexperienced nerdy Spencer made a girl cum with just his tongue and fingers wasn’t a thing he thought would happen.

He’s definitely vocal while doing it to. All these little whines and moans that he can’t help but let out. Not that you mind, no you encourage it in fact.

You’d both just be kissing and then he’d look at you with those big brown eyes. Not being able to say the words of what he wants. But you know that look and just nod.

He wouldn’t be fast. No. He’d take his time, licking and sucking on the spot that gets you to react. The genius’s eidetic memory coming in use as he remembers all the things you told him feel good.

His tongue would work against your core so good. This man may be inexperienced but he knows how to please you. Almost like he did research…

He’s definitely done research.

He’d slowly grind against the bed too, trying to firm a bit of release as making you feel good is the same feeling of you touching him. He just loves making you feel good so much. So much so that he’d do this anytime you asked.

You’d practically have to pull his head away once you’ve cum. He just wouldn’t want to stop. He loves having his head in between your thighs as you hold his hand.

Just a whining moaning mess who doesn’t need anything back.

☆

After prison Spencer/dom!Spencer

He would also be sooo good at it. This man knows how to please a woman in so many ways and this was definitely one of them.

He’d still be vocal but less whiny. More of moans and groans as your hands would pull on his curls.

He knows exactly what you like. How you like to lay, where you like his tongue the most. The speed. He has it all planned out and knows all of your turns ons and offs.

He’d be a little more rough than his former self. His veiny hands would be on your thighs, pulling them apart to make sure you’re not pulling away. He wouldn’t ever stop before you’ve cum.

He might if he was edging you. And god is that an experience if he’s edging you.

He’s be such a dick when he’s edging you. Getting you to the closest point and pulling away before muttering a “Not yet sweetheart’ before either resuming with his tongue or touching you with his fingers.

And when he’s finally let you cum he would make the most of it. Licking that up until you have to push away. Getting overstimulated.

But sometimes he wouldn’t stop. Overstimulating you(with your permission of course. He’d never do anything you protested against.) He’d keep his tight grip on your thighs as he knows if you could you’d close them. His tongue would work against your clit so goooood. He’d switch between licking and sucking as his fingers curl inside you, making you cum for the second time. Sometimes third and fourth if he’s feeling like it.

He definitely enjoys eating you out. A lot.

Sometime he’d come home from work, pulling off his tie and walking into the bedroom. You just know by the look on his face what he wants. And he’d just end up in between your thighs. Taking away the stress of the day with his favourite woman.

rafe cameron coming soon

1K notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 11 months ago

Text

Falling asleep on Spencer’s shoulder on the jet, snoring lightly as you finally get some sleep.

Spencer’s been waiting all case for you to sleep properly, but no amount of tea at night and magnesium rich foods helped. The only thing that did it was you wrapping the case up and going home.

Now, he can’t move his shoulder for the next three hours of the flight and finds he doesn’t mind.

Spencer spends time just watching you, taking in the way your chest moves up and down and how your cheek smushed up against his shoulder makes you look delicate and soft.

“She okay?” Derek asks, seeing Spencer’s attention on you so keenly.

“Huh?” Spencer lifts his head, almost like he’d been in a trance. “Yeah she’s okay, just exhausted.”

His hand cradles your head to his shoulder as they move through a bit of turbulence. Derek smiles, a fierce sort of older brother feeling building in his chest.

“Do you think she’ll kill me if I take a photo?” He asks, Spencer shakes his head.

“Let her sleep, Derek.” He boos but walks back to his seat sipping his coffee.

Spencer stretches for his own coffee, frowning when you stir and grab hold of his shirt. “M’right here,” he murmurs, sitting back and pressing his lips to your temple as you settle.

“Okay loverboy!” Emily coos, Spencer rolling his eyes even as he blushes. “You guys going back together? Having a quiet night in?”

Before Spencer can answer, Hotch is chiming in. “Emily,” it’s a warning but the woman lives for teasing you and Spencer.

“What? I just wanna know if she has secretly pink walls with pretty flowers.”

Spencer scoffs, like he’d ever tell them. “Yeah they’re hot pink with white ones.” His thumb strokes your cheek, brushing up against the crush of your eyelashes every so often.

It takes Emily the rest of the flight to realise Spencer was fucking with her and Spencer is comforted by the fact that you have grey walls with posters of all your favourite shows and a couple pieces of artwork, some of pretty flowers; that none of them have seen.

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x y/n

6K notes · View notes

i-get-obsessed-fast · 1 month ago

Text

Classroom Talk | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer drops your lunch off to your classroom filled with apparent love experts, who then question the man you’re with and tease you two for not being married yet…

A/N: idk why but I just thought of this, it’s adorable though. Not proofread too tired for that. LOL.

BYR(b4 you Reid): light teasing, Spencer getting kind of bullied by teens, and fluff :))

You were at your desk, deep in teacher mode. Grading assignments, updating the grade book, the usual rhythm of a productive day.

You glanced up and saw your students working quietly for once, either reading the latest chapter you’d assigned or scribbling their thoughts in journals. It was that rare magical moment every teacher silently prays for: peace.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

There was a knock at the door.

Every single head turned in unison. Including yours.

“Hello.” A familiar voice said, soft and polite, peeking into the room like he wasn’t about to cause utter chaos.

Spencer.

Your brilliant, shy, awkward boyfriend. Standing in your classroom.

You blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?” You asked, smiling like this was the best little surprise.

“Someone.” He said, raising a brow and holding your bag up. “Forgot their lunch at home.”

You walked over to meet him halfway, shaking your head. “Wow, I didn’t even realize.”

His hand instinctively went to your waist as he handed you your lunch, you turned to face your students, you immediately regretted it.

Half of them were staring blankly. The other half wore smug little smirks, the kind you’ve seen way too many times this year.

You sighed, already sensing the storm brewing. “Everyone, this is Spencer.” You introduced him. He gave an awkward wave and shy smile, very much regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“Hi.” Came a chorus of teenage politeness, which was immediately shattered by

“Is that your husband?” Silas blurted. Of course it was Silas.

You chuckled. “No, not my husband.”

“Fiancé?” Someone else chimed in.

“Boyfriend.” Spencer said, trying to sound casual.

“Oooh!” “Awws” “no way” erupted from every direction.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell us? We thought you were lonely!”

You blinked. “I-well- I didn’t think you needed to know about my personal life.”

“Why? We always tell you about ours.”

You stared at them. “That’s…true, unfortunately.”

“I always thought you and the basketball coach would be cute.” Someone tossed out.

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You stepped in. “Okay! That’s enough. You’re scaring him”

The class laughed, clearly delighted.

You turned back to Spencer, lowering your voice. “Thanks for this. Lunch is in fifteen, have time?”

He smiled. “For you? Always.”

You motioned to the chair near your desk, and he sat, awkward but trying. You returned to your seat, praying your students would go back to their journals.

Nope.

Olivia’s hand shot up.

“Yes? Olivia?”

“Why is your boyfriend dressed like he’s coming from a funeral?”

You choked back a laugh, Spencer blinked at you, betrayed.

“Well.” You said sweetly. “Spencer?”

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh…my job?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m with the FBI.” He said, a little more confidently. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Boring.” Someone muttered.

Your head snapped up. “Hey! Be nice. His job is actually super important.” You say going to your sweet lovely boyfriend’s defense because only you can pick on him.

“Yeah, shut up. Let him talk.” Silas said.

You raised a brow. “Appreciate the support, not the tone.”

Spencer smiled faintly. “What we do is analyze criminal behavior to help catch criminals. It’s called profiling.”

“It’s like psychology.” You added. “It’s really cool.”

“So you predict what people do? Do me!” Ethan asked.

“Uh…it doesn’t quite work like that.” Spencer replied.

Ethan sighed, immediately unimpressed.

“So you get to catch criminals?” Mia asked.

“Yeah. We do.” Spencer said, nodding.

“Cool.” Silas grinned. “Do you see crime scenes? Are they gross?”

“Very.” Spencer said.

And now they were really invested.

“What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?” Someone asked

Spencer opened his mouth.

“Nope!” You interrupted. “Do not answer that.” The class groaned. “Sorry, guys.”

“How long have you guys been together?” Mia asked.

You hesitated. “Four years. Now get back to work.”

“Four years and no ring? That’s sad.” Silas said. Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Are you guys scared of marriage or something?” Olivia teased. You and Spencer both looked equally offended.

“No.” You said crossing your arms. “We’re just…comfortable.” Spencer nodded. “We’re happy where we are. Right?” He asked, his head snapping to you for confirmation.

You smiled. “Right.”

“Well, if my boyfriend didn’t propose after four years, I’d dump him.” Mia declared. You shook your head. “When did this classroom turn into a relationship panel?”

“Yeah.” Spencer added. “How old are you guys? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

The room broke into laughter.

Finally, the bell rang. “Thank god.” You muttered, watching them pack up.

A few waved at Spencer, others giggled as they walked past. And then Olivia stopped right next to him.

“She’s a lovely woman. You should really put a ring on her finger.”

Then she was gone.

Spencer turned to you, you were already laughing.

“She’s not wrong.” You said making your way to him, grabbing his hand. “I am pretty lovely.”

“I am never stepping foot in this classroom again.” He said. “That was more stressful than interrogating a serial killer.”

“Oh, come on. I think they liked you.”

“Really? Because that comment about the basketball couch felt very personal.”

You laughed and nudged him. “You’re focused on the wrong thing.”

“What should I be focusing on?”

“Marrying me.”

He paused, then smiled. “Noted.”

You walked toward your classroom door, twisting the lock. Spencer was still by your desk, looking mildly traumatized.

“Are you okay?” You asked, trying not to laugh.

“I’ve been shot at less aggressively than I was questioned in here.” He replied, deadpan. “And I sensed one of your students wanting to fight me. I saw the glint in their eyes.”

You laughed. “Well, you held your own. I’m proud of you.”

You moved a chair next to Spencer, and took a seat, unwrapping your sandwich. He watched you for a second, then leaned in with a smile.

“So…four years no ring?” He said, repeating Silas’ line like he was testing it out loud.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you start.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. The experts have spoken. We’re on thin ice.”

“You’re right, should I just elope with the basketball coach?”

Spencer gave a dramatic gasp. “I knew it.”

You nodded. “He is tall, and charming.”

“Wow. Okay, now I am scared.”

You smiled, nudging your foot against his. “You know I don’t need a ring to feel secure with you, right?”

“I know.” He said softly, reaching out to brush your hand. “But also…I don’t not want to marry you someday.”

Your heart did a flip. You tried to play it cool, like your knees didn’t suddenly feel like jello.

“Yeah?” You asked, voice softer.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just…not because Olivia told me to. Although she is very convincing.”

“She is. Probably runs the underground student government.”

“Definitely. But I’ve thought about it before. And I want to do it the right way. You’d deserve something…meaningful. Not pressured by a bunch of freshman armed with sass and curiosity.”

You grinned. “I do love something meaningful.”

He leaned in slightly, teasing. “So…no courthouse wedding tomorrow after work?”

You thought about it. “Only if we go matching in some ridiculous couples costume.”

“That actually sounds incredible.”

You both laughed, the weight of the moment balanced by the natural ease between you. You leaned your head on his shoulder and exhaled.

“I liked seeing you here.” You murmured. “Even if they grilled you like a suspect.”

He chuckled. “Next time, I’m bringing backup. Maybe Morgan.”

“Oh please, if Morgan walked in here, half the girls would faint.”

He smiled, agreeing with you.

You then grabbed his hand. “Thank you for bringing my lunch.”

“Anytime. Next time I’ll bring a ring, just to keep them happy.”

You lifted your head. “If you propose in my classroom, I will throw a dry erase marker at you.”

“Romantic.” He whispered, his smile never leaving his face, you looked at him, and he kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you most.”

SO ADORABLE WTH

- Tag List ~

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

2K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 10 months ago

Note

hey could i request something with spencer where he like stretches and his top lifts up revealing a bit of his tummy and the reader just can’t resist reaching under his shirt and giving a little squeeze, just a cute little moment and maybe someone witnesses and teases them but they don’t care because they are just so in love with each other that it’s almost upsetting to look at 🥹

Spencer's combined stretch and yawn clearly relieve tension that's been building in the profiler's shoulders for god knows how long, but when you reach out to pinch the soft skin of his belly, he yelps in distress.

"Ow! What- you-!" Spencer blinks rapidly at you, somewhere between offended and confused, "Did you just pinch me?"

"Sorry." You shrug, "I saw it so I had to grab it."

Spencer's brows furrow, and you know his impressive brain is recalling a time when he'd heard Morgan schmooze a woman at a bar with those exact words. She'd been delightfully good-natured about the entire thing, and you hope Spencer will follow in her footsteps.

"You're a creep." He decides, "You waited until I was vulnerable, and then you blitz attacked me to incapacitate me so that you could have your way with me."

"That's my M.O," You nod patiently, "What's my motivation?"

"You love me?" He guesses, cheeks beautifully rosy as his voice peters out bashfully.

"That's why you're the BAU's genius," You grin, leaning in to kiss at his warm cheek, "You're always right."

5K notes · View notes

luveline · 3 months ago

Note

Missing hotchner reader❤️❤️

hotch and spencer have to work together to look after you when things get really hard. fem, 3.3k

cw cptsd episodes and descrips of abuse

Adoption isn’t as permanent as people might think —they can give you back anytime they want. So when the oldest Hotchner started hitting you, it wasn’t that different to a previous placement, nobody was watching over you, and you were so afraid of losing your new brother that you didn’t say a word.

You knew, reasonably, that if Aaron was to find out about how his father (your father) had been treating you, he’d report it to your caseworker or the police or somebody and you would be removed from the Hotchner household. And Aaron was the first person you’d ever met to care about you, really care, maybe even love, so you hid it all away and you told him that things were fine. You do it for years.

You move out, you go to college. Aaron moves you into a nice apartment a few streets away from his own, and for a while, life is good. You meet his coworker, Spencer, and you get along. Spencer takes you on dates to cinemas and patisseries and he buys you cuddly plushies with hearts sewn into their hands at Valentine’s. By all accounts, things should be good.

You can’t breathe, is the problem. Somebody has their hand raised to hit you again and you can’t do anything about it, you just have to take it, because you’re useless, because you deserve it, because you’re a drain on everything and everyone and you aren’t worth the trouble, you deserve the hit. You’re so sorry.

“I know,” someone murmurs quietly, a sensation on your shoulder. You wait for it to close around the back of your neck. “I know. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, barely, a breath of sound.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

But you did, you did, he was in a bad mood to begin with and you hit his glass of scotch right off the table, smashed glass and wasted drink and a bad mood made worse. He should’ve hit you by now. He’s waiting for you to sit up. He doesn’t like to hit the back of your head, but he will if you cower long enough.

“Honey,” the voice says, right by your ear, “I’m not going to hit you, do you hear me? I am never, ever going to hit you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t care that you knocked the glass over. I don’t care at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can you look at me? I promise,” —he emphasises until his voice burns— “I am not going to hit you.”

Aaron sounds upset enough to force your gaze. You look at him through your lashes, ready to shut your eyes if this is a trick, but he has his hands flat in front of you and he’s completely still.

“Sweetheart,” he says, so unlike himself, “I wouldn’t hit you over a glass. I wouldn’t hit you if you did it on purpose. I wouldn’t hit you if you smashed every piece of glassware in this apartment for fun.”

He’s hit you for less.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, waiting for a reaction you can’t give, “do you want me to go away?”

It’s a good question. Do you want him to leave? Immediately, everything inside of you says No. He’s gonna hit you just like the last time you smashed his drink, out of the blue, ‘cos didn’t mean to doesn’t matter. But you don’t want Aaron to go. He’s the only person who’s ever loved you properly.

“It’s okay, just hit me,” you say, staring at him, pleading with him not to even as you ask for it, “it’s my fault.”

“Not gonna hit you,” he says, reaching for you now, even when you flinch, he holds you by the arms and he stares at you hard.

“It’s okay,” you say.

“It’s not okay. It won’t fix anything.”

“I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.” Aaron rubs your arms in tandem, shaking his head, a trace of panic in his eyes you’d missed until now.

It’s Aaron. Aaron’s never hit you.

“You never deserve to have someone put their hands on you,” he says, practically murmurs, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I lied to you.”

“I know. I know you did, honey.” He shakes his head gently. “It’s not your fault.”

“I hit the glass over,” you say, And he hit me so hard I couldn’t hear right for hours. You still remember the way it shocked you, because you’d started to expect it but you were still surprised he’d bother with such a hard hit, that he could get that angry about it.

“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs, sorry, clutching at you like he needs you to listen. “I never should’ve left you in that house, but I thought it was just me. It was only ever… me.”

You already know —you’ve had this conversation before. He’s apologised already.

He cups your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“No. I’m never angry with you.”

You come to yourself in fits. You’re kneeling on the floor not far from the table, the mess of glass, half still intact and cupping a few sips of scotch. Aaron’s kneeling right next to you, still in his suit, hasn’t been home long, you were waiting for him. You used your key because you didn’t want to be home alone. Today’s been a bad day. You’ve felt stringy and strange for hours and you knew seeing Aaron would set it right. That Aaron would make you feel better through force of will.

And then you’d knocked his drink off the table and both of you had startled, and he’d said, “Wait, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” but all your brain heard was You.

You. What could be said to mean more than that?

“You’re not gonna hit me,” you whisper.

“Never.”

“Can you help me up?” you ask, half apart from yourself. Your head is back, but your legs won’t cooperate.

“Where do you want to go? The kitchen?” he asks, leaning so you can wrap your arms behind his head. He lifts you up with some effort on his part, adjusting you, and leading you together to the kitchen to sit you at the island bar. “Sit tight. I’ll clean the glass, okay? It won’t take long.”

You don’t want him to go, but you don’t wanna say no.

Time away from him is good, in a way. It makes you remember who you actually are outside of the bad memory. It hammers home that this is Aaron’s apartment, your big brother, your number one supporter. There’s a picture of you and Jack right there on the fridge stuck by an alphabet magnet. Aaron’s never hit you before and it’s not going to change now, because he is nothing like his dad.

He’s never really seen you act like this, though, and you aren’t excited for what he has to say next. He has a penchant for seeing you at your worst and building you back up again. It shouldn’t be his problem, but it is.

He brushes the glass into a dustpan and unloads it into a bag, which he trashes. You watch him wet a paper towel and wipe it across the floor for the shavings.

When he’s drying his hands on a towel, you summon the courage to apologise. “Aaron, I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry.”

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look much like the other Hotchner’s. He’s dark-haired like his mother, and he smiles with all kindness. You never saw anything so soft at home, not unless he was there to visit. It’s a wonder he ever bothered getting to know you, already living his life very much outside of the household, and shouldn’t he have moved on? If it were you, if there were another kid in the house right now, could you go back? Knowing how you were treated?

“I love you,” he says. “You know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you could understand why I don’t want you to say sorry, or be sorry, because of that?”

You smile weakly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Because if Jack were in here today, and he had hit that drink over, you couldn’t have hit him. Could you?”

“Of course not.”

He’s mildly guilty for the example, you can tell, but it cements the sentiment in your mind and he can see that. “When you love someone, you don’t hit them. We just can’t do it.”

“I just… just– you– I got all mixed up in my head.”

“I know.”

“Thought you were him,” you say tightly, quietly.

“I know. Is that the first time you’ve had something like that happen? Like you weren’t sure where you were?”

Your face crumples of its own accord, heat clogging your nose and throat and lining the backs of your eyes. “No… but it hasn’t been that many times…”

“The bad panic attack at work a few weeks ago, was that like this?”

“No, that was just that I couldn’t breathe right. I– I had one with Spencer.”

Aaron frowns, but he speaks kindly, “When was that?”

“A couple of days ago…” You stare at your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“He told me to tell you, but it– I thought he’d break up with me, after, but he hasn’t, so I’ve just been waiting.”

“Honey, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that could make Spencer break up with you. He cares too much.”

“You don’t understand, I– I begged him not to touch me, Aaron. I really scared him.”

With Spencer, it was late. You asked him to stay the night on a limb, and you’d forgotten he was there sleeping beside you, met him in a dark hallway, where he asked what you were doing out of bed. It’s late. You shouldn’t be up.

His hand had settled just behind your neck. He won’t touch you there anymore.

“If there’s something you want to tell me–”

“I want it to go away,” you say.

“It’s not going to be that easy.” He takes a big, deep breath. “You could’ve told me this was happening,” he promises.

“I didn’t want you to know that I– lied so much. Sometimes I can’t believe I let him do it.”

Your tone, quiet and calm and a juxtaposition to the ache in your chest, couldn’t hurt him worse. You're familiar with the pain on Aaron’s face, how it makes him do this sorry smile, how he tries hard not to give it away. “If anyone let him hurt you, it was me.”

“What?”

“I knew he was unkind to you. I knew he shouted. I didn’t try hard enough to get you away.”

“Aaron–”

“If you’re going to blame someone, it has to be me.”

It’s ridiculous. If you hadn’t had Aaron, you would’ve been completely miserable to the marrow of your bones. He’s the last person on earth you’d blame for the way you’re feeling now, so when a tear wells in your eyes, when it hits your cheek in a splash, you let him tut and wrap his arms behind you.

“It’s my fault,” you insist, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“No.”

“It’s my fault, I hit the glass–”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m really s–sorry.”

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath for me. I promise you I’m not mad about the glass.”

“Maybe you should be.”

He holds your forehead to his chin, clutching you to him, reassuring and a little too tight. “I’m not mad at you.”

You can’t make yourself believe him.

—

Spencer isn’t expecting to get waylaid by Hotch at Rossi’s dinner party. He can’t think of what he did wrong. You’re happy with him, clingy lately, which he loves, and as smart and sweet as ever, and work is great. Spencer’s a good agent and a better profiler.

Hotch looks so serious that he follows him in silence, squeezing his coke neck like a lifeline.

“I want Y/N to be assessed for PTSD, and I need to know that you’re going to support her,” he says simply.

Spencer searches the backyard for you. You’re laying down in the grass with Jack, Henry, and Penelope. It’s getting late, barely any sunshine left, but nobody’s wanted to ruin the fun and call it a night yet. You don’t fuss as Jack throws himself sideways across your chest.

“Did something happen?” Spencer asks.

“She had an… event. She told me about a similar incident with you the other night. That she panicked and got confused about who you were.”

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I– yeah. I caught her by surprise.”

“That’s the only time it’s happened?”

“Yeah. She’s told me a little about it.”

“About the episode?”

“Everything. And it’s obvious?” He enthuses it with apology, worried he’ll offend Hotch if he says something too blatant, but desperate to be honest. “Most of the time she’s this– she’s amazing, she’s like this light, and then sometimes it’s like she thinks I don’t like her? Like I don’t want to be near her, or like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.”

Hotch lets his eyebrows rise a little. “Yeah.”

“She cried so much that I didn’t know what to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that part, she already told me you made her feel better,” Hotch says quietly. Neither of them mention what they know, how you’d begged Spencer to stay after the episode, how sorry you’d been, how desperate Spencer was to calm you down. “But if you can’t do it in the long run, you need to know now. I can’t start this with her and have you duck out halfway through. I know,” —Hotch gives him a fond smile, half-knocking the wind from him— “that you care about her, and I know it’s not my place to come to you on her behalf, but I’m going to do it anyhow, and you know why I am.”

“What do you mean?” he says, though he knows.

“I’m saying I think she’s going to get worse before she gets better. She’s not well right now.”

“I know she isn’t.”

“I trust you, Spencer. I care about you, too. But she’s going to be my priority, and if you can’t be there for her then it has to be done now... I’m worried she’s going to get really low.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says genuinely. Spencer’s not defensive, only urgent. “Hotch, I more than care about her.”

Hotch nods. “Okay. Good, because I need your help. You have to vet these doctors for me, I have a preliminary list. I’ll send it to you.”

“Wait, have you talked to her about this?”

“I said we’d talk to a doctor. I promised I’d talk to you about it. She’s… I don’t know, she’s scared.”

Spencer straightens up. You have nothing to be scared of with him, not his reaction, not his lack of support. He wishes Hotch had had more faith in him, but none of this is about him. Someone hurt you, and now you have to put yourself back together again.

The kids have disappeared. Penelope’s climbing onto her feet and offering you a hand, but you stay laying down in the grass.

“I really care about her,” Spencer says.

Hotch clasps his shoulder. “Are you going, or am I?”

“I’ll take this one, please.”

“Sure.”

Spencer trudges around the side of the yard, past the bench and the tables and the string lights on the patio to where you’re laying in the bluegrass, eyes nearly closed. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, nudging your hip with his shoe lightly.

“No, sir.”

Spencer sits down in the grass. He finds your wrist to hold.

“You okay?”

“Did Aaron talk to you about the doctor?”

“Yeah, he did. You want to go?”

“What do you think?”

Spencer rubs your pulse. “I think it’s good. If you were having headaches, we’d go to the doctor.”

“Headaches that make me not know who you are.”

“Especially that kind.”

You turn a bit and give him an amused smile. “Sorry I was too scared to say more about it.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Spencer brings a cautious hand to your cheek. He sees the flicker of hurt it brings —you don’t like that he’s careful how, but how can he not be, remembering the way he’d touched your neck and the wound it seemed to inflict in the dark— but he tries to caress it away. “I’m with you,” he says, “I care about you. I want to take care of you, as much or as little as you might need that from me.”

Your eyes fall closed. “It might be nice.”

“What would?”

“To be taken care of by you.”

“I’ll try my best.”

You cover his hand with your own. JJ laughs across the yard, and Jack and Henry shout battle cries. Hotch says, “Jack! Not so rough, buddy!” and makes you laugh.

“Did he intimidate you?” you ask.

“No more than usual. He said I have to decide if I can do this with you.”

You squirm and attempt to sit. If Spencer weren’t nervous about touching you, he’d force you back down. “He shouldn’t have.”

“No, he should. But I already decided.” Spencer finds your fingers, lacing them with his. “It wasn’t really a decision, actually. I want to do this with you, but only if that’s okay with you.”

You nod slowly. “I already said it’d be nice if you took care of me,” you whisper, letting your face dip downward.

He chances a kiss pressed to your temple.

You laugh under your breath. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.”

“Did you?” he asks, giving your back a rub like a wave.

“It’s different. I knew what was happening to me.”

“Angel, you didn’t have a choice,” he says, so quiet he’s surprised when you hear it. “I know you’re… What?” he asks, perturbed when you shake your head.

“You and Aaron…”

You never finish. Spencer can’t make you. He holds your shoulder until the tension under his hand unfurls, relaxing his touch when you decide to lay down in the grass again, quietly asking him to lay with you.

“Be ready for Jack to use you like a trampoline,” you warn, taking his hand.

He has a feeling Hotch will keep Jack away for a while.

Spencer traces the back of your hand with his thumb, over and over. He’s sorry he didn’t know you five years ago, sorry you were alone, sorry someone put their hands on you. He’s sorry you learned to anticipate physical abuse in the wake of mistakes. He’s sorry he can’t take it away from you, ‘cos from the second you took his hand at that park a street from his apartment he’s been a goner, all you had to do was jump up on the lip of the fountain and trust him not to let you fall. He remembers how that felt, the zinging sparks travelling from the palm of your hand into his, the romanticism of two arms stretched apart and your slow circle. And when you fell in, you didn’t blame him, you just laughed and scrambled back out, squealing excitedly about your wet shoes.

It’ll get better, he thinks. Even if it gets worse first. You’ll feel better soon.

He turns his cheek into the grass and beckons you forward for a kunik kiss, nose pressed to yours, wanting to kiss you like he would if you were at home together, and knowing this is enough too.

“You okay?” he asks.

“It’s getting cold.”

Spencer agrees, but neither of you attempt to move.

1K notes · View notes