#spencer reid one shot

[reidrum]

hypothalamus

note: this is just me reidsplaining neuro i fear. and being horny. sorry? inspired by my real life final that i so bravely studied for without spencer's help </3

summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, fingering, p in v sex, heavy praise kink, neuroscience jargon

wc: 2.3k

apologies in advance if it sounds too sciencey it is unfortunately the side effect of a woman in stem. bunsen burner! (divider by @firefly-graphics)

The dry erase marker crumbs stick to your hand as you angrily erase the whiteboard again, internally groaning as you restart drawing your diagram hopefully correctly this time. It’s not. After another few failed attempts you slump back in your chair and huff out in frustration, too deep in your sulk to hear the front door open.

“Hey I’m home!” Spencer calls out, bending down to remove his shoes.

“In the study.” you grumble out, a surprise he even heard you when he walks in a minute later. His gaze softens as he takes in the scene. Your notes strewn across the table, your whiteboard dark with marker smudges that match the side of your hand in which you used to erase it. The exhaustion clear as day on your face and the hint of defeat in your eyes is enough to draw him closer to you.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” he says softly.

You sniffle, not exactly crying but the stress was bringing you to the brink, “S’nothing, just trying to study and it’s not working. Feel dumb.”

He sighs and rounds the desk, sitting on the edge and reaching for your hands as he looks down at you, “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“To not to.” you mumble.

He laughs softly, “Well, yes. But it’s because you’re too hard on yourself. You were just explaining all of this to me yesterday.”

You whine, “I know and it feels like I forgot it already!”

“Maybe you just need to approach it differently,” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “Your whiteboard isn’t helping?”

“No,” you sigh, “I keep drawing it wrong and it’s frustrating me.”

The despair in your voice makes his heart ache, and all he wishes is to be able to take it away. Spencer remains deep in thought before something clicks in his mind, you see the shift in him but you’re unable to discern what epiphany he’s reached. His eyes sparkle with mischief as his entire demeanor changes, “I think you might need a different type of visual.”

Your eyes squint in confusion before you realize what he’s getting at, and you can’t help but laugh. “You’re not serious? This is a joke, right?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, “Humor me.”

The laughter dies down on your tongue as you take in and consider the very intentional nature of his words. “How so?”

“You’re studying brain structures right?” you nod, “Okay well, what better way to study than with some active learning?” 

You couldn’t look less convinced. Spencer chuckles, reaching for your hand to switch places with him so he’s seated on the chair. You move forward hesitantly, he holds a hand out to gently pull you closer while using the other hand on your hip guides you onto his lap. You part your knees on either side of him and situate comfortably on him, arms slinking around his neck.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You soften, “Hi. Are you sure this isn’t a ruse to get me in bed?”

“Oh come on, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. A lot of the hypothalamic functions are very important during intercourse,” he trails his fingers up and down your side, “You’ll get to study with a real life application and relieve some of your stress.”

You move your hips slightly, smiling when you feel him harden beneath you at the simple movement, “Alright, I’m game.”

He matches your grin and presses a kiss to the base of your jaw, “Need you to help me with my pants for this to work, baby.”

The soft kiss already sends you into a dizzy fit, nodding mindlessly as you scoot back to allow yourself space to work on undoing his belt and zipper. You aren’t even sure what his plan is, but if it keeps him talking to you like that you’re afraid there might be nothing you won’t do for him. Spencer’s eyes are focused on you while yours are focused at your handiwork, unable to resist slipping a hand in and palming him through his boxers.

“Ah—h baby, not yet.” he hisses at the contact, reluctantly removing your hand, “S’about you remember? We’re studying. So, tell me something about the thalamus.”

“Okay, the thalamus functions as a relay center for both sensory and m—oh���tor functions.” you moan feeling his lips attach to your neck, slowly marking a path down the slope of your nape with chaste kisses.

He looks up at you briefly, smiling smugly, “Why’d you stop? Keep going.”

You clear your throat as he continues his descent towards your shoulder, motioning for you to lift your arms so he can take off the shirt you’re wearing. His lips immediately reattach before he stops in place once more, brown eyes peering up at you knowingly amid your silence.

“R—Right, so there’s a structure called the lateral geniculate nucleus, fuck.” you curse feeling him suckle a hickey into the crease of your neck.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, “And what does it do?”

His lips descend further down, teasing the lace edges on your bra. You yelp as he nips playfully, “It um, it helps send um…visual stimuli to the brain, right?”

A wicked grin spreads on his face, “That is right, smart girl.” His fingers trace the outline of your bra to the back where he expertly unclasps it, letting it fall to the floor. “You keep getting it right, and I’ll reward you each time, yeah?”

You nod hypnotically, eager to please him and seek his rewards. A soft gasp leaves you as you feel him latch onto your breast, letting his tongue swirl around the peak of your nipple and feeling it harden under his touch. You tighten your arms around him as he latches onto the other breast, moaning softly as he makes sure to give it the same special attention.

You grind your hips down and he lets out a low groan,  arm tightening around your waist, suspending your movement. “Can’t do that, sweetheart” he strains, “You gotta earn it.”

Another whine leaves your throat, dropping your head to his neck. He really wasn’t making this easy. “Okay, so ask me something else then.”

His nose brushes up the length of your neck before his hands reach for the notes behind you, “Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

Before you get a chance to think about the answer, you’re distracted by his wandering hands again. Only this time, they’re going down towards where you really need him.

“Spence,” you say breathlessly, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure for a moment.

“Nuh uh,” he pauses his ministrations, “Answer first, reward second. I told you the rules, don’t make me repeat it.”

You whimper and Spencer almost folds—almost. But for the sake of your education, and definitely not the way you look perched on his lap, he treks on.

He does feel a little pity and decides to show you a bit of mercy when he motions for you to lift up slightly so he can pull your pajama shorts all the way off.

“That feel better?” he whispers, hot breath fanning your face. You nod hastily. “Okay then. Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

“Um…the anterior nuclei is responsible for—“ your breath hitches as his finger traces the edge of your panties. “Memory, right? Hippocampus.” you rush out.

You feel him smile and nod, “Correct,” his finger hooks onto the fabric and pulls it to the side, the cold air not even hitting you before he swipes through your folds.

Your head drops to his shoulder as you let out a shuddering sigh, peppering kisses up his neck as his fingers provide the much needed attentiveness you needed. He chuckles softly, “Just relax. You’re doing good, pretty girl.”

He helps you remove your underwear, maneuvering you so he can smoothly slide them off your legs. His fingers collect the slick and glides up to circle your clit, grinning when he hears you whine loudly. He continues to move across your pussy before retracting his finger while you let out a soft whimper. You’re about to protest when you see the intention of his removal, watching his hand slip below his boxers to gently pull himself out. He gives himself a few pumps before laying flat against his body, guiding your hips so your cunt is flush with the topside of his dick.

He holds your hips down preventing you from moving, “Hypothalamus?”

The cock drunk state is getting to you and he’s not even inside you yet, “It’s a um…it regulates…stuff.” you trail off, his lips returning to your neck.

He sucks another hickey onto your neck, licking over it and pulling back to gently blow on it. “Not good enough,” he whispers, “Try again.”

You whimper, “Okay—Okay, it sends signals for…sympathetic response—fight or flight” the end of your voice lilting up as he begins to move your hips.

“Keep going.”

The sensation of your cunt sliding up and down his length is enough to send you into delirium, and you’re honestly impressed you’re still able to speak. “It also does,” you take a deep breath for regulation, “It signals appetite and eating…and…”

He slides you forward enough so the tip of his cock is barely breaching your entrance, “One more, pretty girl.”

You rack your brain as you try to force yourself to focus, and not think about the way his tip is stretching your opening, teasing you relentlessly. The answer comes to you in a lightbulb moment, “Intercourse,” you moan, “releases hormones for sex.”

Spencer grins again, “Good girl.”

He lifts your hips a little, and the shift in angle is enough to fully slide himself inside you, the feeling causing you both to moan in tandem. The stretch of his cock inside you splits you apart beautifully, making you feel so full.

You whine his name again as you try to move, getting louder when you realize his hands are still clamped to your side, holding you square in place, “Wanna move, please.”

“Oh baby, you know I love it when you use your manners,” he touts, pressing kisses up your chest, “One more question and I’ll give you what you need, okay?”

You nod quickly, waiting impatiently for his last question.

“Tell me the two hormones made in the hypothalamus.” he whispers against your skin.

“I know one is antidiuretic hormone…” you breathe out shakily, “But, there’s one more I can’t remember.”

“I’ll give you a hint.” his hands slowly begin to guide you up and down on him, a languished moan leaving your throat. The feeling of him pushing against your cervix is so detrimentally distracting, like all you’re focused on is the pure euphoria your body is chasing. It’s clouding your judgement, your senses. It’s all consuming as the pleasure spreads throughout you.

Wait.

Oh.

Spencer seems to sense that you’ve reached an answer and thrusts up into you, “Ah—Knew you’d get there. What is it, baby?”

You let out a sharp gasp before answering, “Oxytocin.”

He doesn’t give a verbal praise but his face splits into a wide grin, finally loosening the grip on your hips and allowing you full reign to chase your peak. You brace yourself on his shoulders and increase your pace, his hands returning to your sides facilitating your movements.

“Such a smart girl you are, baby,” he coos, “Taking me so well and getting all the answers right?”

“Spence…”

“You’re just so good, angel. My beautiful, intelligent girl,” he continues to praise, feeling you clench around him, “My good girl, isn’t that right?”

Any and every neuronal connection in your brain is fried at this point, melded down to nothing but atoms at the hands of Spencer Reid, clearly reveling in your fucked out state as evidenced by your incoherent babbling. His hands grip your sides tighter and pulls you harder when you sink down, the sound echoing throughout the study.

“ ‘m close,” you mumble as you slump into his shoulder letting him fully takeover. He stills his movements for a second before standing up with his hands under your legs to sit you on the desk in front of you. Your hands detach from his shoulders and hold you up from behind as you lean back and let Spencer pull your body towards him.

He continues to fuck into you, the new position allowing him better control for calculated thrusts and a faster pace. Words don’t exist in your lexicon anymore and you hope he can understand your babbles as you attempt to communicate with him that your orgasm is about to overtake you entirely.

He knows, obviously, because it’s you. He slides a finger down to your clit to further drive you to the edge, leaning down to whisper, “Come for me, baby. You’ve earned it.”

With a high pitched whine you crash into your peak with the full force of your body, vision temporarily going white before returning in splotchy spots. Spencer comes not too far behind you, fucking the last of his come into you before stilling completely.

You both pant heavily as you try to catch your breaths, and Spencer leans forward to rest his forehead on yours. “You alright?”

“I think you fucked me dumb.”

He laughs breathlessly, “Actually, I think I fucked you smart.”

You swat his shoulder lightly and laugh, “That was so bad.”

He smoothes your hair back before gently pulling out, using your discarded shirt to clean you up a bit. His lips press a kiss to forehead, then your nose, both cheeks, before landing on your lips kissing you deeply.

You pull back suddenly, “Wait, I still have like, five more sections to review.”

Spencer’s wicked grin returns. “Well, we better get to work.” He effortlessly picks you up from the desk as you giggle and wrap your legs around him. He reaches the bedroom and delicately tosses you on the bed, looking down as he stands over you at the edge.

 “Gotta make sure you get that A, pretty girl.”

[reidingandallthat]

no talking in the morning

spencer knows you like quiet in the morning, so of course, he finds other way to keep his mouth busy

spencer reid x reader words: 1.8k cw: smut!!! 18+ pls, sort of somnophilia, nothing too extreme, fingering, munch!spencer (because of course), also soft dom!spencer, i'm writing smut after ages okay give me grace. also extremely nervous to post this.

The mornings were always something complicated for you. The sunshine as you sit on the balcony with your tea and a book is great but you also want some more minutes of sleep. But there was a certain peace in waking up early, not having to talk for a while, no erratic thoughts running inside your head and just some quiet time to yourself. 

Spencer had discovered early on that you didn't like talking in the morning, neither did you want him to talk. anytime he'd be rushing after a call from Hotch, waking you up loudly, you'd be in a sour mood. So he had never done it again. He usually just woke you up lightly to tell you he's leaving, but after a few weeks of dating, he just left a note on the bedside table. You were used to him being gone. 

The thought causes a crease in his forehead as he looks at your sleeping face, peaceful and beautiful, he thinks. He's gone for most mornings, atleast until you wake up and he dreads it everytime. 

Every time he wasn't away in the morning and he got to see you wake up, he'd see you look for him, your hands searching for him on the bed and then after you find him, you burrow yourself in him, hiding your face in his chest. 

It always was like that, you two fell asleep with his head on your chest, or he comes home and uses you as his pillow and you two wake up with you wrapped around him. 

He leans down to press a kiss on your cheek, almost featherlight, lips barely grazing, but he continues. A kiss to your jaw, another to your chin and he slowly travels down the column of your throat. He comes out of his haze and halts his movements when he hears the quietest whine as he sucks on the spot he always does to get a reaction out of you. He could feel himself hardening when he hears you moan in your sleep, your body reacting to his touches even when you were asleep. 

He gets bolder, his hands sliding under your shirt, rubbing circles on the skin, slowly sliding up to your chest as he keeps kissing your collarbone. He thanked you internally for wearing a tank top, to provide him a canvas that he could paint with his kisses. 

Eventually, the neck of the top interrupts his movements and he becomes impatient. 

As selfish as it was, he wanted you to wake up. He possibly couldn't keep doing this as you were asleep, and the tent in his pants was a good sign that he desperately needed you.

Spencer moves quickly, placing a quick peck on your lips before moving down, situating himself between your legs. He quietly whispers, “Angel, wake up, please.”

His hands slowly spread your legs, not too much, he still didn't know what the boundaries were. 

You had told him you absolutely wouldn't mind being woken up like this, but he had never taken the opportunity before. So he restrained himself to be patient and gentle, as much power it took and one of his hands slid up your thigh, caressing the soft skin. 

He'd always said he could stay here forever, in between your thighs, his face buried in your pussy as your thighs wrap around him. 

You're only wearing your panties, a consequence of the events last night. 

The flashbacks hit him, a slow montage of every single thing that you did together, every moan uttered from your lips and every expression on your face. He feels his dick twitch when he remembers the taste of your pussy, the sweet juice coating his tongue. 

His thumb rubs slow circles on your clothed cunt, desperately hoping this will be enough to wake you up. He needed to hear you, he felt he'd go insane if he didn't soon. 

He places kisses on the inside of your thigh, taking his time covering every inch of skin with his lips. 

Your body moves slightly, as if waking up, but not quite awake yet, your hands lazily search for him beside you. You could feel him touching you, never quite in the place you'd like him to be, which was enough to drive you crazy.

He takes your hand in his, “I'm here, honey.”

“Spencer…” You aren't completely awake yet, but aware enough to know what he's planning, so he gives you time to think of an answer.

He kisses your stomach, featherlight kisses as if you're made of glass, his eyes looking up at you as he sees your breathing get faster and slowly moves his way up to your breasts, taking one of them in his mouth, sucking on the hardened bud. A hitch in your breath and he feels a wave of satisfaction, his cock hardening at the sound. His other hand rolls the peak of your other breast, taking turns so that “one of them doesn't feel left out.”

He'd made that joke during sex once, you had laughed and then kissed him, so he took that as a positive sign. One of his very few successes at making jokes, or so he says, you seem to disagree.

He feels your hand in his hair and he smiles and tears himself away to look at you.

You look absolutely ethereal, your eyes laced with lust or sleepiness, Spencer couldn't tell. A lazy smile gracing your lips, hair splayed out around your head. 

“I'm sorry, you just look so pretty.”

You smile through closed eyes and pull him to you, just slightly touching your lips to his, not exactly kissing him yet,

“I literally just woke up.” You laugh, a soft one but he feels the compliment isn't enough. You look more than just pretty to him, but he's afraid that if he starts he might not be able to stop. And he knows you don't like talking too much in the morning, so he keeps his thoughts inside.

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, running his finger down your nose, his eyes searching yours as if to ask, “Is this okay?”

He sees your eyes soften, which he didn't think was even possible in your current sleep-laden state, but it does and you take his face in your hands,

“Never, ever, apologise for waking me up like this.”

You say, putting emphasis on ‘never’ and kiss him. He tries to deepen the kiss when you protest and pull away,

“Morning breath.” 

He only rolls his eyes before leaning in again and continues kissing you, and this time as deeply as he can because he'd be an insane man to let morning breath stop him from kissing you.

His hands travel in between your legs, his fingers sneaking in between your folds, his fingers just slightly curved to tease but you whine in his ear and he looks at you earnestly, worried that he might have gone too far. So, he was obviously delighted to hear your next words,

“Take it off, please,” You say hurriedly with begging eyes, “Need you properly.”

And who was he to deny such a beautiful request?

He moves quickly but takes his sweet time sliding your underwear down your legs, pressing chaste kisses as he moves down. He spreads your legs and grips them tight, unknowingly, the sight of you enough to make him lose control.

“You're so wet, angel,” He asks, his fingers gently smearing your wetness, rubbing gentle slow circles over your clit, his eyes laser focused on his own actions, as if he hasn't done this a hundred times before,“Is this all for me?”

“Spencer, please…” You moan, your head thrown back, still overstimulated from last night, Even the slightest touches felt elevated.

“I know, baby, I know.” He says before diving in, licking long stripes up your cunt, keeping himself gentle but he feels your hips bucking into him and that does it. 

His tongue flattens against your clit again and again, each action like a punishment because he can't get closer. His head is spinning and he craves more so he keeps going, like he's a man starved. He brings his fingers to brush against your entrance, coating his fingers with your slick before inserting a finger inside you. It's only the first one but he can already feel you clenching around him. He pushes further until he reaches all the way and feels you squirming underneath him.  He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much. 

“Oh, it's okay sweetheart,” He places soft kisses to your cunt as if to soothe you but only before intensifying his actions, this time his fingers working in and out of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens as the change settles in and a lewd sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth with your hand but Spencer is quick to stop you, halting his movements only to tell you, beg you,

“No, no, no, don't do that, I wanna hear my pretty girl.”

Then, he's on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines when he sucks into your bundle of nerves. It's as if every single action of his is for your pleasure, everything he does has your back lifting up from the bed and tugging at his curls. 

“Spence, spence, I'm so-,” You manage to get out and he speeds up his movements,

“You're close? You gonna cum for me?” His words are muffled as he's pressed against your pussy, the vibration just adding to your pleasure, You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls inside you while your hips rock against him, the grip you have on his hair loosening each second you come down your high.

He continues his movements even after you've come, your breath panting and heavy, and you already feel like your body can't move anymore. Your hand rakes through his hair, removing strands of them from his face when he looks up. 

His face is a mess, covered in your wetness when he wipes it off, leaning down again to kiss you. 

He's tentative when he's kissing you because he's sure his chin is sticky, but you don't seem to mind, kissing him back with a fervor. 

His lips find your neck, placing a string of light kisses when you whisper, “Do you need me to return the favor?”

A sheepish look appears across his face when he replies, “No, I'm good.”

He kisses you again before whispering against your lips, “You don't need to do anything, just let me have you.”

Maybe any other time, you would have insisted, or even argued against him but it's the morning, and he made you feel so good, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?

[siriuslylantsov]

drunken confessions

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: you take care of a drunk spencer and inebriated, he happens to let certain things slip.

tags: fluff! alcohol consumption (on spencers part so a little ooc), jealous spencer, confession? sorta, dilaudid briefly mentioned, r and spencer sleep in the same bed.

a/n: idk how much i like this, i had this done and dusted months ago but i hated it and left it in my google docs... anw lmk what you think, happy reading!

wc: 1.9k

spencer reid doesn’t drink, or at least he limits himself to two glasses of wine or a beer. the numbing effect alcohol provides faintly reminds him of dilaudid, and that’s enough to keep him from indulging when he goes out for drinks with the team.

instead, he often plays designated driver, guiding an intoxicated penelope or derek to the passenger seat before taking the wheel himself. he doesn’t mind this role; while he isn’t fond of driving, he enjoys taking care of people, regardless of whether they remember to thank him later. plus, it gives him some incredible blackmail photos of derek passed out—ammunition, for whenever he needs it.

tonight is different though, the team is out for drinks, but you’re with him. scott, jerk, bitch boy, butt face–whatever his name is. you had declined, you never decline, saying that you and scott had plans. and in a desperate attempt to not think about you, he gave in. 

what's in his cup, he's not entirely sure off. penelope had handed it to him earlier, elated that he was joining them, and that he won't taste the alcohol. he stares at the blue fizzy drink in the cup, and although he likes how sweet it is, he could say with certainty that the taste was distinguishable. 

a hand slaps him on the back, “that's gonna give you the worst hangover, pretty boy,” derek says, arm now across spencer’s shoulders. “why’d you let penelope get you that?”

“because,” she interjects out of nowhere at the mention of her name, her own colourful drink in tow, “he doesn't like bitter.” she waves her hand dismissively, “now, leave him alone and go drink your scotch” she says, her face twisted in distaste. 

the two of them waddle off together, leaving spencer victim to his damn thoughts. what are you doing with scott? you should be with your friends instead. this is a time to unload and relax together, not be away with your ratty boyfriend. maybe if he could convince hotch to make these outings essential to team building, you’d be less likely to cancel-

no.

he is not doing this. he needs to not think.

he takes a long sip from his drink, swallowing fast so the taste doesn't linger. he works on it like this, long and fast, until he moves on to his second and third. it doesn't take long for him to get drunk, tolerance being next to nothing. 

-

the bar is dim and loud when you walk in, greeted with a whiff of something too strong when a stranger walks past you. you scan the place, looking for familiar faces. your fingers twitch nervously by your leg, you're not supposed to be here, or atleast thats what you told them. but you couldn't stand the eerie silence of your apartment any longer. your eyes screech to a halt when you spot the back of a head of curls you know oh so well. 

-

“hey.”

you slide into the booth beside him, and he freezes. where did you come from? 

“hi,” he says curtly. suddenly overly aware of himself, he straightens.

“what are you…” you trail off, eyebrows creased in amusement. he's so frigid, almost guilty. your breath catches and you lean in, nostrils flaring slightly, is that gin? you peer at him, confused. “have you been drinking?”

as if on instinct, spencer drags his drink further away from you on the table. your eyes dart down to the half-filled glass you had previously thought was a mocktail, and snap back to his.

“wait, really? you're drinking?” your tone a mix of surprise and concern.

“so what? i can drink, i’m allowed to drink,” he retorts, defensiveness bubbling up. 

taken aback, you look down for a moment, then meet his gaze again, seeing the apology in his eyes. “it's okay. you can do whatever you want. so… how are you feeling?”

a lazy smile creeps up as he leans his head back against the wall, “drunk.”

you chuckle, “it tends to work that way.” you pause, scrutinising him before repeating your question. “how are you feeling?”

your emphasis on the word eats at him, he knows you know why he doesn't drink. you'd been on the team only a year and a half, yet you knew him better than anyone. he concedes, incapable of not giving you what you want.

“good, fine, okay. i'm okay, i’m… okay,” he stammers, as if convincing himself along with you.

a quick flash of apprehension passes through your face, eyebrows momentarily creasing, “yeah?”

“yeah.” 

it's quiet for a minute, as quiet as it can get in a bar blasting 90s hip-hop. you're leaned against the heel of your hand, elbow to the table and body angled his way. he’s fidgeting with his fingers on his lap. you're trying to figure out what's different about tonight, itching to ask him but you don't. he’ll tell you, you hope. letting out a sigh, you cease your analysing.

before he can stop it, he starts speaking again, “so where's scott?” he drags out the ‘t’ sound at the end, words slurring together. 

you briefly tense, but he doesn't notice, circumstances rendering spencer’s profiling abilities inept. “um, he's home.” no he's not.

“didn't you guys have plans?”

“yeah,” you respond shortly.

“so why are you here?”

“plans ended early. i wanted to stop by.”

you hope your answers are enough for spencer, enough to stop the interrogation. you didn't want to tell him that you and scott had broken up, 2 weeks ago. by the way spencer’s attentions drifts to a piece of lint on your shoulder, you conclude that he's content. 

“are you not getting anything?” he asks, referring to your lack of a drink.

“nope, pulling a spencer tonight,” you chirp, he smiles. “want me to take you home? i brought my car.”

your face warms as he nods eagerly, taking a sip from his abandoned cup. you tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, determined to make sure he gets taken care of, and exhale slowly. your eyes glint mischievously, “okay, talk to me, pretty boy. i wanna see how much more unfiltered you get when you're drunk.”

-

the night goes on, you and spencer holed up in the corner, deep in conversation though it's more giggly than normal, very giggly. your teammates pass by the table now and then but get pulled back to the excitement eventually. spencer's expressive hands become languid, aimlessly waving around in the air as he rambles on about whatever comes to mind; the fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio, nautilus shells, speaking of shells, one time a hermit crab pinched me when i picked it up. the fact itself isn't funny but the way he raises both hands to imitate claws is and you start laughing again, and he realises he wants to make you laugh like that for the rest of his life. 

your eyes drift to the clock on the opposite wall, it's something past midnight though it's too far away to tell. you decide to call it. 

“c’mon, let's go.”

“but-” he protests.

“spencer,” you press, softly, “it's late, i wanna take you home.”

he puts up no further protests as he lets you drag him out of the bar, hands laced together, can he even complain when your hand feels like it does in his. you say goodbye to everyone as you leave, penelope pulling you in for a tight hug. the drive to spencer's apartment is fairly silent, the sleepiness taking over. he leans his head against the window, watching the streetlights, you steal a glance at him, smiling to yourself. 

you walk spencer upstairs, reaching your destination. you wait in his living room as he changes into his pyjamas, a matching dark blue set, and tucking him into bed when he's done. you brush a piece of hair away from his face again, his eyes are barely open. pleased with the state he’s in, you feel ready to leave. you begin to walk away when you feel his hand weakly grab onto your pinkie. 

“stay,” he whispers, more a breath than anything, he's afraid you don't hear it.

you don't. “what, baby?”

baby. he repeats himself, louder. “stay.”

“i gotta go home.”

“i want you to stay, it's not fair that he gets to have you all the time,” he slurs, the drowsiness makes him sound a little petulant but you find it endearing. 

“spence-” you lightly tug your finger from his grasp, though it would be easy to pull away, he's hardly holding on.

“no,” he retorts, firmly. “it’s late, you're not driving back this late.”

you contemplate for a moment before letting out a sigh, cementing your place for the night. he lets go and you walk over to his dresser, looking for something to wear. finally, you settle on a t- shirt that seems too big to be owned by him and a pair of shorts with drawstrings that you can adjust to fit you. you change in the adjoined bathroom, the getup has you smelling like him. 

“i hope you don't mind, i took your clothes,” you say, slipping under the covers after turning off the lights. you lay on your back, looking up at the ceiling.

spencer only hums in response as he turns to face you, legs curled up. he feels unbearably close but you know there's a good 2 feet between you two. you listen closely to his breathing, a slow inhale and an even slower exhale, you find yourself trying to sync your breaths with him. you think he’s sleeping, only you're proven wrong when he quietly says your name.

you take this as your sign to turn on your side too, facing him. “yeah?” you respond, maintaining the quiet.

“how come you can stay like this?”

“cause you asked me to.”

“i know i did but you have someone waiting for you at home.”

he waits expectantly, though it wasn't phrased as a question, it felt like one. why didn't you go home?

“we broke up,” you answer, meekly. “a few weeks ago.”

he immediately dreads his curiosity, opening his mouth to apologise but you stop him, “it's ok, i’m fine.”

his eyes search for yours in the darkness. he can’t find them. he settles for holding your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you squeeze back. 

you're wrapped in silence for the umpteenth time that night, a comfortable weight that settles over you. there's something so impossibly easy being with spencer. the mattress dips as he scoots closer, knees brushing against yours. your thumb glides over his knuckles in slow passes.

“go to sleep,” you say softly, almost a coo. “i'll be here in the morning.”

spencer lets his eyes fall at your reassurance. the haziness drowns out any instinctual hesitation, maybe there's lingering alcohol too, which is why he feels compelled to say it.

“i love you,” he murmurs, a barely there whisper that hangs in the air around you. the words tug at your heartstrings, you feel a little pained by his drunken admission. you know it's anything but platonic when he says it, because he's not one to say it often. you’re silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. does he mean it?

“tell me again when you wake up,” you respond, though you're not sure whether he heard it before he dozed off.

you'll just have to wait.

reblogs and replies are appreciated! | m.list

[little-jana]

"Trust Me"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, some minor tension, some action, guns, case-talk, reader is in danger, no injuries, happy end, use of Y/N

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Amid a dangerous hostage situation, the reader and Spencer Reid navigate life-threatening risks, unspoken feelings, and the undeniable tension pulling them together.

The sound of gunfire erupted across the warehouse, sending my heart racing. My cover wasn’t great—a rusted-out shelving unit loaded with dusty, half-empty crates—but it would have to do.

“Spencer?” I whispered into my comms, keeping my voice low as I crouched lower.

Static buzzed in my earpiece for a moment before his voice came through. “I’m okay. Are you hurt?”

“No, but I’m pinned down,” I admitted, glancing around for a way out. “Where are you?”

“About thirty yards from the exit,” he replied. “I saw the unsub head your way. Y/N, you need to move—now.”

I could hear the panic in his voice, and it sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through me.

“Copy that,” I said, swallowing hard.

I took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the shelving unit. Sure enough, the unsub—David Malick, the leader of the trafficking ring we’d been hunting—was closing in on my position, a handgun clutched in his meaty fist.

I didn’t have much time. Without hesitating, I bolted for the next row of shelves, keeping low and zigzagging to make myself a harder target. A shot rang out, the bullet sparking off the concrete inches from my feet, but I didn’t stop.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer’s voice came through the comms again, frantic this time.

“I’m fine,” I panted, sliding behind another stack of crates. “But he’s getting closer.”

I could hear Spencer muttering to himself on the other end, his rapid-fire thoughts spilling out in a barely audible stream.

“Spencer,” I interrupted, keeping my eyes trained on Malick’s shadow as it loomed closer. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “The shelves—look for anything heavy you can use to slow him down.”

My eyes scanned the shelves around me, landing on a precariously stacked pile of steel pipes.

“Got it,” I said, gripping the edge of the shelf and giving it a hard shove.

The pipes toppled with a deafening crash, scattering across the floor and forcing Malick to dive out of the way. I used the distraction to make a break for it, sprinting toward the far end of the warehouse.

“Spencer, where are you?” I gasped, my legs burning as I ran.

“I’m coming to you,” he said. “Just keep moving.”

I made it to a small office at the back of the warehouse, slamming the door shut behind me and shoving a filing cabinet in front of it. My hands were shaking as I drew my sidearm, the weight of it grounding me.

“Spencer, I’m in the office,” I said, pressing my back against the wall. “But I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

“I’m almost there,” he promised, his voice steadier now.

Before I could respond, the door rattled as Malick slammed into it from the other side.

“Open the door!” he bellowed, his voice full of rage.

“Not a chance,” I muttered, tightening my grip on my weapon.

The door shuddered again, the metal groaning under the force of his kicks. I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears, but I forced myself to focus.

Then, suddenly, the pounding stopped.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice came through the comms, softer now.

“Yeah?” I whispered.

“Trust me,” he said.

Before I could ask what he meant, the door burst open—and Spencer was there.

He moved faster than I’d ever seen, disarming Malick with a well-placed strike before slamming him against the wall. The unsub struggled, but Spencer was relentless, his movements precise and efficient.

By the time I snapped out of my daze and raised my weapon, Malick was already on the ground, cuffed and groaning.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, turning to me.

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Later, after the rest of the team arrived and the scene was secured, Spencer and I found ourselves sitting on the back of an ambulance. The paramedics had already checked us over, and now we were just waiting for the all-clear to head back to the hotel.

“You were amazing back there,” I said, breaking the silence.

He looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I just did what I had to do.”

“No, I mean it,” I insisted. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You were…impressive.”

His flush deepened, and he ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. But you were pretty impressive yourself. That move with the pipes? Genius.”

I laughed softly, the sound easing some of the lingering tension in my chest.

“Spencer,” I said after a moment, my tone more serious now. “You saved my life.”

He looked at me then, his hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said quietly. “Not you.”

Something in his voice—something raw and unguarded—made my heart skip a beat.

“Spencer…”

Before I could finish, he reached out, his hand brushing against mine. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You mean a lot to me, Y/N.”

My heart felt like it was about to burst. “You mean a lot to me too,” I admitted, my voice shaky but firm.

For a moment, we just sat there, the weight of our words hanging in the air between us. And then, slowly, tentatively, he leaned in.

It wasn’t a kiss—at least, not yet. He stopped just short, his forehead resting against mine as his breath mingled with mine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I closed the distance, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft and sweet and everything I’d ever wanted.

[mggslover]

i love your firsts idea and i wanted to know if you could write something with experienced reader/unexperienced spencer where he is like an ass guy cause i always see him being a boobs guy in fics so id like to read something like this, maybe abt how he gets worked up looking at readers ass or some other scenario, totally up to you! love your fics 🩵

spencer seeing you in leggings genre: smut 18+ content warnings: perv!spence having dirty thoughts, dialogue from s9e18 but no spoilers word count: 1,3k a/n: i love your prompt!! i wasn't sure if you wanted reader and spencer to actually do something, so i hope i've found a good balance

“8.49,” Penelope groaned, wiping her forehead after running her third lap in a row. “Good God, that’s not even close.”

Spencer’s breath came in sharp bursts, his hands gripping his knees as he leaned forward. “You think they’ll really terminate us if we can’t run fast enough?” 

“Probably something worse,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “They’ll probably make us take another fit test.” 

Spencer grimaced at the thought. “I’d rather be terminated.” 

Penelope snorted. “I just hope the PT instructors aren’t jerks. Those jock guys are always jerks.”

“Yeah, total jerks,” he agreed with a nod, but then his attention drifted away as he caught sight of two figures in the distance. “That’s probably them right now.” 

Penelope squinted, following his line in sight. “Oh, look,” Penelope hissed, whipping her head back to Spencer. “He’s totally walking like a jerk. And ugh, look at her! That figure… that is just unfair.”

Spencer blinked rapidly as he could recognize your confident, hypnotic stride from miles away. “Wait a minute.” 

“Oh my god, it’s them.” Penelope gasped, confirming Spencer’s suspicion as you and Derek made your way over to them.

“Why are you two here?” Penelope asked, trying to piece together what was going on. 

“It looks like we’re your new PT instructors,” Derek responded, flashing an amused grin. 

The second you came into view, Penelope’s complaints faded into the background, muffled to his ears. Spencer always thought you looked pretty. He admired how professional you looked, even in the field, but today was the first time he saw you outside the office. The training jacket you wore ended just above your hips, the fabric pulling snugly against your torso. His eyes traced the curve of your waist until they landed on your hips. The lavender color of your skin-tight leggings clung softly to your thighs, and Spencer had to fight back a moan at the sight. Penelope was right. Your figure was, indeed, unfair.

"Kid, where's your mind at?"

Spencer's head snapped up at Derek’s question, clearing his throat as he scrambled for an excuse. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks from the way he’d been staring at you.

Derek waved him off with an exasperated shake of his head. "Alright, from now on, I want you two to focus," he commanded in a no-nonsense tone, pointing at Spencer and Penelope.

“Shall we start with stair climbing?” Your voice rang out and Derek nodded in agreement. 

“Let’s do that. Follow us,” Derek said, gesturing toward the stone stairs in the distance. 

You turned to follow Morgan, and the movement knocked the breath right out of Spencer’s lungs. He choked on his inhale, his gaze drawn to the way the fabric of your leggings clung to the plumpness of your cheeks. The tight material left little to the imagination, every contour visible, accentuating the soft swell of your ass with every step. Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest, racing faster than it had during those grueling laps around the field. 

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he fought the heat beginning to pool low in his stomach. He couldn’t help the way his body was reacting to you, and the effort to control it only made things worse.

The exercise was simple—walking up the first few steps of the stairs and back down again. You called it a warm-up, unaware that every step you took made it harder for Spencer to keep his focus. Just the sight of you moving, the sway of your hips as the leggings stretched over your thighs, was enough to drive him crazy. 

"This is torture," he muttered under his breath.

"I know, right? I can’t believe they’re making us do this." Penelope replied, completely oblivious to the source of his frustration. 

———

Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally completed the exercise, his legs burning but grateful it was over.

"Good job, Spence," you said, flashing him a bright smile as you gave his chest a quick pat. "And cute outfit," you added with a teasing tone, a compliment that made his heart skip.

"Oh, I—uh, thanks," he stammered, patting his red hoodie as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

"We're doing squats next. Derek's with Penelope. Want me to help you with your form?" 

"Sure," he squeaked, his voice betraying his nerves.

You positioned yourself in front of him, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was paying attention. And, obviously, he was—his gaze fixed on you almost too intently.

"Okay, the most important thing is to keep your back straight," you instructed, your voice calm and focused as you lowered your hips, sliding down until your thighs were parallel to the ground.

Spencer stood right behind you, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off your body. His shorts were growing uncomfortably tight from the proximity. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to pull you in by your waist, holding you flush against him.

"See how I'm doing it?" You asked innocently.

"Mhm. Looks good," he breathed out, his eyes lingering on you as he licked his lips.

He could picture it vividly—how perfectly his length would fit between your cheeks. How he would make you repeat that same motion against him until his dick would stand tall in response, throbbing with need. He imagined how easy it would be to slide your leggings down to your knees, leaving you exposed. Were you even wearing anything underneath?

The thought sent a surge of heat through him. He wondered if your closeness was affecting you in the same way. Wondered if he would find you wet, your pussy glistening with anticipation. Would you like him to softly trace your puffy lips with his finger? Or would you want him to waste no time, grabbing you by your thighs as he would enter you? 

He asked himself if you were the type to let him take control, or if you’d bend over, pushing your own hips back against his, matching the deep rhythm of his thrusts. The thought of filling you, of hearing your gasps mix his moans, was clouding his mind. 

Spencer hadn’t realized just how much his thoughts had turned him on, until your voice broke through his haze. 

“Okay, your turn.”

He looked down, seeing how his dick had twitched up to the point where it was almost peeking out of his boxers. Shit. He made quick work of his hands, adjusting himself before you turned around.

“I—I’m so sorry. I need to go,” Spencer stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush before he turned and fled, leaving you without an explanation.

———

“Oh, come on man!” Derek groaned in disappointment as he spotted Spencer slumped on the grass at the far side of the field.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled.

“Just one more round. You’ve got this,” Derek encouraged.

“I can’t.”

“You’re capable of more than you think.”

“Derek, I swear… I literally can’t get up.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, and with a defeated sigh, Spencer pointed awkwardly toward his shorts.

“Oh shit,” Derek responded as the realization dawned upon him. 

“Is it because of…?” He pointed to the direction where you were standing and Spencer just nodded.

“Damn,” Derek muttered. “Well, okay, just take a break. Have some water. Relax those muscles.” He winced, immediately regretting his choice of words. 

Spencer nervously looked up at him. “Will you tell her?

Derek shook his head. “Nah. As long as you don’t tell Penelope this whole fit test thing is just a formality and that I could’ve got the whole thing waived.”

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

that me espresso - spencer reid x gn!reader

after getting a taste, spencer falls even more for reader, thinking about them every night

little blurb:)

genre: fluff warnings: implied sex and that's it!!!

It was probably nothing, you thought. Spencer's relatively clingy and surely has self image issues. Though, you can't help but feel proud. After all, this was your doing.

After your very first night together, you've been getting more calls from Spencer than usual. It probably isn't a coincidence. While you can't give yourself a pat on the back for simply a probability, you've made an exception just this once. You've received countless late-night calls from the man saying he can't sleep. It's safe to say he's wrapped around your finger, you presume.

Others might not like the newfound fondness but you think it's sweet. He laughs at every little joke no matter how twisted. You're reveling in the attention.

You wonder how upset he'll be when you tell him you're working late tonight.

[juniperskye]

Momma Go.

Based on the following ask: @lucreziaq2001 Spencer and a female reader the same age as him are married and have a 1-year-old son, their first child, Isaac (I picked this name just because it sounds good with the last name Reid in my opinion). That day, Reader has her first day back at work. She stayed home for one year after Isaac's birth and now she'll only work part time. But she is naturally anxious to leave her baby for the first time. Spencer is off work that day and no matter how many times he reassures her, she is reluctant to leave. And at some point, Isaac gets "tired" and wants to spend time with his dad, whom he rarely sees compared to his mom, and shows his mom the door. And that makes Spencer, and his wife laugh. Thank you💜. I think it would be funny and cute, like I said. – I did modify this so the baby is more like 2 years old…I know someone wouldn’t really be on maternity leave that long, so I found a work around. Also, reader is a professor! 2 just fit my idea a little better. Enjoy!!!

Spencer Reid x Wife! Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1135

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, pet names, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, reader and Spencer are married and have a son, child’s name is Isaac, anxiety, reader is a professor with tenure, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Isaac Gideon Reid. Your two-year-old who you just weren’t ready to leave yet. You and Spencer had talked at length about your plans for when you had your child. You would take time off to spend a year or two with him before returning to work, Spencer would take a full parental leave to be there with you in the very beginning of Isaac’s life.

When you’d found out you were pregnant you were thrilled, you’d told Spencer immediately – forgoing any elaborate surprise announcements. Once you hit the 12-week mark, you sat and had more serious conversations of what you wanted life to look like for baby Isaac.

--

Just a year prior to the conception, you’d been offered a tenure position at the University you worked at. An honor and a gift. You hadn’t expected that to come in handy so soon. So, once you’d hit your second trimester, you scheduled a meeting with your supervisor to discuss a personal sabbatical.

“I’d like to go on sabbatical. I’d start it off with the standard maternity leave, but then ultimately would extend it.” You explained.

“I understand. How long were you thinking? I know this is your first child, so I can imagine you’d like to spend as much time as possible with them.” Your boss inquired.

“I was hoping for twenty months.” You said.

“Oh wow. So, with the maternity leave, you’d be gone for two years.”

“Precisely. I know it is a long time, and it is a lot to ask – especially since I only just got my tenure, but Spencer works so much, and I need this time with the baby. I don’t want them to be in daycare all the time away from their parents.” You justified.

“You were offered tenure because you are a valuable asset to this campus. You deserve it. So yes. I will approve the time. Just, please come back to us…you’re too good a teacher for us to lose you.”

“Thank you so much, and I will!” You smiled.

--

Spencer was eligible for 12 weeks paid parental leave, thanks to his time at the BAU. This allowed the two of you three months to develop a routine and relationship with baby Issac once he was born. Spencer did as much as he could, he woke up for the middle of the night changes and bottles, he read to Isaac, he played with him and encouraged tummy time. Your heart soared at his easy slip into fatherhood.

You knew Spencer had his concerns regarding schizophrenia, but he saw his psychiatrist regularly and kept up to date with evaluations to ensure that he wasn’t developing any of the symptoms. You’d always told him that his strength would make him an incredible father…and you could see him starting to believe you.

--

Spencer returned to work after his leave was up, but he asked that you set up cameras in the house, not only for security reasons, but also so you didn’t feel the need to film everything…it would be saved automatically. He hated that he missed milestones but was grateful for the flexibility your job provided.

He missed Isaac’s first steps, but he was there when he tried solid foods for the first time, and he thankfully caught his first words during a FaceTime call while he was in Michigan on a case.

Spencer had started spending every second he had off work at home with you and Isaac, desperate to make up for lost time. He started using his vacation days a bit more frequently to join you at doctor’s appointments, to celebrate mother’s and father’s days, to celebrate holidays and Isaac’s birthday. He started to understand why Derek left the BAU, his family meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything.

--

Two years had flown by, you didn’t know where the time had gone. Isaac had grown into his personality, he was such a happy baby, always giggling and cuddling either you or Spencer.

That is why it was so hard for you to go back to work, the time had finally come for you to return to teaching, only you didn’t feel ready. How were you supposed to pick up and leave him.

Thankfully, Spencer has a few mandatory days off so he’d be home to spend the day with Isaac, as opposed to going to daycare for the first time, but either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. You’d already showered and gotten ready for the day, meticulously packed your bag…checking it twice to ensure you weren’t forgetting anything. Spencer had even packed you a lunch and set it out for you.

“You ready to go sweetheart?” Spencer asked, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Ready as in physically, yes. Ready as in mentally or emotionally…no. I don’t think I can leave him Spence.” You’d whispered.

Isaac was currently sitting on the living room floor making all sorts of noises as he flung a toy dinosaur around. You made your way over, sitting behind him on the couch. You brushed your fingers through the little tufts of hair on his head.

“Hi baby. You ready to spend the day with daddy?” You cooed.

“Dada play!” Isaac called.

Spencer joined you both in the living room, joining Isaac on the floor and picking up one of the other dinosaurs.

“Sweetheart I know you’re nervous, but everything will be okay. I will be here, you have access to the cameras, and you can text or call between your classes.” Spencer attempted to ease your thoughts.

“I know, I just feel like it is too soon. He’s still so little.” You sniffled.

Isaac had gotten up and was waddling through the house. Things were well baby-proofed, so you weren’t concerned for his safety, mostly just curious of where he was going so you looked after him as he made his way past the kitchen.

Isaac looked back at you and Spencer, before turning around and continuing his trek. He only stopped once he reached the front door. Looking back at you.

“Momma go.”

“What baby?” You asked.

“Momma go. Dada play!” he repeated.

You looked back to where Spencer remained on the floor and couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you. The two of you fell into a fit of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. Here your two-year-old was confirming that you were being irrational and that everything would be just fine.

So, you stood, grabbed your things, kissed Spencer and Isaac both before making your way to work. You were sure to text between classes which were met with photos of Spence and Isaac doing all sorts of fun things.

Today wasn’t so bad after all…now sending him to daycare, that was something for another day.

[awordsmith]

drowning on the edge 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in an attempt to help each other move on from the death of your previous lovers, you and Spencer unknowingly form an unhealthy relationship.

who? spencer x unknown!reader  when? s8 category: angst content warnings: (was suppose to be angst to fluff lol) happy–open–ending (kind of), loss of a significant other, maeve!spencer, heartbreak, therapy-cemetary-funeral-depression-anxiety mentions, friendship breaking, slight dissociation, toxic relationship, i urge you, cara, to reid with care...  word count: 12.1k a/n: i was going to add reader suicide attempt, but i lowkey forgot to look at my notes while writing and well, i don't want to mess with this because i love it too much, so maybe i'll attempt it later lol enjoy cari...

In the shadowed corner of a midnight room, emotions overpowered the scent of a candle burning. You lay across your bed, tear-stricken and zombie-like. The day’s events replayed in your mind, though your thoughts seemed to only care about recalling one scene. One that would no doubt haunt you for the rest of your life. You couldn’t eat or sleep–when you closed your eyes he was there. You didn’t have an ounce of peace.

How was it fair? You kept asking yourself. You couldn’t be thankful for the lives saved because it took his. You tried and said you were, but it wasn’t how you truthfully felt. You flipped onto your side as M—, your friend came into the room. “Hey…” she whispered, hanging on the door, “you okay?”

You bit your lip, though it trembled and your face scrunched up. You didn’t want to cry in front of her. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, but how were you supposed to say that when you hadn’t said one word to anyone since the news had reached you?

“Okay…” you could hear her frown, “your parents should be here by tomorrow…” she took another breath as if she was going to elaborate, but paused and thought she ought not to. “I’ll be in the living room if you…if you need anything.”

You stared at the wall, clutching the picture frame in your hand tighter–oh you should have hugged him like that this morning! And why the bleeding hell didn’t you? Why? Why? You–you should of–if you had known–your silent screams filled the room–if I had just known, you thought, your body shaking with the pain of understanding he was gone, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to bring him back.

To touch him, to hug him, to breathe him in just one last time–to tell him you loved him. You couldn’t move, once you’d found your bed a few hours ago, your body seemed to deflate. There were so many things you had to do, had to cancel–so many things–just–so many–and oh, your brain hurt. Your head was throbbing and you tried massaging it and oh gosh why did this happen? Why? Why couldn’t you have just had a day like any other? One where he picked up a snack for you on the way to your apartment? One where he made it through the first few hours of work?

Being a firefighter–yes, you knew–was a dangerous job–but you didn’t think it would get him freaking killed–

Your face scrunched together and a new wave of wails escaped your throat and you were shoving your head under a pillow, trying to un-hear the words–trying to reverse time. You weren’t a superhero, but maybe, if you prayed hard enough, one would swoop in and rescue you from the torturous reality that was now your life.

You didn’t care what they looked like or what powers they had, “please, God,” you begged, “please don’t make me go through this again. I can’t–I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

In the other room, M— found herself in a daze. She was trying to do her best for you, but she was grieving in her own way. She’d known your fiancé, L—, she’d grown accustomed to him in the last few months you’d brought him around, he wasn’t perfect, but no one was. He smoked; she didn’t like smoking, but you didn’t mind it and he did his best to hide it from her, so she didn’t mind it too much either.

And now–now L— was gone. She wasn’t a wreck like you, but she felt the weight of everything else. You were her soul sister. Everything you felt she felt tenfold because she didn’t know what to do and she was questioning everything in her right mind. If things like this could happen to you and L—, what was to say it couldn’t happen to her? It was like a slap in the face, a wake-up call. M— could barely function with the information, she couldn’t imagine what you must be going through.

She slept over that night and you awoke to the smell of breakfast. Your stomach rumbled and the scent wafted through the apartment, but your mind wasn’t hungry, and just the idea of eating made you want to throw up. Your lips smacked and you knew you needed water. You forced yourself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

The curtains were pulled shut in the den, your nose guided you into the kitchen where dim lighting highlighted M—’s figure. “Hey,” she smiled upon seeing you. You noted the bags under her eyes and thought–by the expression on her face–could see similar ones under yours.

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t feel like you had anything of importance to say–so why waste the time? Your stomach gurgled again, but you ignored it and headed for the fridge.

“Look, —, I have some errands to run so I’ll be gone for a few hours…” you pressed your lips into a thin line, unscrewing the lid on the bottle of water. “...will you be okay by yourself? I can call someone,” she jabbed her thumb in her phone's direction on the counter near the microwave. “You know what–yeah, I–I’ll do that.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” your icy tone and narrowed eyes were not at all how you’d intended to respond, but you couldn’t control it. You felt it best to keep everything to yourself, that way you didn’t say or do things you didn't mean. M— watched you avert your eyes, your hands lowering the bottled water and cap, “...sorry…”

She sighed, her shoulders relaxing a bit, “Don’t be, I know you didn’t mean it like that.” Your lips pressed into the thin line from before as you watched her fix a plate for you and set it on the counter, “I’m going to clean up and head out.” You nodded, and sat down, staring at the plate. You were still in your clothes from yesterday, so perhaps you should get in the shower…you just...didn’t have the energy right now. Later, you thought, I’ll do it.

“Alright, you sure you’ll be alright?” M— frowned at your nod, “Call me if you need anything and please–if not for you, for me, eat.”

Again, you nodded, but it felt forced. Maybe, you told yourself, definitely. 

You put the plate in the fridge and in the fridge is where it stayed the rest of that day.

Spencer sat in Maeve’s blood, he knew there were others around–knew that there should be sound he was hearing right about now–screaming, maybe shrieking?–but every function he’d developed throughout all his years of living seemed to evade him now. All he knew was pain–the throbbing in his head, the pounding in his chest. Someone was trying to pull him away–and just like that anger overtook him. He was aggressive–Spencer was seldom angry–the term was in his brain to be sure, but it was never used to describe him.

Why? Why? He brought his hands to his ears, closing his eyes as if it’d all go away–he just wanted everything to go away–why couldn’t everyone go away? His broken screams drowned out any sense of the world around him as paramedics hauled Maeve off somehwere–not, not Maeve–her b–her body.

Spencer woke up in his work clothes, he was in his bed and the curtains were drawn. He groaned and ran a hand down his face, his heart stopped–before the memories of the day before rushed through his mind, he thought he might have done something stupid–like take Dilaudid again. He shuddered and shot upward.

That’s when it hit him, he gripped the edge of his bed and grabbed a fist full of his hair. He was sweaty, his head ached, and he couldn’t focus his mind on any singular thought; his vision was clouded and verything around him wasg grey.

He didn’t even think of it, he just knew. Maeve was gone. She wasn’t on a beach somewhere in Malibu or on a cruise going around the golf of Mexico, she wasn’t ever going to text or call him back–he would never hear her voice again–never get to hug her–to touch her.

She was there, and then she wasn’t. He felt his entire world come crumbling around him as the actualization of what had happened struck him. Swallowing, he felt a thickness in his throat. He couldn’t remember what happened after Maeve was taken away–he must have blacked out. He slid back under his blankers and pulled them over his head. He felt tear after tear pool in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t have the energy to wipe them.

He didn’t have the energy to do anything. He closed his eyes, his heart clenching as he saw Maeve, standing, then shot, and on the floor–he forced his eyes open, not wanting to see what happened next. He wanted to give up on sleeping, but he couldn’t move. What could he do? For all he cared he could die right here and now and he wouldn’t think twice about the consequences.

The ringing of his phone cut through the silence that had come over his tiny space under the covers, it was Penelope, he ignored it and turned the screen back off. A knock sounded down the hall of his bedroom, someone was at the front door. He didn’t want to open it, it was probably one of the other team members. A text notification convinced him to click the phone on again. 

It was Penelope, again.

She was leaving a basket for him at the door. He didn’t care and he didn’t feel bad for it. He wasn’t going to answer the door, he wasn’t going to do anything for a while. He just wanted to sit with his–everything. 

And sit did he, for the next week he didn’t leave his apartment, but he didn’t sleep either. He barely ate and when he did, he couldn’t bring himself to clean up. He kept reading the quote she’d left in the book she’d gifted him. He was going to give her the same book, The Narrative of John Smith. It wasn’t mathematical or anticlimactic like the genres he typically preferred, but it was a genre Maeve liked and through her, he’d grown a love for fictional mystery literature. 

Though they’d discussed the book, Spencer had not yet read it, and neither had Maeve, which is why he’d wanted to give it to her upond there first in person meeting. It would have been sentimental and she would have loved it–Spencer just knew she would have.

He cried. He didn’t wail or whimper, he simply cried. Tears streamed down his face for what could have been, and in a desperate need to blame someone he could still sort of speak to, he latched onto one of the most well-known deities across the world.

He cursed God, then he asked God why, and though he was certain there was no one listening, he pleaded with God; he pleaded for another chance.

If there was even a smidgen of a possibility that Spencer could ever be happy again, he’d put his trust in the almighty being, because logic would not help him this time around, he needed to have some other realm of force backing him because this type of pain–this type of pain was something only faith could mend.

A week went by, then two, and Spencer got a call from Morgan. He’d ignored everyone and had let the messages go to voicemail and in turn, build up–until Morgan called with a question–not about him, but about the case they were currently working on, and so, in an attempt to subtlety clue everyone in on the fact that he wasn’t dead, he called back.

Of course, Penelope butted in and asked if he was alright and at this time he didn’t know, he couldn’t decide if he was dying from some internal wound he didn’t know about or if it was simply a ghostly feeling.

“I have to go,” was his response, then he hung up and as he did so, the urge to take a shower overwhelmed him. He felt cleaner, but not better. He’d run out of mugs and he didn’t want to wash a single one. Instead, he threw on a hoodie and a pair of sweats and headed for his door.

He smelled better than he’d gotten used to, though his apartment covered up the fresh smell with one of mildew. He opened his door hesitantly, and a few seconds later he was shoving Penelope’s baskets out of the way, disregarding the thought to haul them inside before leaving. He wanted to get coffee, he had to get coffee, he didn’t know why, but this was the strongest urge to do something he’d felt in a while. It was both calming and tiring, he wanted to go back inside, but he was stubborn and determined. He wanted to prove something, maybe to the team, maybe to himself. He felt if he did this, this one thing, he’d be able to do anything and everything again. He’d regain control over himself.

So, Spencer stepped into the elevator, listing off what he wanted in his coffee order as each minute ticked by.

You were given time off, but it seemed like all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough to accept what you had to. Getting up and moving wasn’t the hardest part, it was the acting–acting like you weren’t still in a war with yourself, fighting for every second you didn’t break down, taking it day by day. 

Your black mary jane’s clicked on the sidewalk as you rushed toward your regular coffee shop, you were already running late to your appointment, but if you didn’t have this coffee, you didn’t know if you coud get through the day. You’d begun doing your makeup again upon your mother’s pestering and M—’s nagging. You wondered if L— could see you, what would he say if he could? Would he judge you for the coffin you were about to pick out? For being late to such a significant meeting for a single cup of coffee?

No, no he wasn’t like that. He had never been like that…

A shuddering breath escaped you as you blinked back tears. You hadn’t been able to go one day without crying and though you barely slept–each time you did you cried yourself to the brink of splitting your head open before the dratted dreams came. 

It was always him, always that morning–always ‘what could have been’ if you’d only made him late that morning. Had something gone wrong with your toaster or coffee pot. Had you kissed him just a bit longer so that he wasn’t on duty when his station got that call–so that he wouldn’t lose himself in the fire trying to make sure everyone else got out.

His face was always blurred, you thought it was due to your grief and the fact that your mind simply could not put you through that for fear of altering your brain permanently. That was just your guess, though.

The sound of your steps dislocated every other sound on the street. It was around eight, the meeting started at eight thirty, you had less than 20 minutes to order, pay, and get to your destination on time. “Oh,” your shoulder collided with a strangers. “I–I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked and you had to take a moment to control it before turning to meet the other’s gaze. “I really–” you cut yourself off, noting the dead gleam in his eyes.

It was like he wasn’t there at all, like he was over the day or the world, or both. It had only been for a second, then he was blinking and apologizing, trying to assess the situation.

“I–I am so sorry,” you repeated, reaching out, wiping his brown sweater vest–now drenched in coffee–off, like it’d do something.

“It’s alright, you’re just spreading it.” He stepped back and held up a hand.

You nodded, pulling your hand back, frowning at the mess and inconvenience you’d cause this poor man, “I truly am sorry, I–is it expensive? I’ll buy you–” you paused, with the cost of the every cancelation fee from vendors, the wedding planner, the makeup artist, the venue, and the funeral that you now had to plan, you had to start considering your budget.

“It’s fine, don’t cry,” he shifted, looking uncomfortable. You gasped, though it was low and not worth commenting on.

Swiping at the tears streaking down your cheek, you whispered, “sorry, I tell myself I’m not going to cry and then I just–” you shook your head, you were mostly talking to yourself, but you heard how odd it might have sounded to him.

He uncrossed his satchel and shrugged the sweater vest off with one arm. “It’ll be fine if I take it to the dry cleaners,” you cringed–so it was expensive–dry-cleaner expensive.

“Let me buy you another coffee, I can at least do that,” you figited with your sleeves, the man noticed.

His eyes tracked up to yours, searching your person, but for what you couldn’t say, maybe he saw in you what you saw in him, maybe that’s why he agreed, maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, pretending you weren’t the only person in the world grasping onto every shred of anything that made you feel some semblance of sane.

He was quiet, you shared no diologue after your offer. He nodded and followed you inside. You weren’t nervous, you didn’t know why you thought you should be. You figited with your sleeves as you stood in line. You ordered first and waited for him. His order wasn’t one you’d expect from someone who looked like him–or rather dressed like him. You expected pure black espresso, maybe a few dashes of sugar, certainly not a latte with extra sugar. You shook your head, filing the thought away. 

You swiped your card and followed Spencer, taking up a small barstool table with two seats in the corner of the shop. You crossed your arms, folding in on yourself as if you were trying to become as small as possible. Spencer noticed this too, but couldn’t find it in himself to really care, though as he thought this, he was already trying to determine is you had anxiety or if you were just having a bad day.

He cursed the profiler in his brain, wishing it’d listent to him just once. You figited, but he discarded anxiety upon recalling your brash reaction to spilling coffee over him, so then it must be something else, he thought, frustrated that he’d gone down a rabbit hole and now he had to know the source of your agiation. Even still, he didn’t want to ask you: a) he didn’t want to be rude, b) he didn’t care enough to ask, and c) it’d be too easy.

It’s something, at least for the time being, he considered, to take my mind off of everything else going wrong in my life. The barista called your name and you stood. Damn, Spencer faultered, what now? He couldn’t let you go without knowing, it’d bug him too much, though a part of him wanted it to bug him. It’d be considerably easier to fall asleep thinking about what was wrong with the stranger he’d met at the coffee shop than about anything to do with Maeve. He could barely get through saying her name and still–every time he thought it, bile built in the back of his throat and anger coursed through him–then right after, he’d want to crawl into a ball and waste away.

“What happened?” He cursed himself, why would he just outright ask you that? Why couldn’t he act normal?

“What?” You raised a brow, handing him his sickeningly sweet beverage.

He took it from you, shaking his head, “no–nothing, nevermind.”

You frowned, averting your eyes to the floor, the bustle of the shop turning tranquil, “if I tell you you have to tell me.”

“Huh?” He heard himself say before thinking. His eyes widened slightly as he thought of an answer, though it wasn’t long before he said, “Okay.”

But you couldn’t sit with him now, you had somewhere to be, just as he did. You parted ways after you’d exchanged numbers. “I’m Spencer…by the way…”

You acknowledged it but found it strange, he didn’t look like a ‘Spencer’, then he held out his hand for an awkward handshake and you nodded, yeah, that’s something a Spencer would do. “—,” you hesitated only an instant before allowing his hand to tangle into yours. They were warm–his hands–despite the weather, and you thought he smelled nice. Like applecrisps…

…

It wasn’t that Spencer was looking forward to his meeting with you, but it allowed some normality to enter his life again. He’d met you two days after he’d gone back to work, three days of powering through, and just when he thought he might not be cut out for working in the BAU anymore, just when he’d felt all was lost, you spilled his coffee all over him. His own coffee on top of that.

He’d been looking at different job listings when he’d bumped into you, so it was not entirely your fault. “What’s up, Pretty Boy?” Morgan approached his desk, pushing some things aside to sit atop it.

“What do you mean what’s up–nothing’s up.” Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Morgan sighed, “Fine, I won’t push, but I’m here if you need me, you know that, kid.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, pushing Morgan off his desk and reorganizing his things, “While I appreciate the ten-hundredth notice and gesture, I don’t appreciate being called ‘kid’.”

Morgan huffed and uncrossed his arms, “Whatever you say,” he began walking away, but turned his head back and murmured, “kid.” 

Morgan noted a small smile dawning on Spencer’s face while he simultaneously shook his head.

The ceremony was tough, you and L—’s parents decided on a closed casket because of the burn marks. He didn’t even look like your L— anymore and seeing him–even with heavy amounts of makeup–would break you, and you’d been getting better–well, you were opening up in therapy now, and instead of starting out the window, fidgeting with your sleeves and pushing your hair out of your face, you occasionally glanced around the room–it was dull but homey in its own right.

You hadn’t mentioned Coffee Guy to anyone, though it was partially because you doubted he’d even text you, and you weren’t obsessing over texting him either. It might have just been a curiosity thing, you didn’t want to think about it much–thinking still hurt your head.

You were taking aspirin at least three times a day–ibuprofen if you were having an extra awful day. You had just grabbed the bottle of pills from the bathroom and walked to the kitchen when your phone pinged. You sighed and glanced at your phone. It was Spencer.

You set the bottle down and took up residence in one of the stools at the bar table. You read over the text a few times before remembering you had to reply. Yeah that works for me, see you then. You sent the message, your chest aching with a nostalgia, this would be the first time you went out alone, or at least with someone who hadn’t known you before L—’s death–someone who instead of babysitting would be living with you. Well, if you could consider grabbing coffee ‘living’. But it was more than you’d had in the past month.

He wouldn’t give you sympathetic eyes because he had no idea he was supposed to; because you wouldn’t tell him, but then you’d recalled the question you’d asked him, the agreement you’d made, and your heart sank. 

For a moment, you mind wandered to thoughts of why he’d looked so angry that day–no it wasn’t anger. It was like…helplessness. That was the only way you knew how to describe it. But why? You asked yourself, a pang–sharp and squeezing–shot through your head. You huffed and dropped your phone onto the couture, gripping your temples, debating on what to say or do should he follow through with the promise.

You rubbed circles into the sides of your forehead until you felt you could let go, and soon after, you swallowed a pill.

Three days passed, it was Saturday, the day in which you were meeting Spencer. You didn’t know why you kept it a secret still, but you did, and heading out alone took a bit of convincing. “I’ll be an hour tops–I’m fine,” you huffed, crossing your arms when you saw M— narrow her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“For the fifth time,” you frowned, holding up a hand, “I. Am. Fine.”

She nodded, running a hand down her face, “Okay, but…text me or respond–I’ll text, okay?”

You took in a breath, “Look, M—, I appreciate you worrying, but if I ever want to live a normal life again, I need to start leaving the house by myself.” You didn’t want to be mean, you knew she meant well, but at the same time–you were not a child and you couldn’t depend on her forever. More than needing to start doing things independently again, you wanted to reclaim being your own person–not one that was overshadowed by the things you’d gone through or the things you’d gotten over. Just–you–you and your persistent actions, you and your obsessive hobbies, you and your favorite things. Talking to new people–to strangers, you thought, might just be the first step toward reaching your goal.

Though the afternoon sun was still out, wind swept past your face as you crossed the street. You bit the inside of your cheek, wincing at the bell that rang, alerting the people inside to your presence. You glanced around, but couldn’t find him.

A few people left just as you decided to take a seat. There were two barista’s but one had moved to the back, now you were left with the quiet ambience of classical jazz and a few fellow customers. You thought about texting him but then shoved the idea away as soon as it popped into your head. You did not want to seem as desperate as you were feeling, so you set your purse down and made yourself as comfortable as you could be in this situation.

A few minutes went by with you scrolling your phone, Spencer had noticed you the moment before you’d opened the door and stepped inside. He’d been waiting for you, but a part of him had doubted you’d show. He didn’t know why he didn’t simply wait a few minutes before leaving, actuallyno, he did. Spencer despised being late, so instead of going agains his personal morals, he’d taken up residence in the very back corner of the coffeehouse at the high table, using a newspaper to cover his face as he cataloged every patron that wasn’t you.

He was just about to stand and call it a day, seemingly have been right about you standing him up, when he noted you. 

Spencer couldn’t pinpoint what exactly had caught his attention first, just the fact that your presence seemed to draw him in was enough. He watched you for a few moments. You were fidgeting with your hands as you often did when you were uncofortable. You were scared he wasn’t going to show, it should’ve been a horrible thought, but Spencer cracked a small smile–which is when his phone pinged with a message.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, that he didn’t pick up on your texting. Just got here, it read. It widened his smile, and so he stood and made his way toward you, dumping the newspaper on the table. “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened, if he didn't know any better he’d think you saw a ghost or something of the sort–maybe a poltergeist? He shook his head, “Don’t be, I got here a few moments ago.” He nodded, accepting the obvious lie–but who was he to talk? He’d hid behind a newspaper in a corner because he was afraid you weren't going to show. He’d gotten here before you. How lame is that?

“Have you ordered yet?” He switched the conversation, disregarding his satchel on the chair across from you.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Well, did you want something? It’s on me–since you bought last time.”

“Yeah, but last time I spilled your coffee, so it wouldn’t be fair would it?” He raised a brow at your sudden confidence and cracked a smile.

“I suppose not, but I wouldn’t mind.”

You hesitated a moment, then nodded, “Okay,” you weren’t as stupid as to turn down free coffee a second time. 

Spencer stood and headed for the counter, the barista that had gone off to the back now returned, you followed him, your movements slow and careful. You mumbled your order, neglecting to hold back on your extra ristretto shot, and instead came forward with your entire order. Spencer didn’t say anything to stop you, but perhaps he was just being nice. 

Upon sitting back down, Spencer took to gazing out the window. You registered the way the grayed sunlight outlined his features, defining his side profile. The side that wasn’t hidden in white, you analyzed. His eyebags had depleted a little since the first you saw him, you wondered if yours had as well. Almost unconsciously, you lifted a hand to the bridged of your nose and traced it down to the corner of your eye. 

Spencer glanced at you, shifting so that he was leaning on his arms that were splayed out in front of him. “What’s your favorite type of weather?” You sighed, fiddling with your fingers under the table as you passed over the question in your head, “you seem like a gloomy person.”

You raised a brow, “is that projection?”

He shrugged, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and despite your offended response, your expression micked his. “You don’t really hold back, do you?”

You huffed a laugh, covering your mouth with one of your hands. Spencer watched you, wondering what had you looking the way you did when you’d first met him; wondering why–despite the casual visage–your eyes had rivaled his in hopelessness. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?” You calmed your racing heart.

His face scrunched together a moment, but his smile didn’t falter, “do you like gloomy weather?”

A heavy sigh left your throat and you turned to watch the wind pick up outside again, tugging everything south. Your eyes landed on a church bell in the near distance, you drafted it in your head, “As of lately, that seems to be the case.” He wanted to comment on it, to ask what you meant by it, but you spoke first, “and you? Do you prefer gloomy weather, you sure look like you do.”

He scoffed, his eyes twinkling with something both sad and lovely, “Yes, I’ve always preferred Autumn.”

“Any specific reason?” You titled your head, trying to find any topic to latch onto so that the conversation didn’t go dry.

“Not really,” he shrugged, “I mean, I love Halloween, but that’s about it.”

“Really? Nothing else?”

“Well,” he started–but was distracted by the bell that rang. The barista called his name and he pushed his chair back. You were in the middle of standing when he turned around and held out a hand, “don’t worry, I got it.” You wavered only a second before sitting back down. 

Alone with your mind–the atmosphere drowning out every other insignificant noise–you took a breath. You were doing this, you told yourself you could–and you didn’t know him all that well yet, but you had a feeling Spencer–the Coffee Shop Guy had entered your life for a reason, whether it was to stray your mind from the pain of losing L— or to help bring him to the forefront of your mind, you weren’t sure. But he was nice and he didn’t ask even though you’d seen the question in his eyes. You wondered if you small prayer had been answered, perhaps he wouldn’t ask at all, perhaps, you could live in a world with him where neither of you spoke of the things that pained you. 

You could ask him, as he’d stated earlier, you were bold,  but wouldn’t that be childish? Though, for some reason, you had the idea that Spencer wouldn’t really mind it. 

As he approached the table again, setting your cup down in front of you before taking up his seat again, you wondered if maybe he wasn’t asking because he didn’t want you to ask, because you didn’t need to, because he didn’t want to talk about his demons either–and with that, you thought maybe you were more alike than first glance would have left you to believe. 

It was almost like a new agreement had been made, voiceless and silent, but as loud as the speed of rivers–and as your quiet afternoon coffee dates increased–begining with one every other week to one every Saturday–so did your need to be near each other. 

It was a safe place, one you both kept from your normal life. When you were together it felt like you were in your own little universe. One where L— didn’t exist and spencer had never met Maeve. You weren’t dating, but you weren’t not intimate. I was better than dating. Dating required labling and labling ensured one person if not both would eventually get hurt–physically or mentally, or both. What you had now, it was more of a fantasy. 

One in which you could both pretend things were alright in the world even if you both felt like you were at the edge it. Where one was sumberging, the other was sinking–but both were pulling each other to the bottom, drowning one another in falsehood.

A month had disappeared right before your eyes, your casual, Saturday coffee dates had turned into texting each other good mornings and goodnights, and then the texting in the middle of the day started when you’d sent him a message, it was small, a simple good luck today!

But he’d replied within seconds, thanks, you too :). 

Something was wrong, you could feel yourself straying. You hadn’t mentioned Spencer to anyone, for all they knew: you stayed home Saturdays. You were sure Spencer had kept you a secret from his everyday life as well–and though neither of you spoke much about your personal lives, it didn’t harm your relationship in the slightest. It was the fear–you were sure–that speaking about something the other wasn’t a part of would break the illusion you’d created together, so you kept away from the topic, pretending like you knew what was going on while most of the time you had less than when either of you clocked in.

You could feel the logical part of your brain telling you what you were doing wasn’t normal, but you thought if you could just keep them separate–it wouldn’t hurt anyone. You’d grown attached to Spencer, you wanted to keep him all to yourself, he was your secret and yours alone. You didn’t want to hear about the people who got to see him every day, the people who got to interact with him at work or when he went home–you didn’t want to know just how much you were sharing.

It was small things at first, like forgetting you’d made plans with M— or work friends, canceling on them last minute in favor of staying home and texting Spencer. The first time he’d called you it was late, around 3 am because he couldn’t sleep–he’d said–and upon seeing his name slide across your phone for the first time as a call, you found you weren’t that tired anymore either.

Your room was dark, almost two months had gone by, you’d stopped keeping track of the days, honestly, only aware of it for events at work, but barely. M— still came around sometimes, checking up on how you were doing, but you’d stopped replying to her messages so much that they’d built up, and when you did respond, it was, thanks, I’m fine, and then you were dead for a few days more until she heard back from you again or came knocking on your door without warning.

The few times she’d stopped by unannounced, it hadn’t been too bad, but on two specific occasions, you’d let a few choice words slip up. She was worried about you, she’d told your parents–and they had called you to make sure you were alright, asking if you’d wanted them to come back down–of course you said no, why would you? You were an adult, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

You were going to therapy and you hadn’t called into work once since you’d been back. And besides all that, you had Spencer. It wasn’t like you were alone–even when you physically were, Spencer was a simple text away, and he always responded within the first few minutes.

“Are you there?” Spencer pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you smiled into the phone, switching your bedside lamp on,  you shifted your body upward and pulled your knees to your chest as you leaned against your bed’s headboard. “Yeah, Spencer, I’m here, what’s going on?” You were giddy with feeling, you had never spoken over the phone with him–this was new territory altogether. You were terrified of the excitement it enlisted within you.

“I–I can’t sleep.” He huffed, his voice groggy with yearning.

You frowned, “are you an insomniac?”

A low chuckle came from the other side of the line, “blunt as always.”

“It’s my best quality,” you chirped, your voice croaky as you fought the urge to yawn.

“Did I wake you up?–I woke you up didn’t I–I’m sorry–I’ll–”

“Don’t,” you shook your hand, though you knew he couldn’t see it, and rubbed your eyes, giving into the yawn, “I’m always here, Spencer.”

“Yeah, but… we don’t…do this,” by this, he could mean a million different things. You didn’t call; you didn’t call at night–certainly not this late; you didn’t wake each other from slumber; you didn’t say things like you were saying now; you didn’t talk about your struggles or issues; you just–you talked about the good things. It was like catfishing in real life, only you were catfishing your lives and you both had been completely aware of it from the beginning.

But maybe you could.

Maybe…, “it–it’s fine…” you spoke softly, attempting to sound casual, but your voice wavered slightly as if you had no idea what you were doing, and maybe you didn’t–but maybe…

Spencer caught your hesitation–and he should have cared–he should have changed his mind, he should have hung up right there. But he didn’. And now here he was, spilling his guts to his…whatever you were.

He didn’t know if he could call you a friend, he didn’t know if what you were could even be considered friendliness–it was more or less a mutual…a mutual bonding? He didn’t know, when you were together it felt like you were more–like you could be more–but then there was Maeve in the back of his head, and he knew–he knew you had your own affairs.

He kept Mave to himself, but he divulged everything else. He was giving his most personal self away and he wouldn’t know if it was a mistake until after he did it. It was a chance he was willing to take because–well…what the hell else was there left? Maeve was gone and he was okay with pretending he was fine with it, that he was fine with moving on, but he couldn’t lie to himself. She took up every corner of his mind, he still carried her damn book with him. He knew it was an issue–his therapist had recommended shelving the literary work–but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t shelve her away like a book he’d never read again.

“I’m fine.” The shattering of a plate sounded throughout your kitchen. M— flinched, “I–” you huffed, averting your eyes.

“You’re sorry, I know,” M— narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Look(—what is going on with you? I know–” she held up a hand, “you keep saying nothing, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Yeah, well that’s not really any of your business, is it?” you scowled, grabbing the broom to sweep up the mess you’d made.

“Here,” M— sighed, seeping forward and holding out her arm, “let me do that.”

You stared at her for a long second, assessing her. She jerked her hand, motioning for the broom. You rolled your eyes and placed it in her open palm.

“All I’m saying,” she began, her voice softer this time, “is that I miss you…I know L— misses you too.”

“L— is dead.” Your voice sliced through the tension like an avalanche coming down after waiting dormant for years.

“—…” M— mumbled, tilting the dustpan into a bag. When she finished she connected the pan to the pole and set it against your mop. She leaned on the counter near where you were, corning you in your own kitchen, “You haven’t visited his grave since the funeral… Not once.”

You turned away, unable to hold her stare any longer. Tears pooled in your eyes as you let the words slip from your throat, “I’m not ready.”

“Oh sweety…” she came up around you and pulled your hands before her, “I…I don’t think you’ll ever be ready. But I’m here, L—’s parents are here if you want I can call your mom, your father?”

You shook your head, “no–I–” you resolved, “I’m fine.” You met her gaze, “I swear it.”

She frowned, you could tell she didn’t believe you, but you couldn’t find it in you to tell her the truth–you couldn’t even admit to the truth yourself because, in all honesty, you didn’t know what the truth was. You knew Spencer had something to do with it, but you were ignorant of just how big of an impact he had.

“You’re still planning to move out, right? I can help you start looking at listings again.” You cringed and tried not to roll your eyes as you braced your arms against the counter near the stove.

“I… I don’t know just yet.”

“You don’t know?” M— almost scoffed, turning away, “See, this is what I’m talking about–you were so set on moving two months ago–what–what happened?”

You shrugged, trying to deflect from her piercing gaze, “I–I just haven’t had time.”

“Haven’t had time?” M— shook her head, distaste curling on her lip, “—, you’re a bad liar, you always have been.” She sighed, running a hand over their face, “I… I know you might be coping in your way, but I don’t think it’d be healthy to–

“–Oh and suddenly you’re an expert on everything now?”

M— paused, taking a step back, “Are you being serious right now?” Your face contorted into a sneer, leading to M— nodding, “Alright, well maybe I should just leave…” You kept quiet and your head down as she began walking away. She hesitated, you saw her jerk her movements a split second before making up her mind and continuing toward the front door.

Your heart was breaking in your chest as you heard her feet shuffle away from you. When was the last time you’d fought like this? When was the last time you shoved each other away? But it wasn’t really her fault, was it? You were to blame for this–this was your doing–your responsibility. And why were you in this situation in the first place? Why couldn’t you run to her, let her pull you in her arms, and week on her shoulder?

You knew the answer, but you didn’t know why the answer was what it was. You didn’t want to voice it either–you wanted to indulge in being with him, you wanted to indulge in continuing your relationship for better or for worse, you didn’t care. But it was for worse, and you knew this and upon the few conversations over the phone you had with him in the days passing, you knew he knew it too–and eventually, you began calling out of work, you began to hide away from the world, obsessed with one thing and only one thing: Spencer.

Spencer was there and then he wasn’t. He faded in and out of consciousness during the day, he’d barely be any help to the cases at present. To him, it seemed like he had no reason to be at work, and just like that, the progress he had made the past two months caught the first train to regression. 

Morgan and Blake were there, Penelope too–checking up on him regularly, but he couldn’t very well tell them what was going on–what he was feeling because they’d think he’d gone crazy. But maybe he had always been crazy–he’d never thought too long about it, but what if he was a psychopath? Just one with controlled impulses? Though he never had thoughts of gutting anyone or how their head would look like on a stick–he now had this obsession–one like none he’d ever dealt with. It was almost compulsive with how he checked his phone every few seconds, ensuring he hadn’t missed a message from you.

His heart ached when he found you hadn’t, but when you did–oh that was a rush he could not explain. He didn’t feel like he should have to, either. You just got him–he ignored Maeve’s gaze on him. She was with him more often now, she wouldn’t leave him alone, it was torture worse than he’d ever been through–worse than death–worse than Tobias. 

His brain couldn’t process that Maeve was a ghost, that what he was seeing wasn’t real because she was in the back of his mind–all. The. Time. He couldn’t tell what was rality and what was fiction–not with you, not with Maeve. He didn’t know how he put you in the same league as her, deep down he knew no one could ever even hope to compare.

But you–there was something–something about you even his brain couldn’t explain.

“Look, Spencer, you know you can come to any9 of us if you ever need to,” Spencer avoided Hotch’s gaze, tapping his fingers on the table before him.

“Yeah, I know.”

Hotch eyed his pupil silently for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to assess the situation. Eventually, the man sighed and folded his hands, “Alright, as long as you know that.” Spencer nodded and stood, taking Hotch’s words as a cue to leave, “Hey, Reid–”

Spencer paused and turned around, eyes finding Hotch’s with hesitation, “yeah?”

Hotch sighed and it sounded fatigued, though Spencer couldn’t deduce if it was from staying late at the office most nights or all the stress that had been plaguing Spence–that he now brought down on the team. Not on purpose, never on purpose, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Nothing, go home, get some rest, take the day off, maybe.”

Spencer thought to protest, but then he thought he’d have more time to text you, to call you, and maybe if you weren’t busy you could spend the day together. Most nights he stayed awake, texting, calling you. A few of the team members had caught him smiling at his phone when he was on it and his face morphing into angst and annoyance at the world when he wasn’t.

Whatever it was–whoever it was: it wasn’t healthy. And Spencer knew that. You knew that. But neither of you wanted to admit it–not yet at least.

Spencer had told you to meet him in five minutes outside of your apartment, he’d planned a day away from everything, though as he’d come to learn, he’d been doing that for a while. He knew you had been the victim of it as well, whoever you had lost, you’d loved with your whole heart, whoever he was competing with, he could never measure up, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be alone but he didn’t want to be at work, he didn’t want to think, and in that sense, he’d grown lazy. He didn’t care about consequences, all he cared about was you and what you could provide. He didn’t feel guilty about it either, because he knew you thought the same.

You ignored L—’s presence as you flipped over every picture frame he was in, and had began taking down everything in your apartment he’d bought or contributed to, you didn’t want to be reminded of what you had lost when you were gaining something new.

You met him outside in five minutes, just like he’d said to. “Hey,” the bustle on the street went away when you saw him. He was close, but there was always something between you two. It wasn’t a spark like it had been with L—, it wasn’t friendship like you had with M—, but it wasn’t like your coworker’s either. You didn’t know what it was, it felt both tangible and unattainable. It was a shell of a relationship almost, but you were doing it to yourselves. To punish? To force down? To repent?

Maybe it was because you both thought you deserved this kind of love, the half-filled kind. 

Maybe it was the only love you could provide for anyone else because when you loved fully, people died and hurt were the people they left. You couldn’t be too sure, but you didn't like thinking about it much. You hid the thoughts and moral parts of yourself, shouting that this was wrong, what you were doing to yourself, and enabling Spencer to do to himself could be considered abuse. Torment in which you were both willing participants.

 The day waned, you picked up coffee and then you headed to the bookstore downtown. He’d picked out a few psychological and physics novels and you selected a single thriller. He’d snorted at the title when you’d read it to him and said after reading the synopsis on the back, “It’s going to be–” he paused and focussed his eyes again, “Sorry, no spoilers will come from me.”

You frowned, “but you haven’t read this one, how can you tell who the killer is?” When you saw him hesitate you squinted, trying to figure out why he couldn’t answer. “Are you just guessing?” You raised a brow.

He laughed nervously and began rubbing his nape, “Yeah, kind of.” You smiled and clicked your tongue, “seriously? Come on,” you smacked him on the shoulder, pushing him forward when one of the registers opened up and called the next person forward.

“Do you want to call it a day?” You asked as you exited the shop with him on your heels.

“Erm…” he frowned, looked around, his bag in hand, “What about cornetto?” He motioned to the vendor across the street at the child playground.

You chuckled, “Seriously? Spencer, it’s like–the beginning of January?”

“Yeah, so?” he tilted his head, allowing a few strands of his shaggy brown hair to fall into his face. You sighed, biting your lip as you considered.

“Alright, then, come on.” You picked a flavor for each other and upon tasting his choice, you were surprised it wasn’t as bad as you'd expected it to be.

You were quite content, for the most part anyway–a bench caught Spencer’s eyes and he asked to sit, so you sat. You were speaking, merely enjoying the other’s presence. But that sinking feeling in the back of your head began to bubble up again. It’d been happening ever since you and M— had that fight. She hadn’t messaged you and you hadn’t done anything to contact her. It always seemed most present when you were with Spencer. Or when you were texting or thinking about him. He seemed to be at the pinnacle of all your stress and yet, he was the only one that could make it go away.

“Spencer…” you murmured, noting the dying sun in the sky, taking its color with it. The clouds turned gray and you knew it would start raining soon. 

“Yeah?” he threw the last of the cone into his mouth and stood to toss the wrapper in a nearby bin.

You watched him, waiting and wondering what you wanted to say. You closed your eyes because you could not acertain what exactly it was you wanted to say. Upon turning around and finding you with your eyes closed he looked away, and stuffed his hands into his pocket, as if you’d passed your feelings onto him.

“—)”

“–No, Spencer, I need to say it.” You stood, still gripping your cornetto.

“Say what?” He all but squeaked, throwing his hands up, “—, what is it you have to say?”

“You say it like that,” you frowned, taking a step toward him, “but I think what you really mean is, ‘why do you have to say it’”

He averted his eyes, you were right and you both knew it. You took another step forward, but he met it by taking one back. You looked up at him and in a moment of vulnerability, you reached for him. Your heartbeat pulsed as he did just what you expected him to do, he pulled away and turned his back to you.

Your heart was breaking, but not for him. He was shattering you fantasy. Your ‘everything is okay’ world. You had given up practically everything to feel like this all the time and he was shattering it each second he didn’t turn back around.

“Spencer,” you whispered again.

He spun around with a force you had never seen and shouted, “NO —, no–we can’t–we can’t do this. We–we can’t do that.” The question broke the illusion, your day together that hadn’t felt real, felt no less than a slap of reality.

“But why?” Came your plead. 

“Because!” He shouted, “Because–because people die, and when people die, they take every soul with them! I don’t–don’t you get it?” He scoffed, eyes crazed, yours glistening with almost tears, but not quite.

“Be real, Spencer,” you narrowed your eyes, your voice dripping with venom. You looked tired despite the amount of days you’d taken leave from work, “I’m probably the only one that gets it.”

“Then you should know better” he shot back, jabbing a finger in your direction, his eyes coming down on you like a storm, and in this moment, you felt quite like Dorothy.

You nodded, a grim smile quirking up your lips, “wow, Spencer, just wow.”

“—)”

“–Do you really think I give a damn?” You scoffed, facing him for possibly the last time, “Screw you, Spencer.” You launched the rest of your cornetto at his face, watching it hit his cheek and fall to the floor.

He grimaced, and as you walked away, trying to make sense of everything, you felt the bubbled feeling disappear. No, you didn’t love Spencer, but you loved the feeling of being with him, the feeling of being with someone who felt just as you felt. Who could give you just as much as you could give and nothing more.

 You didn’t understand why you could be together and not in this strange limbo you’d been in since meeting.

Now, though, every sound seemed amplified by the loss of your relationship. You decided as you exited the park, watching the clouds move together, the when you got home, you’d call M— and tell her everything you’d kept a secret.

And you were ready to do exactly that when a message from Spencer came through your phone. You hesitated, you’d already changed out of your day clothes and had slid into some pijamas. 

Old habit must die hard, you thought and you clicked the notification. 

Let me come over. Was all it said and cursing yourself, you texted back, okay.

An hour later Spencer was entering your apartment, you weren’t sure why you’d both had the urge to speak to each other in person. Over the phone seemed too…careless you supposed, and well, this wasn’t a careless topic. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You tried to lessen the tension, but he shook his head and answered no.

You sighed and followed him to the couch. You avoided sitting too close to each other, some unknown force separating you from making that mistake. “We need to talk.” Your heart sank, but you knew it was coming. You knew he was right. You’d told yourself the same thing–but you weren’t ready. This was too soon.

“Spencer–”

“No, —, we need to have it out.” His voice was firm and offered no room for protest. A sigh escaped his lips and it was guttural. He was shuddering and you hate how it made you feel better about yourself. You hated how you were grateful this was just as hard for him as it was for you.

“I know…” It was the hardest admission you ever said, you should have been saying ‘I do’, today was your wedding day after all–or at least it would have been had things turned out different. You fought the urge to cry and turned away, “I know.”

He took a breath and swallowed, eyes gleaming over, “—, look at me.” You pressed your lips together and squeezed your eyes, trying to slow the fast pacing of the blood pumping through your veins. Across the dim lighting of your apartment, the TV muted, but on, you met his gaze, and there it was–everything neither of you had ever said out loud was there, it was pain and grievance and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you but I don’t love you like I should’ all wrapped into one.

There was no doubt in your mind that your expression mimicked his, and he traced every line of your testimony, appreciating and accepting it as he accepted his own and allowed you to look into his mind for a few seconds–the last few seconds he had of you. He didn’t want to leave you crying, he didn’t want to remember you like that, and he didn’t want you to remember him in that way–so he smiled. It was sad, but it was warm, and for that, you smiled back.

You only cried once the door shut behind him. And you cried and cried and cried, and when you were done, you deleted his number, hesitating over the button before pressing your eyes together and clicking it–your heart and mind working together to tell you you’d be okay. To tell you that you were always going to be okay, and then you finally cried for Spencer and his mystery lover whom he’d never spoke about, but knew he’d lost. He never had to say her name, she was there in the corner of his eyes. She was there perched on the edge of his desk, when you walked into his home library and ran your fingers along his titles, she was there, a ghost, a whisper, but she was there, L— never seemed to be too far behind.

For what it was worth, you were glad you got to know him, even if it was only half.

The light fading into your living room found its way wrapped around your neck and highlighted your face, creating a certain glow. “You look great,” M— smiled, “but are you sure you’re ready?”

“It’s been a month,” you frowned, “and didn’t you say I’d never ‘be ready’?”

She laughed softly, “Yeah, I think I did say something like that, but seriously, are you sure?”

The apartment was practically empty with boxes straying to and fro, the only thing you still had out was the full-length mirror that sat near your front door, the one in which you spun around in now. “I’m fine, I have to be, right? To move on, or something?”

“Is that what they say in therapy nowadays?”

“Quit acting like my grandmother.” She rolled her eyes but met your smile with one of her own.

“So,” she said as you locked the door behind you, “what did they say?”

You huffed, heading toward your car in the parking lot, “Well, they said that I need to be on my very best behavior, but,” you grinned, showing a bit of teeth, “I am not going to be fired!”

“That’s really great, —, I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” you bit your cheek, “me too.”

The cemetery wasn’t lively, though you didn’t expect it to be, there were a few single people, mostly old relatives, likely visiting late lovers, a few younger kids, likely visiting late parents or maybe they were just like you, visiting youtheir would-be husband or wife, going over all the things that could have been.

“There he is,” M— pointed.

“I remember,” you nodded, sure, it was almost five months ago, but you recalled every moment you spent here. You hated this place, it was gloomy and it sucked the color out of everything living. But L— was here and you had to see him, you had to explain that what you had been doing wasn’t on purpose and that you were surely on your way to getting better. You told him you had started to look forward to your therapy sessions again and that you and M— had made up. You were active at work more often now and you called both his and your parents regularly. 

You also wanted to tell him about Spencer, even though he’d entered your life and left it like a blitz snowstorm, it wouldn’t be fair to not include him, it wouldn’t be fair to ignore the relationship you had with him. Not saying anything would be lying.

“Do you want some privacy?” M— asked, looking around.

You nodded, “yeah, please?”

“Okay, I’ll be over there.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, watching as you smiled sadly and nodded. “Just…right over there.” She walked toward the trees that surrounded the yard and leaned against a great oak., pulling out a pack of cigarettes for L—, lighting, but not smoking it–her little tribute to the friend she’d lost.

Spencer got home from work rather late, well–early, if he took into account the time. He was tired, but something kept him awake. His insomnia had decreased somewhat, his dreams of Maeve were ever present, but they’d begun to deescalate. His mind was no longer recounting the affairs of her death nor the circumstances leading up to it. 

He’d become more active at work, his brain working faster than it had on the case he’d just closed than it had in the past few months. He showered, then made his way to the kitchen, thinking to brew some coffee. But his satchel caught his eye, not his satchel in particular, but one of the items hidden within.

He hesitated a moment before making his way toward his couch, where it lay. Upon opening the flap, he found what he knew to be concealed. He didn’t have x-ray vision–though if a thing like that existed in humans, he was sure he would’ve–he knew he hadn’t taken it out yet, and some part of him was ready to–not to move on just yet, but to begin the process of letting go.

He smiled and tugged the book into his arms. He made a decision right then. So, Spencer brewed his pitcher of coffee and headed toward his stationary desk, settling The Narrative of John Smith to the side. He poured the pure brown liquid into a mug, making sure to add ten to eleven sugar cubes and ¼th cups of creamer before mixing..

After taking a sip and apporcing it, he grabbed a coaster right and settled back at his desk.

He took another sip and savored it, placing it back down in exchange for a pen and paper, readying himself to write.

The words came out uncertain at first, but as he figured out what he wanted to say, it became a little simpler. ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’ he wrote more than a few times and he was sure if he read it back to himself he’d find he’d become illiterate. And he mentioned her. How could he not? She was enough to make him go crazy, the reaction he’d had that day at the park with her–it had meant something. Even if it was anger. Not like the one he’d shown Emily, where he was angry because she was right. It was more than even she had seen; more than his mother.

He referenced the quote by Thomas Merton, her last thought to him before everything went wrong, and responded with a quote he belived fit perfectly.

“It is not violence that best overcomes hate–nor vengeance that most certainly heals injury,” Charlotte Brontë. And so, I leave you, not with hate for abandoning me, nor vengeance for loving my soul. I leave you with tenderness, my once-in-a-lifetime. 

Spencer folded the letter in half after signing it and sealed it within an envelope. He slipped the casing into the front of the book, where her quote resided, and stood, shelving it between his favorite authors, right in the middle, and then Spencer cried. His wails nearly shook the building, a neighbor came by later on that morning to ask if he was alright, and Spencer replied that, yes, he was alright. And he felt alright. Something he hadn’t truthfully felt in a very long time.

Time passed like the hours in a high school day; with each month, you felt better, your head clearer. The month was January and perhaps you shouldn’t have been thinking about it, but you couldn’t help it. You were human after all. 

Merely human.

With hands stuffed into your coat, you pushed through the crowd of people and crossed the street. You weren’t hoping for anything, not even closure. The sky grayed but it made you smile–a year ago it would have made you grimmer. You closed your eyes and sucked in everything you could, the smell of freshly baked goods in a nearby shop, the dozen’s of perfumes from people as they circled you, the noise of everyday society buzzed in your ears, and that familiar jazz singer’s voice strained to hit that familiar note as you stepped into the coffeehouse. 

You thought about ordering first, but you wanted to sit and enjoy it for a minute, something you didn’t have the chance to do when you still lived on this side of town. You tugged out your phone and brushed back a lock of hair behind an ear. 

Scrolling social media for a minute, you smiled when you noticed the case Spencer and his team had just closed. You’d found him on accident when a coworker you often spent your lunches with sent you an article about some serial killer and the man that had brought him to justice–who just happened to be a guest speaker for one of younger brother’s professors.

Spencer Reid, FBI agent. You had laughed at the irony, but you then took to following the cases here and there, happy he was moving on from whatever had pained him so.

You read over the short article, then replied to a few text messages from people you had yet to get back to. When you finished, you rolled your neck from side to side and stretched, pulling a book out of your purse. It was new, a gift from Christmas from L—’s mom. It wasn’t your favorite genre, but it was romance and the beginning was just heartbreaking. You were so enhanced by the words on the page, that you didn’t notice the man sitting in the corner of the shop, using a newspaper to hide his head, though he wasn’t hiding it this time, he was reading it. 

Spencer spotted you the moment before you stepped into the coffee shop, right before you pulled open the door and made the bell at the top jingle. He didn’t try hiding his face, but he tried not to pay too much attention to you.

The year for him had gone by rather quickly compared to the time he’d fought against his addiction. He felt better, a lot better–whereas a year ago he couldn’t imagine where he’d be in a month.

Spencer had found his thoughts drifting toward you this morning, something he hadn’t expected. He thought about you not often, but at times, he’d wonder about you, about where you were, and if you ever thought about him. He’d wonder if you–by chance–ever saw him on TV,  wonder if you ever kept up with him–which was a dumb question, of course, you’d moved on with your life. Why would you care?

But you were here, you were here and he wondered too, if this were a coincidence, or simply the power of an unseen force.

He debated with himself, scared he would make the wrong decision either way he chose. Eventually, he closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and let it out, a slow, gentle smile replacing the once-before strained expression. He decided and if this decision damned him, then he could ask for forgiveness, but leaving without saying anything, felt like a crime in its own right, apart from that, a part of him missed you.

So, Spencer stood and walked in your direction, setting the newspaper on the table as he’d done a year ago, although this time he folded it neatly, a happy reflection of what his life had become. 

He would have sat down, but he didn’t know if you wanted to see or speak with him, so he ramined standing and awkwardly said, “Hey…” his voice cracking had him clearing his throat right after.

You looked up and for a moment, he was sure you would sneer, but you didn’t, you smiled, and you said, “Hey…” back.

“Mind if I sit?” he motioned for the chair in front of you.

You shut the cover of your book, using the string to save your place and waved a hand,“not at all.”

He took up residence calmly, and upon noting the book, raised an eyebrow and asked, “What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre, funnily enough,” because a year ago, you wouldn’t have ever thought to tackle something as classic as that.

His eyes widened slightly as his mind reminisced about the end of his letter to Maeve, tucked securely within The Narrative of John Smith. “Really?”

“Yep,” you nodded, running a hand over the cover, “it was a gift from L—’s mother.”

“L—?” He raised a brow, wondering if you were seeing someone now. He was happy for you, but he couldn’t deny the slight sinking of his heart.

“My late finacé,” you smiled brightly.

“Oh…” his chest contracted, your fiancé, your late fiancé–the finacé who was no doubt the reason for your diminishing essence a year ago, when you’d met.

“She said I’d like it, and I do–so far.”

“I kind of feel like Mr. Rochester,” he said abruptly. “Right now… Just a bit.”

You tilted your head, your smile reaching your eyes and it was the most beautiful thing Spencer had ever seen. He didn’t remember you smiling like that. He didn’t recall the sheer happiness of being here, of being alive–of living. “I haven’t gotten that far, so I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckled, “Right, sorry.”

Your heart fluttered at his tone, it wasn’t like the stoic, grim one he used when you used to know him, but maybe this was the real Spencer–the one before he’d lost whomever he had. The question sat at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite force it out. “Don’t be, I’ll know eventually.”

He smiled and by everything–that smile was one you could get used to. But you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself, so you simply sighed.

“I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home–my only home.” 

You thought. 

Charlotte Brontë.

a/n: 100 post–uhm, gasp?

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[lavenderspence]

☕ spencer reid masterlist ☕

↬ this blog contains 18+ content. I kindly ask any minors not to interact with it! ↬ I don't consent to any of my works being rewritten or reposted on any other site! ↬ support your favorite writers by leaving comments and reblogging their fics!

📖 main masterlist 📖

angst 🖤 | fluff 💛 | smut ❤️| hurt\comfort 🩵| funny 🧡| suggestive🩷

one-shots:

🖤|🩵to lean on you - it took 10 weeks for you and Spencer to realize that you didn't want a life without the other

💛 cute, outraged genius - Spencer comes home only to find you using a kindle...instant outrage

💛her possessive trigger - in which the reader announces to spencer's students he's taken

💛 an enduring, mighty warrior - you and spencer settle on a sentimental name for you baby

requests:

💛missing the happy hormone - spencer helps you during your period 💛bump relief - spencer helps with the weight of your pregnancy

[alana-reid-2005]

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[briefkittenearthquake]

I like my men smart

[nereidprinc3ss]

kiss it better

in which spencer notices your bruised knees and tries to make it up to you

18+ (fluff, allusions to past intimacy) warnings/tags: gn!reader i believe, reader has bruised knees lol, guess why, implied intimacy, hurt/comfort, sorta implied d/s dynamics maybe?? spencer is so smart and not very smart, but forever my no. 1 cutie pie a/n: why do i love writing about smut like before and after smut way more than i actually like writing smut LOL anyways here is this cause i haven't been posting very much!!! (also ik I said I don't like babe as a pet name but shhh) and GIF :D

“Hey,” you grunt as you flop on the bed in your pajamas, rumpling the neat covers. “Pay attention to me.”

Spencer holds his Sudoku off to the side and watches, eyebrows raised, as you scoot closer, tossing your leg over him. Soon he’s abandoning the book and pen on the bedside table in favor of hooking his fingers under your knee and stroking your leg, much to your delight. 

“Okay. What kind of attention would you like?”

You allow him to put his other arm around you and settle your cheek on his shoulder. 

“This is pretty good.”

“Oh, good,” he says with only a hint of teasing, leaning down slightly to kiss your lips and then the tip of your nose. 

When he pulls away you can’t help smiling up at him like a lovestruck idiot. Obviously he’s perfect all the time, but in his glasses, with his hair messy, wearing a navy crewneck instead of a button up and tie… he’s just… he’s just so…

He’s just so alarmed?

“Honey, your knee.”

“My knee?” Your own brows furrow and you track his eye line, craning your neck to look down to the blotchy sprawl of purple and red marring your skin. “Oh.”

The pillow is soft under your head where it falls, unconcerned even as Spencer gawps at you, baffled by your nonchalance. 

“What did you do?”

You snort. 

“What did you do, Spencer?”

It’s cute, the way his lips move as he silently repeats the sentence, trying to discern the meaning of your words. 

“What do you mean? I did something?”

“Babe.”

The knot between his brows has not loosened any—in fact you’re worried he’s going to give himself a headache. Or at least make himself dizzy, with the way his eyes cycle between your own. You try again, covering his anxious hand on the bend of your leg with your own. 

“When we got back from Penelope’s thing, the other night?”

Slowly the understanding seeps into his expression—soft guilt in his eyes, and a deep red stain in his cheeks. At least his face relaxes. 

“Oh.”

God, he’s so cute. He can’t hold eye contact, looking down once the shock of embarrassment has faded and swallowing, a little frown twisting his features once more. You reach up, brushing his cheek with a thumb and adjusting his glasses. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out too smiley, but you can’t help it. 

“I hurt you,” he says, quietly, utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I kinda think you did,” you tease, and Spencer says your name with a serious edge. You try to quit grinning so much. “Baby, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t you ever get mysterious bruises?”

His eyes are wide and honest on yours when he meets them again. 

“No. My iron levels are optimal.”

Naturally. 

“Okay, well, lots of people do. Sometimes I get a bruise and I have no idea what it’s from because it never hurt. These,” you look down, gesturing to your knee, “never hurt. It’s just what happens when your knees hit the floor.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the floor,” he scolds, countering with a sweet touch on your cheek. “I’m never letting you touch the floor ever again.”

Your shit-eating grin is back and better than ever. “Oh, so you’re going to carry me everywhere we go?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t like seeing you bruised up.”

“It’s okay. I bruised myself doing something I love.”

At this Spencer rolls his eyes and kisses you once more before gently pushing your leg away and getting out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” You ask, all smugness gone and more concerned than you ought to be as he flicks the bathroom light on. For a moment you receive no answer, but then he reappears bearing a white tube. 

“Give me your legs,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed. You swing your legs over his lap and watch on in mild interest as he dispenses lotion from the bottle and tosses it aside, carefully rubbing it into the bruised skin. Every few seconds he glances up to gauge your reaction, and though it’s definitely tender, you avoid wincing. “You don’t have to do that. I can tell it hurts.”

You laugh. 

“Yeah, well, it didn’t until you started trying to fix it.” The ointment is pungent and you make a face. “What are you rubbing all over me?”

“This is vitamin K and Arnica. It will make the bruises go away faster.”

“Aw. You don’t think they’re pretty on me?”

He sets the bottle on the nightstand and retrieves the pen he’d been doing Sudoku with earlier, uncapping it. Your heart swells as he draws tiny sad faces by the bruises on your knees, glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently. 

“I always think you’re pretty. I just never want you to be hurt, ever.”

“Are you done taking care of me now?” You ask, reaching out for him. The pen joins the bottle and suddenly he has no concern for your bodily health, practically crushing you with a hug. When he speaks it’s muffled by your shoulder. 

“Never.”

You hum, nose tickled in his hair and forming a dastardly plan. 

“You could kiss them better.”

Spencer laughs and presses his lips briefly to your neck. 

“I might just do that.”

[little-jana]

"Unraveling Him"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x bimbo!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, touching, some tension, use of Y/N, reader has long hair and wears a skirt

Words: 2.4k

Summary: Bimbo!reader just loves to flirt with Spencer.

I could feel Spencer’s eyes on me, and I couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at the corners of my lips. He was standing at his desk, his brows furrowed as he read through the case files—his usual ‘deep thinker’ mode. It was kind of cute, honestly. But then again, everything Spencer did was cute. In my opinion, he was just too cute. And I loved teasing him.

I adjusted my pencil skirt and fluffed my hair, catching his eye for a moment. My smile was wide, my eyes twinkling with mischief, and I could practically feel him getting flustered. It wasn’t hard. He was so easy to tease, always so polite, always so reserved. And it only made me want to do it more.

“Spencer,” I called, trying to sound casual as I crossed the bullpen. “You’re awfully quiet today.”

He blinked and looked up from his files, his eyes widening a bit when they landed on me. His lips parted slightly, and I could swear I saw a flash of something in his eyes—something… more. Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling the heat between us.

“Just, uh, working through the case,” he replied, his voice a little raspy, like he hadn’t expected me to show up so close. He cleared his throat and straightened, running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

I walked closer, stopping just a little too near for normal office conversation. I could feel the tension between us immediately. The air was charged, crackling with something neither of us had addressed yet.

“You seem tense,” I said with a playful glint in my eyes. “Have you been working too hard?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking over me. He cleared his throat again. “I’m fine, Y/N. Just… focusing.”

I laughed lightly, throwing my head back in a way I knew would draw his attention to the movement of my chest. “Oh, I’m sure you are, but maybe you need a little break?” I slid my hand onto the back of his chair, leaning forward just enough to invade his personal space. “Maybe I could help you relax?”

He shifted again, biting his lower lip as though he were fighting an internal battle. His voice was quieter now, like he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I—uh, really should get this case done…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking from my face to my body before returning to my eyes.

I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. I knew he liked me. It was obvious in the way he looked at me when he thought no one was paying attention. So, I pressed a little more. “Spencer, you work so hard,” I said, my tone teasing, almost innocent, but dripping with something else. “You deserve to take a break. Or maybe… maybe you just need some company to unwind?” I leaned closer, my lips only inches from his ear, and whispered, “I could give you some… personal attention, if you want.”

His eyes widened, and I could see the struggle on his face. Spencer Reid was usually the type of guy who liked to keep things professional. I knew it. But damn, did he look good when he was flustered.

“I-I don’t think that’s—uh, we should…” He stammered, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

I smiled, loving how easily I could make him flustered. His discomfort was almost as sweet as the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, Spencer,” I said softly, resting my hand on his shoulder, letting my touch linger a little longer than necessary. “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t want it.”

He turned his head toward me, his lips just barely brushing against mine as he glanced away. It was like the tension between us was palpable now, thick and suffocating. He wanted me—I knew he did—but he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

“You don’t have to tease me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice lower than before, his eyes finally locking onto mine. “I’m not… I’m not sure how to react.”

I took a step back, feigning innocence despite the sultry energy that lingered in the air. “I’m just having a little fun, Spencer. Can’t I have some fun?” I tilted my head, my hair spilling over my shoulder. “Or are you telling me that you don’t want me to tease you?”

His eyes flickered with indecision for a moment, his hand gripping the edge of his desk as though it were the only thing holding him back from crossing that line we had danced around for weeks. His lips pressed together, a hint of tension in his jaw. “I don’t…” He swallowed, and it was almost as if the words were stuck in his throat.

But I could see it now. He wanted this. He might be fighting it, but he wanted it. And that was all the encouragement I needed.

“Well, I think you do want it, Spencer,” I said with a coy smile. “You’ve been looking at me like that for days. It’s cute, really.”

His face flushed a little, and he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I—uh, maybe I do,” he confessed quietly. “I just don’t know how to handle it, Y/N.”

I leaned closer again, placing my hand on his arm. My fingers traced the sleeve of his shirt, the light touch sending a shiver through me as well. “I don’t bite, Spencer,” I said softly. “Not unless you ask me to.”

His breath hitched at my words, and for a second, I saw something dangerous flash in his eyes. There was that moment of hesitation, that pause between us where neither of us could move, trapped in the tension we had created. His hand was still on the desk, but now it was clenched into a fist, his knuckles white.

And then, as if something snapped between us, he stood up suddenly, moving around the desk. His gaze was intent on me now, and the distance between us vanished. Before I could say anything, his hand gripped my wrist, pulling me gently but firmly toward him. My breath caught in my throat.

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he muttered, his voice rougher than before. “But it’s hard when you do this to me.”

I looked up at him, heart pounding in my chest. “Spencer, what are you—”

Before I could finish my sentence, his lips were on mine. The kiss was urgent, full of the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. His hands were on my back, pulling me closer to him as the world outside of us seemed to disappear.

I wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss first—maybe it was me, or maybe it was him—but either way, we couldn’t stop. The kiss was a release, like the tension had finally broken. I could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest pressed against mine. His hand tangled in my hair, tugging me closer.

When we finally pulled away, both of us breathless, I smiled softly. “See? Was that so bad?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He looked down at me, his eyes dark with desire, but there was something else there too—relief. Like he had been holding back for too long, and now that he didn’t have to anymore, it was all he could do to keep his hands from wandering.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I grinned up at him, feeling a rush of excitement and satisfaction. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, Spencer.”

He chuckled softly, but his gaze remained intense. “You might have just broken me.”

I giggled, pressing my fingers to his lips to silence him. "No, you’re perfect."

[ddejavvu]

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."