#spencer reid x adhd!reader

[gold-onthe-inside]

Ooo could you please share that adhd!reader fic you found?

had to go on a deep dive to find this one by @beelmons and was blessed with another. pancakes, bottle tops, and jell-o on the side by @lis-likes-fics

[lis-likes-fics]

Pancakes, Bottle Tops, and Jell-O on the Side

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 3.5k words Warnings: Character with ADHD, fluff :) A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble....so... I am going to go ahead and continue the bau!adhd!reader stuff because I think it's a lot of fun! ANyway, thank you and enjoy. Special thanks to my beta reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen

“Spence.”

His lazy hum rumbles under you as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you both lay wrapped in the covers. It's late, a glance at the clock says nearly one in the morning.

You cross your arms over his chest, leaning up to look at his face. He looks peaceful, not sleeping but closed-eyed and slow-breathed. “I'm hungry.”

He smiles, but his eyes stay closed. “It's too late to eat.”

You shrug lazily, drawing circles on his chest. “But I want pancakes.”

He opens his eyes. “You know,” Spencer sits up, laying back against the headboard, “late night snacking is bad for digestion.”

You hum. “Is it?”

He nods. “Your metabolism slows while you sleep, so it's harder for your stomach acids to break down the food.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “Eating late at night can lead to weight gain and interrupted sleep.”

“Really?”

His hand rubs your arm. “If you need to eat close to bedtime, it's best to choose small, healthy snacks so you sleep better.”

You sit up, crossing your legs as you look at him. You set a hand on his hand, looking him straight in the eyes as you say it. “But I want pancakes.”

He laughs lightly. “Sweetheart–”

“What if we put chocolate chips in them?”

You know you’ve piqued his attention. He glances at you, his brows raised to his hairline. “Chocolate chips?” he mutters.

You almost feel bad for tricking him, but he’s too cute for that. Your smile grows as your second hand envelopes his own until you’re holding it like you’re keeping it warm. “Yeah,” you nod. “We can even eat it with Jell-O. Not, like, Jell-O on it. But, like, Jell-O on the side.” You clear your throat. “But we can also have Jell-O.”

He gives you an almost pained expression, like you’re gonna pull his arm off. “You know I love Jell-O.”

You smile your best smile. “I know, that’s why I said it.” Then you give your best pout, scooting closer to him with his hand in your hands. “Pancakes and Jell-O? Please?”

There’s a short pause as he lays his head back, sighing as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

“Yay!” You erupt in smiles, pumping your fist in the air as you stumble out of the bed (and you quite literally stumble because your foot gets caught in the covers, and you fall to the floor with a thud). Spencer almost feels guilty for laughing as he asks if you’re okay, but you almost seem like you’ve hardly noticed when you get to your feet and rush to the kitchen. He takes his time following after you, but he’s becoming more and more excited about eating chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry Jell-O with you with each step he takes.

You’ve already beaten him to starting a CD, something from Mozart’s collection playing in the background as you try to reach the pancake mix from the top shelf. You’re almost certain he puts things there on purpose, especially when he comes up behind you with a hand on your hip as he easily reaches for the box and sets it next to you on the counter.

You turn to look at him, nearly swooning at the sight of him so close to you, his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid pretty face just waiting to be covered in your kisses. You settle for a peck on his chin, teasing him, before stepping around him to grab the box. He snatches it before you can, and you would pout if you didn’t know that’s what he wanted. Taking your chin between two gentle fingers, he places a very loving kiss on the very tip of your nose before he’s walking away to grab the pan. You settle for everything else, grabbing the milk and the water and the butter and the chips and whatever else is needed for your late-night snack.

As Spencer replaces the butter on the butter dish, he watches you out of the corner of his eye. He watches you pour the milk into a measuring cup half full of water, your other hand busy with tapping the counter three times. When you set the milk back down, you don’t move on until you’ve grabbed the handle with the opposite hand and let the other tap the counter three more times. You rub the condensation into your hands.

“They need to be equal, or it feels weird,” you’d said. He thinks you’re really cool.

When he’s flipping the pancakes, you’re gliding on your feet through the kitchen like you’re a ballerina. It’s as simple as you trying to stand on the very tips of your toes, and then him grabbing your waist to help you. He laughs every time you step on his feet, which makes you feel better about stepping on his feet so much.

And then when the pancakes are done, you’re waltzing with him between bites. He’s weirdly good at it, given the fact that he’s not a good dancer (neither of you are that great on your feet, but it doesn’t matter when it’s just slow dancing in the kitchen). You laugh every time he steps on your feet, which makes him feel better about stepping on your feet so much.

“Should we like…” you trail off, leaning over your plate next to Spencer’s, “...do some jumping jacks after?” You take a bite, speaking as you chew on it. “It’ll burn some of the calories, and then it won’t be so bad.”

Spencer’s smile is one of those ones that makes you feel that stereotypical “warm and tingly” feeling that settles in your stomach somewhere. It’s fond and sweet, and his eyes glitter with it. He chuckles lightly. “Maybe.” To the jumping jacks. He doesn’t much like jumping jacks.

“And then we’ll also be tired, and we can just go to sleep.”

He hums. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t need jumping jacks to make me sleepy.”

You sift through the last couple of bites left of your pancakes, turning your nose up. He can already tell that you’ve suddenly grown sick of it. There’s no way you’re eating the last two pieces. You set your fork down, gesturing to your head. “My mind is fast right now, so I may need a few.” You glance away, “On the other hand, that might make it worse…” Then you look at him. “I’m keeping you up late, I’m sorry.”

It’s almost two in the morning, and you both still have work in a few hours.

But he just smiles, loving as usual. “Sweetheart, we’re usually up late anyway on cases. You don’t have to apologize.”

You reach over, nudging his fingers with yours on the counter. “I feel like I do.” You tap your untouched fingers with his untouched fingers. They need to be even, otherwise it feels weird.

Spencer reaches over and locks your fingers together. “I promise you, I would’ve been awake anyway.” Meaning he was not going to sleep until he knew you were asleep to make sure you actually got some sleep.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You raise a hand to his cheek, your fingertips brushing over them and adoring the way they turn the slightest pink. “You need rest.”

“So do you,” he mumbles. “We’re staying awake together.”

There are nights where he pretends to be asleep to get you to rest. Tonight was one of those nights but when you say his name so sweetly, he has no choice but to reply.

And also, you’re a profiler. You know when he is or isn’t sleeping, you just pretend you don’t.

“Do you wanna do jumping jacks?” he suggests, gathering your plates while you’re distracted with the strands of hair misbehaving on his forehead, out of place from the rest.

“Maybe a few,” you hum.

He straightens his posture, stuffing his last bite in his mouth. “I’m going to make you some chamomile.” He already has the kettle in his hands, filling it with water to set to boil. “We can do some jumping jacks while we wait for the water to boil.”

You smile sweetly. He takes such good care of you, especially when he reaches his hand out and cups your chin so gently. “Thank you, honey,” you say as you slowly slip the plates into your hands. “I’ll get the dishes.”

He reaches for them, but you pull them closer to you, like a dragon hoarding its treasures—which is a strange simile, considering you’re talking about dirty dishes covered in his DNA. “I can do them,” he tries.

“I know you can,” you have to dance around him to get past him and to the sink. He turns the heat all the way up and leaves it, holding his hands out for the plates. You slap his hand away lightly, a teasing little swipe as you shake your head. “But I want to.”

He tilts his head, his confusion contaminated by his amused grin. “You hate doing the dishes.”

More than anything. “Yeah,” you agree, “but you’re being so nice.” You set the dishes by the sink and turn to look up at him. He’s freakishly tall, so you have to crane your neck up to see him because he stands so close. He has no sense of personal space with you, but you don’t mind it because you love him and you also don’t give him any personal space in return. “So either I fight you or you let me do the dishes.”

He sighs. “Okay, you wash and I’ll dry and put away.”

You stick your hand out to make it official. “Deal.”

“Great.” He takes your hand, surprising you when he twirls you in a clumsy circle and pulls you into his chest as you both giggle. It’s sappy and gross, like those scenes in rom-coms where they’re doing this exact thing: dancing around the kitchen late at night while they giggle like school kids because they’re so in love. You’ve always wanted this for yourself, and you’re beyond happy that you’ve found it with your Spencer.

“Thank you,” you say as you duck under his arm, taking your place at the sink as you start the water. Neither of you talk much as you scrub all the dirty dishes clean, your face scrunched in your focus, un-scrunching only when the water rinses away the suds you’ve built up on your dish. He takes it with eager hands, wiping the dish clean and retreating to put it away.

“You know,” you mutter, frowning at the way the pancake batter mixes with the water and sinks down the drain, “the jumping jacks before bed will be really good because, when we sleep after, our muscles will recover and get really strong.”

He nods, wiping at your elbow when it brushes the edge of the sink and you squirm away from the cold metal. It’s thoughtful, though it’s such a subconscious movement. “That’s correct.”

You shrug a shoulder, teasing easily. “I’m often correct.”

He laughs. It’s a big one that ruins your stoic expression. “That is also correct.” He’s proving your point, and he doesn’t mind doing it.

When the dishes are clean and put away, the kettle is whistling in perfect time as he removes it from the heat. You’re already scurrying to the cabinet to pick which mug you want to use (he already knows you’re going to pick the blue round Christmas Snoopy mug that curves in at the lip). It’s one of your favorites, like a mug-bowl hybrid that you love to cradle in your hands, especially when it’s warm.

He takes special care in making your tea while you sit on the counter next to him and watch. Your feet dangle over the edge, and you find yourself watching his face more than what he’s actually doing. He’s got eyebags. You can tell how tired he is, though he insists that he’s just always had them.

It’s partially true, anyway. When you first met him, he had those same dark circles around his eyes that gave a warning to how irregular these hours would be.

Other than his eyebags, he’s got a loving look on his face. It’s not forlorn and lost in sweet little smiles, but it’s thoughtful and content and at peace. He’s happy to stand there and make your tea, stirring the contents together with the little spoon because he knows you hate using the big ones. He’s happy to fish a single ice cube from the freezer to plop into your scalding tea so that you can actually drink it and not burn your tongue. He’s happy to hand over your mug and watch you take a tiny sip, closing your eyes and humming and giving him your softest thank you as you practically melt. He preens under your praise.

After a couple more sips, you’re pushing yourself off the counter and onto the floor, doing ridiculous stretches as you beam at him. “Okay, ready?”

Spencer lets out a huge sigh, bending down to set his hands on his knees. “Give me a second to catch up,” he says, already out of breath.

You furrow your brow and laugh. “We haven’t even started.”

“I mean mentally.”

“Spence!”

“Okay,” he straightens his posture, moving you both to a more open space as he stops in front of you. “I’m ready.”

You smile wide, “We’re going to fifty.”

“Fifty?!” he exclaims, but you’ve already started. He has to do the first five jumping jacks really fast just to catch up to you. But he’s in love with you, so he’s dedicated to these curséd things.

It’s somewhere before twenty when he speaks, already out of breath and lagging behind as his hands struggle to come as far up. You know he’s partially exaggerating, but you’re also getting tired already. “You know…” he gasps like he desperately needs water, “I hate…” another gasp, “doing these.”

You roll your eyes, tired but not as dramatic as him (currently). “I watched you chase an unsub down three blocks before and then proceed to tackle him, and you can’t do a few jumping jacks?” You don’t know where you are in the count. You forgot as soon as you started speaking, but you think you’re somewhere near thirty.

“Okay, that’s different…” He stops huffing and puffing, but he is genuinely getting tired as he breathes between words. “I was running on adrenaline…” a breath, “and I couldn’t stand straight for…” another breath, “for ten minutes after.”

It’s true. You had to hold his hand because he kept complaining that he was going to pass out, when really he was just trying to make you feel better because you had been so worried he would get hurt in pursuit. You’d been all over him worried sick, loving hands to his face and soft kisses to his forehead.

“I was so proud of you though.” You would shrug if you weren’t already busy. “Derek was impressed. Also, I don’t know where we are.”

He could have lied and said you were on 49, but he decides against it purely because you genuinely look like you’re enjoying yourself. Plus, you’re smiling. How is he possibly supposed to think straight if you’re smiling?

“38.”

You grumble but you stick it out together. And when the last counts come out (“47, 48, 49, 50!”), you are the one to huff and puff and say, “Oh, thank god.”

Spencer leans forward on the counter, gripping the edge of it as he bends all the way down to catch his breath. You skip that altogether, climbing on top of it and laying on it like a couch. You drape an arm over your face, completely limp and entirely unwilling to stand. “I hate jumping jacks,” you complain on a heavy breath.

He nods lazily. “I’m glad we agree.”

You both stay there for a while, two pathetic FBI agents who are far more capable of even more physical exertion than this has offered. Derek would tsk if he was here.

Spencer recovers first, but only because you allow him to (you don’t want to move yet, and if you act long enough then he might actually carry you to bed). He runs a hand through his hair, “I’ll put your shark in the microwave.”

This makes you forget that you’re pretending to be completely incapacitated. The shark in question is a small heatable stuffed animal named Nadia that smells like lavender. During your month-long hyperfixation on sharks, Spencer bought it for you as a gift because he thought you’d like it. He was right, as Nadia sleeps in bed with the two of you now on most nights.

You sit up, raising a slow hand in his direction as you fawn over him. “Thank you, honey.” He lets you take his hand, pulling him in to kiss him gently.

You and Spencer have been together for a while, and you’ve been saying “I love you”s for a good amount of time, but Spencer has yet to (and will likely never) master the art of casualty when it comes to telling you he loves you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to give you a brief call over his shoulder, or a passing kiss on the forehead as he mumbles it into the side of your head.

He says it in an in-your-face kind of way that you adore. He stands so close, kissing your forehead and your lips, and really any part of your face that suits him as he grins. “I love you.” He takes care in whispering it against your lips, your mouths touching with each consonant.

You hum. “Love you, too.” His hands rub your palms, and he kisses your lips again before reluctantly pulling away to go retrieve your shark. You smile as you watch him leave, grabbing your mug and cradling it in your hands as you take small sips. You do feel tired, so at least everything is working.

Spencer is holding Nadia in his hands like a baby before he sets it in the microwave, the both of you standing side to side, bodies touching, as you watch it spin around and around and around in very slow circles. You rest your head on his shoulder while you watch. He’s afraid to move and scare you away (like he could ever scare you away).

Before the microwave can beep, you open the door. He grabs the shark from where it sat, handing it to you like sacred text. “Good?” he asks, waiting as you take the weighted stuffed animal in your hands and feel its warmth. It’s very nice.

“Perfect.”

That makes him happy.

With an arm around your shoulder, he takes you both to bed, turning off the lights as he goes. Taking one last generous sip from your tea, you snuggle in the bed next to him, and as grabby as you are, he's the one holding you like he's going to make sure you never leave.

You hold your warmed plush to your chest, letting out a long breath as you rest against Spencer. “What do you wanna hear?” he asks, already flipping through his mind palace to unlock all the stuff he knows just to lull you to sleep.

You've always insisted hearing the sound of his voice helps you sleep (in a good way, not in the “listening to you speak is a snooze fest” kind of way). He knows there's a study on it, it's scientific, but there's always going to be the tiniest part of him that doesn't believe you (though he'll entertain the idea because he loves you).

“Um…” you wonder, your mind suddenly going blank as you try to find something for him to talk about. “Give me the history of…” you shake your head, “bottle tops.”

He furrows his brow, though his grin betrays him (as per usual). “Bottle tops?”

“Yeah?”

“Why bottle tops?”

You shrug, closing your eyes and letting your finger rub into his shirt. “I don't know.”

He shakes his head like he's sick of you, though he could never be sick of you. He's surely sick with you with how dizzy you make him every time he sees you. “Okay then…” he mumbles, wondering where to start. He keeps his voice soft, but he can't seem to keep it slow.

“The crown bottle cap was invented in 1892 by William Painter–”

“Why do you know about this?”

It was partially a challenge, choosing bottle tops. Sometimes you name random things just to see if he actually knows these things, and he surprises you every time with information he's a total nerd for knowing.

He tilts his head, glancing at you. “Why do you know so much about sharks?”

You hum, laying back down. “Touché.”

He smiles. You feel his thumb stroke your shoulder, a slow and steady thing that easily makes you putty in his arms. “As I was saying,” he says, all sass but also too much of a dork to work, “the name ‘crown’ was chosen because the cap resembled the crown of the British queen…”

It doesn't take long to drift off as he speaks, his loving hands and loving voice and loving lips the perfect remedy for your overactive mind. You could listen to him talk all day.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic Tag yourself here...

[moonysreid]

ever read a fic and get the sudden urge to comment in all caps about how much you love it?? but you don’t want the writer to think you’re absolutely crazy..

[007reid]

yay! (honestly don’t stress about the adhd characterisation being perfect)

r cannot stay still during one of the cases and the other officers at the *insert state* station get really frustrated with r's hyperactive tendencies (pacing, humming, fidgeting etc) (possibly a small bit of angst)

and of course because of that we get an overprotective dr reid because he can see that r is trying to mask to appease the officers (he most likely knows the facts and all that jazz about how harmful masking can be)

masking is where we basically try and suppress our actions - ignoring what our brain is telling us to do and trying to act ‘normal’ (it is very exhausting and honestly just sucks - can also lead to mental health issues)

also tysm if you consider this <3

- 🦕 xx

HI DINO ANON!! i imagined glasses reid for this cus he’s the sassiest and spencer is def sassy here. i hope i did it okay, kinda nervous about this one. enjoy!

spencer reid x adhd fem!reader

cases involving children always stresses you out more than usual, and this one is no exception.

hotch is cruel in the way that he requested for you not to join the team. 'request' is actually him being nice. you stood your ground until he demanded you to, and you know he's right, knows why you can't be with the team this time. "you're too shaken up, y/n," hotch had said, firmly, eyes as soft as steel. "you won't benefit the team. just hang tight and keep an eye out, alright?”

penelope had gone back to the hotel but it's hard for you to muster up the will to. you need to hear the news right when the team comes back, need to know what happens to the two siblings held hostage, and the only way to get immediate information once the information comes is to lurk in the louisiana's sheriff department and wait for the inevitable phone call.

one of the assistants were nice enough to hand you a donut with a pink napkin for it to sit on and a coffee, but god forbid you have any caffeine or sugar so you set it deliberately to the side for spencer, who, predictably, comes by a second later and it grabs his attention immediately, pointing to it as if to ask "you want this?" silently. you shake your head. he stuffs the donut into his mouth and takes the coffee with him as he makes to go somewhere else.

you're grateful for spencer, and you wish that you can say something about it but your mouth's clamp shut and you don't remember the last time you've been so nervous on a case. you're no newbie to the bau, you know the procedure and you know the horrific scenes that goes on but it's been a while since there is children involved and it took you for a toll and you don't know how to deal with it.

spencer had insisted staying at the station with you and you know the officers aren’t too pleased about it, having two fbi officers strolling around in their post just because. they can't send you back, but they’re dying too; you can tell it on their disdained faces that they're practically looking for a reason to kick the two of you out.

feeling constrained by standing in the hard, wooden stool, you decide to get up and take a walk around the pace, and a walk turns into just pacing back and forth between these two desks and then humming a little song that’s been stuck in your head, trying to keep your mind distracted and off the possibilities of what could be happening to those innocent kids right now if the team hasn't taken care of everything yet. your eyes stay on the dark green telephone that sits menacingly and quietly in the sheriff's office desk. you don’t pick up the glances directed at you.

“hey, ma’am?” someone speaks up. you pause and whip your head around. you could read the man’s face as legibly as a news magazine. he’s annoyed and fed up, his lips turned at an ugly angle. you feel embarrassment bubble up inside of you. “can you sit down? we have work to take care of.”

first thing that comes to your mind is to talk back. the fuck you know about workload? you want to spit into the man’s face. i’m with the fucking fbi, jackass. you just sit at a fucking computer.

the fierce words don’t come out of you, however. instead, you just feel silly and childish, walking back to the stiff chair you had abandoned earlier and try to make yourself comfortable, mumbling a half-assed “sorry” under your breath.

“no worries, ma’am,” the man says, and it sounds saturated and sarcastic, and you can feel yourself burn a brighter red, ridiculed.

you hide the tremble in your hands by tucking it in the pockets of your fbi issued hoodie and resists your foot from tapping on the floor, looking around anxiously for something to watch.

“does her pacing ‘round a little bit distract you that much?”

spencer suddenly appears right next to you, enough bitterness on his face to give the man a run for his money. he looks strange like this, the innocent, permanently confused frown on his face replaced with a glare, harsh and intense under the gleaming of his glasses.

“yeah, it does, you android,” the man sneers, stopping his typing on the computer. he leans back on his chair. you feel the defensiveness in you rising up at the man’s words. “this place’s for business, not you kids’ playground, kay?”

“kids?” spencer says incredulously, laughing. “kids and we have a say above you as federal workers and you as state. you work under your boss who work under another boss who work under my boss. that’s three tiers, if you got lost along the way. we’re kids and we got more going for us than you ever do,” and spencer says all this so casually, as if he’s informing the man of the littleness of his worth as a fact instead of an insult. it stabs twice as deep and it shows on the man’s face.

“whatever, fucking android,” the man grumbles, continuing to type.

spencer, bless him, can’t seem to keep his mouth shut for to long and spinning around to face you, water in his hand. “here,” he press the bottle to your trembling hand, making you accept it. “don’t do that again, okay?” he says, sternly.

“do what?”

“suppressing it.” he doesn’t need to define what ‘it’ is. you get the memo immediately and look down in shame, biting at your lip. “it makes things worse, okay? you know it does.” he frowns, except his lips jut out in a pout. it’s cute. you guess spencer reid’s a little bit cute. spencer is oblivious to your little revelation as he continues his tangent, without a thought in the world. “masking can lead to anxiety or depression if you feel like you're constantly under too much stress. this isn’t a stress free job, y/n. you can’t keep piling more on top of what you already got,” he says, softly.

“i know,”

“i know you do,”

right then, the phone rings and you nearly trip over spencer’s beat up converses trying to get to the sheriff’s office fast enough. spencer catches you by the hand as you come sending towards the floor and the both of you rush, your hand in his as sheriff brody picks up the phone and press it to his ear.

a beat.

“they’re safe.”

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Hi, can you do a Spencer Reid x daughter!reader. She has ADHD and she's been hyper focused on her work. She hasn't had a break, so Spence has to force her to have a break/rest. They watch the doctor who for the rest of the night, maybe? Thank you, if you do write this! xx

Spencer Reid X Teen ADHD daughter reader

Request : Hey can you do a Spencer Reid x daughter!reader. She has ADHD and she's been hyper focused on her work. She hasn't had a break, so Spence has to force her to have a break/rest. They watch the doctor who for the rest of the night, maybe?

Third person pov...

Spencer Reid had always been an amazing father. While he was often focused on his work as an agent with the BAU, he had plenty of time and energy left over to devote to his daughter Y/N but lately, Spencer had noticed something different in his daughter's behavior.

The teen had been more focused on her schoolwork than ever before, and he could see that it was taking a toll on her. She had been snapping more than usual at him and it felt like there had been a heavy weight in the Reid household.

Currently he was on his way out the door to work but took a detour to his daughters room, rhe man poked his head into his daughters room to say goodbye when he saw how tired she was, the teen had passed out at her desk.

Her usual happy smiling face full of life now looks like a corpse he sees while on a case, she had large purple bags under her eyes body slouched, her books stacked left and right with notebooks and pens out, she had about 6 empty cups sitting around her.

Spencers heart pains at the state his daughter was in, tiptoeing the Agent wlaks over to his sleeping daughter grabs a blanket from her made bed and gently drapes it over her slumped shoulders.

He then kissed her head and walked out of the room, he had to do something to get her to relax from her studies, as proud as he was he wanted her to be healthy.

He knew she hadn't been sleeping, currently she was studying for the entrance exams for medical school, since she was young Y/N wanted to help people like her dad.

Of course Spencer knew she could do it but you always need a break even he does sometimes, with Y/N on his mind the Agent leaves the house and gets to work.

He sighs as he puts his bag down on his chair hoping the case is local this time, the man then slouched in his chair, behind him his team watch their resident Genius.

JJ, Derek and Emily all shared concerned looks, Spencer wasn't usually that tired or sighed that loud when he gets to work, so it must of been something not work related.

Not even 5 minutes later Derek, Emily and JJ are surrounding his desk, Derek puts his arm on Spencers chair making the man look up at his team, Emily stands in front while JJ stands behind next to Derek.

"Hey guys" he says, this gets a worried look from JJ while Emily and Derek watched.

"Okay what's up Spence you look depressed" Says JJ asking thr question they all wanted to know, Derek shakes Spences shoudlers and the man answers her.

"It's Y/N" he mutters, Emily then slams her hand on the table. "Hold up what about N/N is my god daughter okay!" She exclaims making the Dad laugh.

It was a happy lesson laugh more like he a he exhaled than a laugh, but still it got the attention of thr others.

Of course his daughter was loved amongst the team. "You know she's been busy studying for her exams to get into medical school" he says the guys nod their heads.

"Well im worried, she hasn't been her self lately, she's been snapping at me, and spends every second studying not sleeping, this morning I saw her passed out she looked like a corpse, what do I do?" He says voice in pain at the state of his daughter.

JJ, Emily and Derek all give the young man sympathetic looks as he pours out everything that he's bottled up for weeks. JJ then puts a hand on his shoulder making the genius look up.

"Well Spence, you could do something together that you both love,that might get Y/N to relax" says JJ, suddenly the man is sitting up.

"That's a great idea JJ!" He exclaims smiling larger than ever, suddenly Hotch can be heard from the round table. "We've got a case!" Yells Boss man, the four agent then get ready to leave.

Once the case was solved Spencer had a plan, it was the weekend and he didn't have work so he decided to set up a movie weekend.

He and Y/N would watch Dr who together as it was their favourite show to watch since Y/N was a baby, they always had fun rewatching it and jsut having fun like a normal father and daughter.

That Saturday morning he set his paln in to action, the genius had coaxed Y/N to take a break from her studies, and he had a surprise lined up.

He and Y/N had both always been Doctor Who fans, and he proposed a warm and cozy night in watching the show together.

At first, Y/N seemed too tired to focus on anything besides her work. But as the show went on, Spencer could see the tension slowly starting to diminish from his daughter's face.

By the end, Y/N looked more relaxed than she had in weeks. They even ended up having a lively discussion about the plot points and character arcs as they finished the episode.

After that night, Spencer tried to make it a point to have more fun, family-oriented activities with his daughter. Even if it was hard to pull her away from her studies, forcing her to take a break and enjoy Doctor Who together was the perfect reminder that even overwhelmed students need a little break.

Once that fun weekend was over Y/N was alot more relaxed and let her Dad help her study for the exams, he always made her get more sleep and have fun with him, now they always have a daily weekend movie marathon if Spencer does have a case.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot!

Request are open!

Word count: 1052

[reveseke]

Is it Christmas already?

– criminal minds; Spencer & son! Reader with adhd.

– it's a short little thing with adhd Reader but the reader's actions are based on my everyday stims.

"Didididi Didi Didi diii, mama maa mama maa da—" a lone Christmas tune to pass the time echoed in the kitchen as R/n made himself something to eat, his hands moving mindlessly as he continued to hum and sway to it, every now and then a snap of fingers echoed through the otherwise silent kitchen. "What are you doing?" Caught off guard the boy's hands clutched the plate in his other hand as the tune died out. There was a brief pause as R/n stared at his father and he at his son.

"Uh.. food?" R/n offered as he closed the microwave to heat the spoken food. "I didn't realize you're still home." He looked rather meek with an embarrassed smile on his face.

"Why are you singing the jingle bells tune? It's still October."

"I don't know, it's been stuck in my head for a while and I don't know where I picked it up."

[spencerfuckngreid]

· T H E A R T O F G E T T I N G T O K N O W | S P E N C E R R E I D · PT 4

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/OC · Category: Fluff, Angst · Warning: None · Words: 1902 · Parts: Pt 1 · Pt 2 · Pt3 · Summary : Eli, a psychology expert and old friend of Luke's, joins the UAC as a consultant and quickly bonds with Spencer Reid. As they delve into a complex case, Eli and Spencer find themselves drawn to each other on a deeper level. · Note about Eli: Her neurodivergence (She is autistic) is implied but it's never really said.

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn’t my first language, be kind!

· Masterlist

· P O V E L I ·

I was exhausted. My hands were shaking as I went over the reports again and again, looking for mistakes that weren’t there. Everything in my life seemed like chaos. The new job demanded more from me than I could give, my colleagues were still strangers, and dealing with two jobs at once… it was too much.

On top of that, there was Spencer. His presence affected me more than I was willing to admit, and the tension between us only seemed to grow. Every word he said, every look he gave me, left me reeling, as if the ground beneath my feet was slowly disappearing. He had sent me a message a couple of nights ago, and it made me feel good, but… Nothing seemed to have changed between us.

Today, however, everything exploded. I was alone in the office. Everyone had gone home, and I stayed because I didn’t want to return to the silence of my house. Deep down, I was afraid to face my own thoughts, what I was feeling, the stress, the exhaustion. “I can’t do this anymore… I can’t… no, no, don’t think like that, of course, you can…” I was so drained and overwhelmed, so mentally agitated that I couldn’t sleep. I flipped through the pages, reviewed the notes, and saw nothing, nothing in those damned reports that would help me, not even a pat on the back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help it. The tears started falling uncontrollably, and within minutes, I was sobbing. The damn Niagara on my face, I had to be heard throughout the office. Not even watching “Hachiko” made me cry like this. “What’s happening to me?”

I tried to cover my face with my hands, as if that could hide my vulnerability, the feeling of being completely useless, but it was no use. I felt broken, exposed.

Then, I heard footsteps.

—Eli… —It was Spencer. His voice pulled me out of my thoughts, but I didn’t have the strength to lift my head.

I stayed silent, trying to hold back the sobs, but only managed to cry harder. God, how ashamed I was for him to see me like this.

Spencer didn’t say anything else. Instead, he approached slowly, and soon I felt his hand on my shoulder. It was a gentle touch, almost hesitant, but at the same time comforting. Without a word, he sat next to me. I could feel his presence, the closeness of his body, and far from calming me, it made the tears flow even more intensely.

—You don’t have to pretend —he whispered warmly, making me feel safe by his side, his head close to mine in a comforting gesture.

—I'm not… —I tried to say something, anything, but my voice cracked.

Spencer didn’t push. He just stayed there, in silence, letting me release everything I had been holding in. And without realizing how it happened, I leaned into him. It was an instinctive move, seeking refuge in his closeness. He didn’t say anything when I rested my head on his shoulder; he just wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. There were no reports, no jobs, no tension… just him, holding me, and me letting myself be vulnerable. And in that instant, I realized that the tension that tormented us had a name.

I stayed there for a while, curling up until the sobs stopped, and he held me without speaking, without moving for as long as I needed. From the way we were sitting, each in a chair, I knew he couldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t complain. I could feel his breath over my head, and occasionally he took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. I could smell him. “God, how he smells…” and **how his fingers drummed lightly on my shoulder, which relaxed me.

When I pulled away, he looked at me, bringing his hands to my face, holding it gently with a warm smile. With his thumbs, he wiped away the traces of dried tears and kissed my forehead. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t react; I was drained.

—I'm taking you home. —That was all I heard.

· P O V S P E N C E R ·

After what happened with Eli, it was hard for me to focus on anything other than her. The image of her tears, her body trembling in my arms, kept replaying in my mind. But I knew I couldn’t lose focus. Work was still a priority, even when my mind played tricks on me every time I saw her.

Eli and I were going over reports that seemed endless in the common room. The silence was comfortable, though there was an underlying tension that we both pretended to ignore, although at least we didn’t seem as awkward as before.

—Thanks for last night… —she said suddenly, breaking the silence as she placed a file on the table. She wasn’t looking directly at me.

I glanced at her sideways, trying to figure out what else she might be thinking, but her expression was hard to read.

—You don’t have to thank me. We all have our moments. —I tried to downplay it, though the weight of what had happened between us made my words feel clumsy.

Eli let out a sigh but didn’t add anything else. Instead, she dove back into work. As the night wore on, the conversation between us became lighter, almost intimate, as if that small moment we had shared earlier had allowed us to open a door that had been closed. We even laughed, and that laugh… “How can it be so beautiful…?” We returned to old habits, like going for snacks and coffee, and I took the chance to leave one on her desk with a note when she went to the bathroom, like we used to do before. I couldn’t help myself; I wrote: “Are we good?”

Eli came back from the bathroom and saw the coffee. I saw her smile, and she immediately looked at me, but when she read the note, her expression turned sad, and I could see her lower her gaze.

—Eli…?

She immediately lifted her head, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t read her face; it only happened with her. Her look was like a puzzle I never managed to solve. With no one else did I feel so lost.

—Why have you been so tense lately? —I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral, though deep down I was dying to know if the tension between us was just in my head, if something was going on with her, or… “I think I’m being an idiot with her.”

Eli remained silent for a moment. I could see her biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

—I think… I've been a bit overwhelmed. —she let out with a cynical laugh, almost a sigh, something she had to release, something that seemed to suffocate her. —It’s not just work. It’s… everything. The work, the new colleagues… you. —she finally admitted, speaking more to herself than to me.

I froze at hearing that last part. I tried to stay impassive, but something inside me stirred. “Me? What have I done to add more weight to her burden? I knew I did something. I’m a complete idiot…”

—Me..? No.. Eli, I-I… I’m sorry, really, whatever it is, forgive me. I never meant to make you feel bad. Tell me what it is, please, it won’t happen again. —I suddenly started rambling apologies without even knowing what I had done to make her feel so bad, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her smile again.

—It's complicated. You haven’t done anything wrong, really, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. And honestly, it’s stupid. —she said, and her tone sounded almost like an apology. I felt very confused because she was laughing awkwardly, and I didn’t know what was happening. —I… I’m sorry. —That’s all she said.

—Come on, tell me what it’s about. You can’t tell me something is bothering you about me and not tell me what it is.

After a sigh, she spoke. —It’s just… it’s… I mean… When you talked about that friend of yours from college that you saw last week…

There it was. She didn’t say it outright, but there was something in that confession. “Was she jealous?” I felt a strange satisfaction hearing her say it, though I also felt guilty for being glad about something like that.

—That friend… means nothing to me, Eli. —My voice softened, and something in my tone seemed to make her look at me more closely. —In fact… she’s not the one on my mind.

We looked at each other in silence. I knew I was walking on dangerous ground at that moment, though she looked at me with some disbelief.

—Ah… I see… —I didn’t understand why, but suddenly she seemed sad. “I basically told her I like her, and she reacts like this. Well done, Reid…” —So you’re with someone right now, aren’t you?

I was stunned. “That’s what she got from that?” I realized that I would have to be very direct if I wanted her to know what I truly felt and avoid any confusion…

N-no no, no… Eli, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m not seeing anyone, nor am I interested in… I mean… What I’m trying to say is that friend doesn’t mean anything to me. Really, she doesn’t, nor do other people I might not have told you about or whatever… I’m… I’m not with anyone. —I must have started to sound pretty desperate, though she didn’t seem to pick up on that. I wasn’t capable of being completely open with Eli, but I didn’t know how to express myself without causing confusion, without telling her everything running through my mind.

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. —Are you… Are you okay…?

—Y-yeah, of course, I’m fine. Uh… So… You…? I mean… Well, never mind, I’ll head to the bathroom and take these papers to García… and, uh, this other stuff too.

—Uh… Sure… yeah… See you later? “Pff… You’re doing great… God…”

—Yeah, later.

Everything stayed the same but even more confusing. I could have told her directly that I think about her constantly, ever since she joined the unit, but I couldn’t do it, and I don’t know if she really doesn’t notice or if she’s just not interested in me at all.

“This hurts more every time, I just want to be with her, and it feels like I’m suffocating. I know it’s not literal, it’s a sensation, a physiological response due to my hormones and neurotransmitters. I won’t actually run out of air, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to bear…”

· Requests via DM ·

[beelmons]

Spencer x ADHD!girlfriend.

"...and that's exactly why The Zodiac, in theory, was more prolific as a mathematician than a serial killer." he finished his sentence as he drew a couple more words and connected lines on his whiteboard. His body turned in your direction, and it made you jump slightly on your spot on the couch.

"You're so right, babe, that makes a lot of sense." you said. Truth was, you had no idea what he was talking about. You were having dinner together, and you mentioned Zac Efron on the Bundy movie, things escalated, and he took out his whiteboard, and that's what you remembered happening last.

You loved your boyfriend, and you absolutely adored hearing him ramble about whatever topic he was feeling passionate about. It was one of his most endearing features, and you vowed to yourself you would always be there to listen.

Tinsy problem, sometimes your brain was physically uncapable to keep up with his talking speed, and the second you didn't understand something and you couldn't just interrupt him to clarify it to you, your brain would fly somewhere else. It wasn't because of boredom, his speeches were never dull to you, you were just wired that way, and there was little you could do about it but conceal it from him and try to pretend that you got everything he was sharing with you. At the end, that was your true intention every time.

His arms dropped defeatedly to leave the marker by his coffee table, immediately they traveled back to his chest, crossing them over it. "Okay. What was it this time?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" you frowned in confusion. He noticed your obliviousness and decided to walk in your direction, crouching down in front of the couch.

"You zoned out. I'm curious about what you were thinking about instead of The Zodiac." he smiled.

"You noticed?!" you almost yelled out your question.

The chuckle that he let out, amused and surprised, easied the slight anxiety that you had began to feel. "You do that all the time, I'm pretty familiar with your present-body-absent-mind expression." he clarified.

Your hands flew to your face, covering it with your palms in embarrassment. "I can't believe you have known all along." you mumbled against your own skin "I'm so sorry." you said with a slightly saddened voice.

"Hey," he reached out to grab your hands and guide them away from your face, taking them in his instead "why are you sorry?"

"I really love hearing you talk about things so passionately, I promise." you tried to reassure him. He let out a smaller laugh this time.

"From all the people I've met in my life, you're the only one that's never asked me to stop." his eyes moved to yours. His sight was longing and gentle, his thumbs rubbing at your hands with adoration. Your heart beat erraticly for a second, regardless of the amount of time you had been together, he still made you nervous, he wooed you with his beauty and kindness. "Regardless of how long my ramble is, or the topic. Not even that one time I was telling you about flatulence characteristics and types." he admitted shyly.

You took back your hands and bent forward instead. Your fingers landed on his cheeks and you pulled him closer so you could place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.

"And we weren't even dating then." you joked "Still, you should have said something."

"It doesn't bother me" he stated "If anything, I'm always amazed with the random, completely unrelated thoughts that pop into your mind during your zoning out. So, tell me, what was it this time?"

Your lips pursed slightly, eyes looking away shyly "I was wondering how faucets work." you admitted and he yet again let out a gentle chuckle.

"I actually know the answer to that one." his eyes narrowed and he turned back to stare at his messy whiteboard, his entire body still crouched before you. "Perhaps if I break it down on modules, and we have a dynamic activity in between, I can keep your attention engaged." he said once he had turned back at you.

"Or we could make out. That keeps me engaged." you mentioned, your hands tangling on his hair.

"Yeah, nevermind, let's do that."

[rachhaven]

Hi!

This is like, a little intro thing, idk what I’m really doing I’m still new to tumblr!

My names Rach, I’m 18 and in the uk. I’m studying for my BA in education and special needs, I want to be a play therapist and move to Sydney. The main things I’ll reblog are f1, marauders (poly!moonwater are my faves), and anything Spencer Reid related.

I’m still finding my feet on this app so any tips or tricks would be appreciated. I might rarely write some stuff, but it would mainly be fluff. I’m not comfortable writing smut just yet, so please feel free to send requests for fluffy or comfort one shots and I’ll give them a go!

I have adhd, dyslexia and dyspraxia ontop of anxiety and other shit so please be nice if theres spelling mistakes or my grammar isn’t perfect yet, I’m trying to improve it (and I will cry). Also feel free to ask about any of those and I’ll try my best to reply with the most knowledge possible

The main accounts who’ve kinda inspired this are @astonmartinii @ellecdc @moonstruckme and @missarchive , I love all their work and I think having something else for me to do other than just sitting would be really helpful 😭

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Gryfflepuff in the Tardis' Masterlist

All my Works, characters are colored by which Hogwarts House I think they're in. I am a Primary Hufflepuff, Secondary Gryffindor and I genuinely think Hufflepuff is the best and most underrated house. (Since Tumble removed the yellow color, Orange will represent Hufflepuff, except in the condition of Good Omens' Crowley who I am stuck between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. If you disagree, please give me your best argument and I'll offer my insight of David Tennant's Crowley... Since I have nothing written for Crowley and I'm still conflicted about the news on the new "season" (THERE SHOULD BE SIX EPISODES, NOT ONE!) I've added him and other characters I haven't written for YET to my "Who I'm Willing to Write For" post.

I don't do reblogs, just because I feel that when you're searching through the posts, the reblogs clutter up the blog and get mixed with original posts but I am willing to do fan fic recommendations if requested.

You can call me either Gryfflepuff or the Eccedentiast (Not to sound by Lemony Snicket but "a word that means 'someone who hides their pain and tears and sadness behind a smile'.").

Ninth Doctor - Brooding Time Lord Who Tries To Hide His Light with Darkness

Supernova Series/Season One Masterlist (Ninth Doctor/Tenth Doctor) (Delilah "Lillie" Tyler/Princess Supernova played by Katherine Langford)

Campbell Bain - Bipolar Nineteen-Year-Old Walking Ray of Sunshine That Somehow Doesn't Do Well With Girls

Sweet Jane Masterlist (19-year-old Campbell Bain x 18-year-old Traumatized Reader)

Steve Harrington (Stranger Things) - The Hair; Nomenee for Mother of the Year

Killer Queen (Cassandra "Cassie Dare" Henderson played by Zoey Deutch; Pan Henderson played by David Tennant)

Trauma (Emilie Henderson played by Hailee Steinfeld)

Devil Town (Imogen Henderson played by Katherine Langford)

Isaac Lahey (Teen Wolf) - The Abused Puppy With a Heart of Gold Who Only Wanted the Power to Defend Himself and To Not Be Scared

Embers in the Sky Season One (Milo Stilinski played by Katherine Langford)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) - The Genius Pretty Boy

(I have created so many ideas for the initial character, Zoe that I may have to split them up among Spencer Reid main character love interests and because of more complicated reasons I will explain in Valentía)

Valentía (Zoe Noble-Valdez played by Selena Gomez)

Valentía Season Masterlist

Valentía Season One

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

I have created an OC to be the Henderson!OC and Dustin's father and I always choose David Tennant, he just really gives off protective I-will-kill-anyone-who-hurts-you dad vibe and I have a soft spot for an overprotective dad for his daughter (I never had that. My dad wanted a boy--granted the disapproval that's implied is possibly because my mom told me this--and he is ADHD and was always sleeping and then he moved two towns over which was an hour's drive but seemed longer in my ADHD mind but so he could sleep and I could play video games on the Xbox that's memory wouldn't save the game so I continuously had to start over. Oh, and also, there's the fact that a TV fell on me when I was five/six because I didn't understand gravity and I locked myself in the dryer when I was seven/eight. What, is that not normal? 🙄) I'm not a big crier but a father that's willing to do anything for his daughter is your best bet. Sorry for this rant.

[dullwaterlily]

🌷 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 🌷 ~ 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘴

~ 𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘺 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @pathologicalreid

spencer reid x reader , angst , hurt/comfort

~ 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @dreamsontheirway

spencer reid x reader , angst+fluff , hurt/comfort

~ 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @actually-safer-to-kiss

spencer reid x reader , fluff , hurt/comfort

~ 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @g1rld1ary

spencer reid x bartender!reader , fluff , first meeting

~ 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @luveline

spencer reid x hotchner!reader , fluff+angst

~ 2𝘹12 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @corrodedcoffins-blog

spencer reid x morgon!reader , fluff

~ 𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @h2des

spencer reid x autistic reader , fluff

~ 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘤 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @pathologicalreid

spencer reid x reader , hurt/comfort , fluff , cryptic pregnancy

~ 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦? ~ 𝐛𝐲 @pathologicalreid

spencer reid x reader , angst , hurt/comfort

~ 𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘦 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @mariasont

spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader , fluff

~ 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @day-dreamed

spencer reid x reader , angst+fluff

~ 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @anothermansjeans

spencer reid x youtuber!reader , fluff

~ 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘵 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @golden1u5t

spencer reid x reader , fluff

~ 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @day-dreamed

spencer reid x reader , fluff

~ 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘴 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @snixkers

spencer reid x reader , angst , no happy ending

~ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @lis-likes-fics

spencer reid x adhd!reader , fluff

~ 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @inkdrinkerworld

post prison!spencer reid x sunshine!reader , fluff

~ 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘈𝘔 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @greywritesthings

spencer reid x reader , fluff

~ 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @sincerelybubbles

spencer reid x reader , angst

~ 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @sincerelybubbles

spencer reid x reader , angst+fluff

~ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘪𝘹 𝘤𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘴 , 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @the-guilty-writer

spencer reid x autistic!daughter!reader

~ 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @moonstruckme

spencer reid x reader , fluff

~ 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @moonstruckme

spencer reid x reader , fluff

~ 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 ~ 𝐛𝐲 @miley1442111

spencer reid x reader , angst

make sure to support all these wonderful writers !!

💐💐

[womenloverlmao]

Spencer Reid X ADHD Reader Incorrect Quotes

Y/N: Hey babe?

Spencer: Yes, love?

Y/N: So...the pharmacy is out of my ADHD medication for 5 days-

Spencer: Oh lord-

Y/N: In sickness and in health motherfucker

[lis-likes-fics]

Dramatic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x adhd!bau!Reader Word Count: 2.9k words Warnings: Social anxiety, character with ADHD, crying, emotional hurt/comfort... A/N: I embarrassed myself a little bit and that day will haunt me forever. Enjoy!

Spencer slows as he comes up on your desk. He furrows his brows and looks around, noting your absence with a confused look on his face. Closing his book in his hand, he shifts it under his arm and turns to Emily opposite your empty seat.

Before he can even finish his inhale, she's already speaking. “Last time I saw her, she had to go print something out.”

“When was that?”

Emily looks away from the bright light of her screen in favor of checking her watch. “About fifteen minutes ago?” She shrugs, “I assume she got caught up with something.”

She spins around in her chair in a rather dramatic manner, turning to face JJ in the desk behind her. “You seen my desk buddy anywhere?”

“Printer.” She doesn't even look up.

“That's what I said.”

JJ hums a little. “She probably just got distracted.” She looks over her shoulder at Spencer for the first time, though not for long. “I'd check the printer.”

With a spark of genius, Emily's brows lift as she turns back to her screen. “If she's not there, she could be with Garcia.”

JJ just points her finger over at Emily and hums, still lounging back in her chair as her focus glares at whatever she's filling out at her computer.

“Thanks, guys.” Spencer sets his book down on your desk, turning on his heel to find the printing room where you have supposedly been hanging out for the past fifteen minutes.

He doesn't know what would keep you that long. You're not social enough to have gotten caught up talking, and your distractions are so easy as to keep you from returning to your desk (especially not when Emily is there to keep you company).

Plus, you hate the printing room. The printers are practically always running, and there's this weird clacking noise from one of the machines that unnerves you every time you have the misfortune of having to listen to it.

As he expects, you're not there. There's one guy standing in front of one of the printers, beating his hand on the side to get it to work. Other than that, however, you're nowhere to be found and Spencer is starting to worry.

Realistically, he knows that he shouldn't. You're in a building surrounded by FBI agents, and you're smart enough to know exactly how to tip someone off if you're in trouble. You're so smart, you'd realize there was danger long before it actually hit (because you pay too much attention to little details and sometimes forget about the more obvious things in front of you). He's lucky enough that any UnSub striking the FBI is likely too intelligent not to be meticulous.

But anyway, it doesn't matter because you're not in danger, and maybe you're just with Penelope or using the bathroom or (not in the break room, he already checked) or even–

Shoot.

“Hi.”

Penelope’s door was open, so he let himself in with a gentle knock on the door. Derek is there. He's leaning against one of her desks as she works. They're talking about something Spencer suspects to be too suggestive for his interest.

“Oh!” Penelope turns around in her seat with so much enthusiasm. She almost seems amazed as she looks upon him. “Spencer Reid, coming to visit me. Hello! How are you, my little knick knack?”

Derek chuckles, gesturing for him to join the two with a charming smile.

“I'm good,” he says. He asks about you.

Penelope’s brows join together as she shakes her head. “Oh, I don't know,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I have not seen her. Why? Is she okay?” Her worry creates a crease at her brows that deepens with every second that her question is unanswered.

“You lost your girl, pretty boy?” Derek gently nudges Spencer's shoulder.

“Not lost, just…” he shrugs, “misplaced.”

He hums. “She hasn't come by, no. Last time I saw her was early in the break room with you.”

Spencer scratches the back of his neck. Sorting through his mind about all the places you could be. If you left the building, you would've told someone, so you're definitely still here. You don't have any meetings either, so he's genuinely confused as to where you could possibly be hiding.

“I was hoping I'd find her here.”

Penelope raises a suggestive hand. “Well, I can look on the cameras, if you want.” She wheels around in her chair. She's already tapping away on her keyboard with a loud clickity-clack. “I'm sure we can find her somewhere in here.”

“When did you last see her?” Derek asks.

“I saw her at her desk twenty one minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, but Emily said she went to the printing room about fifteen minutes ago.”

Penelope mutters to herself as she types in her perimeters. “Okay. Printers, fifteen minutes. And…” She clicks her tongue. “There she is!”

Spencer feels a wave of relief at seeing you standing by one of the machines. You're popping your knuckles, staring dutifully at the printer like you're determined to grab them and go.

“Okay, waiting on papers. Let's fast forward a bit, and then…” Penelope’s as fast as the cameras as she watches you leave the room with your stack clutched to your chest. Your gaze is following your feet, which are taking you down the halls and in the wrong direction of your desk.

When you turn into a room, all of them are a little confused. Derek most of all. “My office?” He turns to Spencer with a furrowed brow. “What's she doin’ in my office?”

“Cameras don't show her leaving. She should still be in there right now.” Penelope adjusts her glasses on her nose, turning back around.

“That’s odd,” he mumbles. “Thank you, Garcia.”

Spencer's already locked into his task when he turns around without another word. Derek calls him, interrupting his alertness.

“Whatever you do,” he tilts his head like he's warning him, his eyes narrowed playfully as he smirks, “keep it PG in my office, okay?”

Spencer almost blushes at the notion. Penelope smacks him square in his chest, looking up like he's scolding Derek for his behavior. But he only raises his hands high in surrender. “Hey! Mama, I'm just jokin’,” he laughs, his face split into one of his charming smiles. “I'm playin’!”

Spencer purses his lips in that dorky way that you always say you love. He excuses himself in favor of finding you. The path to Derek's office is an easy and familiar path. He ends up opening the door not long after.

He doesn't see you.

Spencer's eyes sweep the office once more and find Derek's chair further away from his desk than it's meant to be—that is, if he pushed it in properly to begin with.

With a gentle sigh, he takes slow, quiet steps to round the large desk. He kneels when he gets to the other side, feeling the worry dissolve and take another shape all within the same second.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is so soft, this quiet little whisper that doesn't stir you too much.

You have your arms wrapped around your knees, your face buried away within them. You don't move, and you don't seem to be crying, so at least that isn't an issue. Your voice is muffled by your arms.

“Hi.” You don't look up. “How’d you find me?” you mutter, still not moving from your position.

“Penelope.”

You sigh, finally lifting your head. “Penny.” He almost laughs at the way you say it, like you're accusing her of a crime.

“Can I join you?” he asks gently.

You nod without a word. Spencer moves to sit across from you. He's so long, it takes quite a bit of maneuvering to fit himself into the small space. He's slouched over like some real life origami. His legs have no choice but to reach all the way over into your space and box you in with him. You don't mind much.

He lets you both sit in silence for a while. You seem to really need it. He doesn't decide to speak until you finally look at his face, your eyes flitting across it like you're trying to find something.

“What's wrong?”

You shake your head, looking away again. It breaks his heart to watch the way you huddle into yourself. “It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” he protests kindly. He reaches a hand out to cradle the back of your leg. His hand is warm, it feels good even through the fabric of your slacks. “Not if it's making you feel like this.”

You don't respond. Spencer's mouth twitches to the side. He taps your leg lightly. “What happened?”

You sigh, taking a moment before you lift your head to see him again. There's a tiny crease in his brows. His eyes are narrowed just a bit. He's genuinely concerned, and it makes you feel bad because the reason you're upset is so…trivial.

“We deal with death every day, and most of the time, I come out of it okay,” you say under your breath, shaking your head at yourself, “but this is what gets me.”

“What's ‘this’?” he presses gently.

You lick your bottom lip and speak slowly. “I went to print some papers, and this lady walked up and waved at me, so I waved back at her and…”

He thinks he knows where this is going. “Yeah?”

There’s an element of self-depreciation when you respond, and your words from earlier echo sadly in his head at the thought that you might be hearing it, too—it’s stupid. “Well, it turns out, she’s not even waving at me. She’s waving to this other lady standing next to me.” You shake your head, looking down as if to remember something. “And she kinda, like…gave me this look.”

“Was it a mean one?” He hopes not. He loves you too much for someone to be giving you mean looks. He wants you to feel safe and happy, and you don’t.

You shake your head. “No, she looked…maybe a little confused or even, like…apologetic, but it was a look.” He watches you bury your head again, hiding away in your embarrassment. “I should not be hiding because of a look.”

Spencer sets a reassuring hand on your knee. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed about something like that.”

When you lift your head again, he can see tears you’d tried so hard to keep back shining in your eyes. His heartstrings tug behind his ribcage. He thinks you’re gonna kill him one day. “I know!” you sniffle, refusing to let any of your tears spill. “I know, but I do, and it’s ridiculous.”

“But…” he says, like he isn’t finished, “it’s also perfectly okay to be embarrassed about something like that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and looking to the side again. “Please.” A tear spills over, and you catch it quickly. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down hard. He’s worried you’ll draw blood. “I overreact or underreact to literally everything. When are my feelings ever reasonable?”

He would scoot closer if his body structure allowed it, but, alas, he is too long. “All the time. They never stop being reasonable,” he reassures. He sighs gently, wanting so badly to make sure you know how much he adores you. “Can I hold your hand?”

You look back at him, swallowing thickly as you slowly raise your hand for him to take. It means a lot, actually, that he wants to hold your hand. Too many germs. Your chest feels warm with your adoration of him. He gives you a smile, and you almost hide for a different reason.

Holding his eye contact is so hard sometimes. He has such pretty eyes, it’s a shame how hard it is to look at them when you get like this. You want to kiss him, to let him know.

Instead, you just squeeze his hand. “She probably already forgot it happened.” You chew on your bottom lip. “And I’ve been hiding under Derek’s desk for the past, like, ten minutes because I can’t forget about it.”

Spencer doesn’t want to tell you that it’s been twelve minutes and sixteen seconds. You hide your face once again more, dramatically this time. “This will haunt me forever.”

His lip quirks but he tries not to smile too much. “Hey.”

“I know. It’s childish.”

“That isn’t what I was going to say,” he smiles. He ducks his head in the hopes of catching your eyes, but he waits for you to look up first. “You know what I’m going to say?”

You do look at him. He’s so sweet, now you can’t look away. “What?”

He leans forward, feeling his back spine stretching as he does. His large hand sets against your cheek, and you lean into the warmth. He gives you a smile that you call charming, though he probably wouldn’t agree. “I love you.”

You can’t help it. The way he makes you feel is reminiscent of a teenager who just shared eye contact with her crush. He wipes your cheek gently with the pad of his thumb, clearing away any water left behind by the few tears that had escaped your clutches. “Stop,” you giggle, turning away.

He guides your face back. His grin is this huge, mushy thing on his face that squints his eyes until his lashes kiss. “Never,” he mutters affectionately. He loves to see you smile. “I love you. Especially when you care a little too much about an accidental wave.”

You catch him in his words, raising your brows accusingly. He’s helping your anxiety tremendously, and you probably won’t realize it until you’ve fully recovered. “So you agree that this is stupid?”

He laughs, shaking his head quickly. His voice, not as soft anymore, is filled to the brim with his happiness “That’s not what I said. I’m saying that I love you because you’re so amazing, and I want you to know it.” He traces the underside of your eyelashes, reluctantly slipping his hand off your cheek. “No matter how many times you wave at someone who isn’t actually waving at you.”

You’re still giggly. “Spencer.” You shift your legs, not without difficulty, to sit in a criss-cross position. Spencer mimics you (with even more difficulty than you). He has to bend down a little so he’ll fit.

“It’s the truth.”

“Well…” you try to dull your giggles to a simmering bubbly feeling in your chest, “I love you, too. Even when I think you’re crazy for loving me…” You think about that for a moment. “Especially when I think you’re crazy for loving me.”

Spencer holds your cheek again and pulls you in for a kiss. You savor this one, your noses brushing affectionately as you do. Spencer doesn’t kiss you at work.

“Will you come back to your desk with me?” he whispers, his lips brushing yours.

You nod gently. “Yeah.”

Spencer smiles, pecking your cheek. He lets go of you to untuck himself from under the desk. He has to stretch his body out before he offers his hand for you. You take it, hoisting yourself up to stand next to him. “Those are mine.” You gesture toward the papers on Derek’s desk as you brush off your pants.

He doesn’t wait for you, he just scoops them into his hands. “I’ve got them.”

“Thanks,” you grin. He sneaks one more kiss, this one to your temple.

You look up at him and hold your arms open, a quiet request. Spencer’s happy to answer your request, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that pulls you closer to him than you feel like you’ve ever been. He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes and sighing longingly.

When you pull away, you walk with him. His hand hangs down by his side, and you glance at it as you brush your pinky with his. He smiles, but he doesn’t look over at you.

It’s been hardly ten seconds since you left the office, and your phone is ringing. You furrow your brow, fishing it from your pocket and glancing down at the screen. You sigh gently, silently appreciating her because she means so much.

You put her on speaker. “Penny?”

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” she asks immediately, her voice full of worry. You glance at Spencer, who still doesn’t turn to you. He’s smiling, though, so you know that he knows you’re watching him.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” she asks. “I can go to you. I’ll bring the squishy that you like!”

Your voice fades into a laugh. “I’m okay, Pen, really.”

“Did my desk help?”

The way Derek’s voice sounds when he speaks up makes you flush a little. You keep your voice level, still looking up to stare at Spencer. You trust him not to let you run into anything as he suppresses his smile with the thin line of his lips. “Yes, Morgan, it was very nice.” You raise a brow. “Am I going to hear Prentiss next?”

He laughs. “Just li’l ole me.”

“And me. I’m still here.” Penelope makes you laugh.

“Goodbye, both of you.”

“Bye, honey bun.” “Bye!” You hang up on them.

Spencer’s warmth seeps into your side. You resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder because you’re supposed to be professional at work. Instead, you sigh and let your pinkies brush. “I love our friends.”

Spencer smiles. “Me, too.”

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake Tag yourself here...

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

I love your x teen reader fics <3 I have a request if you feel like writing it :)

Spencer x son!teen!reader where people expected Spencers son to be as smart and articulated as he is, but in reality his son is clumsy, adhd ridden with short attention span. But all he wants to do is prove to his dad he can be as smart and useful as he is. One day reader goes too far and accidentally gets involved in a case (kidnapped/hurt/whatever you want I don’t mind).

Spencer Reid X Son Teen Reader

Request: where people expected Spencers son to be as smart and articulated as he is, but in reality his son is clumsy, adhd ridden with short attention span. But all he wants to do is prove to his dad he can be as smart and useful as he is. One day reader goes too far and accidentally gets involved in a case.

Set in season 12

Third person pov...

It had been 2 months and 10 days since Y/N Reids dad had been in jail for, the teen had been staying with his Godmother JJ and her husband Will, as they didn't want him to be alone.

Currently the 14 year old is in a spare room writing things down in a notebook. He knows his Dad would never kill anyone-unless they were an Unsub.

"It has to been Scratch that bastard targeted Hotch now Dad for some reason" he mutters biting the pencil, without him knowing Micheal sneaks up behind.

"Rahhhh" yells the toddler making the hyperfocued teen jump from his chair, of course with how clumsy he is he ends up knocking it and himself over.

E/C eyes widened as he landed hard. "Ouch" he mutters rubbing the back of his head hearing cheerful laugh above. He looks uo to see Micheal.

The little toddler had suck up behind him. "Micheal I told you the knock before coming in" he says making the laughing toddler stop and giggle.

Y/N smirks and leaps up grabbing the little boy and tickling him, the toddler squeals with laugher and wriggles around trying to escape Y/N let's him.

The young boy runs out of the room giggling Y/Ns laugher stops as he looks back at his notes then closes the door and reaches under his bed.

It was a copy of the file the team have on Mr Scratch, Y/N knew is was him but didn't know how to find him.

The teen wasn't like his Genius dad at all while his dad was smart and articulated Y/N was the exact opposite. Y/N was clumsy, adhd ridden with short attention span.

But over the last couple of months Y/N had been giving it his all into finding Mr Scratch because his dad's teams couldn't do it by themselves.

Little did Y/N know that as he was trying to solve the case, he was being watched. The one behind Spencer's misfortune was an old enemy of the BAU, Peter Lewis, alias ‘Mr. Scratch’.

Seeing an opportunity, later that week he went after William in the hopes that he would be able to get the information he needed to take down the BAU.

The Boy was walking back to his Godmothers house, infront of him were Henry and Micheal as he walked he kept his focus on his shoes.

He stepped one foot on one square as he did this he didn't hear someone appear behind him suddenly was knocked unconscious no time to react.

Hours later JJ and Will couldn't contact Y/N, Michael and Henry hadn't seen or heard from him as they were walking home.

The team gathered trying to figure out who took Y/N, as JJ was looking in his room she found the copy of the file of Scratch.

She bought it to Quantico to show everyone. "He was looking into Spencers case and Mr Scratch" she says slamming the file and Y/Ns notes onto the table in the briefing room.

The teen had been abducted by Mr. Scratch and taken to an undisclosed location. The BAU team worked tirelessly to locate him.

They frantically searched for any leads and evidence that could help them find Y/N and bring him home safely.

With Y/N...

The 14 year old slowly came to he was in a room, he could feel his hands and legs strapped down on a chair.

He could feel everything which meant he was unharmed but was in some kind if state his head felt all fuzzy and eyes blurred.

"What happend" he mutters twisting his wrists and legs seeing how tight the restraints are but of course he was taken by a professional.

The teen waits he can't do anything now except wait for the team to find him and catch Mr Scratch, he looks around the room he's in.

It wasn't to big but large enough, Scratch could drug him make him hallucinate but instead he hadn't which confused the teen.

"Awake I see" comes a voice making Y/N flinch, he looked around as best he can and spotted him. "You what do you want?" He demands making the psycho laugh.

"What I want, I want your father and his team to suffer" Says Scratch getting closer to the teen, Y/N wriggles again not able to sit still as the Man get closer.

Y/N glares "you're not getting anything out of me you bastard!" He yells the psycho smirks before the sent of sage sent Y/N off in a daze.

The teen tried to resist but instantly vegan hallucinating jsut as Scratchs previous victims had done.

Scratch left the boy on his own but watched from afar as he hallucinate, in Y/Ns hallucination he was back in the court room when he dad was denied bail, But something felt different.

He sat in the stands behind his dad next to JJ holding her hand as he watched his dad at front.

"Bail denied" the judge speaks smacking the hammer down, everyone on Reid side stood up ready to argue but with one look from hotch they quietened down.

Y/N was among them, he watched at his dad locked eyes with him, he tried not to cry he really did but as he was held by his Godmother he cried and cried and cried until he was outside the court room.

He was surrounded by the team getting hugged left and right being patted on the shoulder and reassured that his father would be okay, minutes later his dad walks out.

Before the door closes Y/N in running into his dad's arms ducking under the cuffs on his wrists.

"Dad!" Sobs the teen hugging his dad tightly, but his dad didn't hug back like he did before.

Instead he stood motionlessly. "I'm not going to see you again Son, forget about me"he says emotionlessly.

Y/N feels himself shaking his head as he stares at the man who wasn't his dad. "No dad I won't forget you!" He yells trying to get him to see reason.

Spencer just smiles at his son is being walked away. "No dad! Please no don't leave me" he hears himself shout.

He opens his eyes and see "JJ" he mumbles staring at his Godmothers face wondering if she was real, the woman laughs behind a sniffle.

She pets his head gently as he is untied and put onto a gurney and in ambulance. "It's okay N/N your okay Scratch is dead your Dad is free okay he will meet you there" she says to him as he is taken in the ambulance.

Finally, after days of investigating, the team has found Y/N, safe and sound, and Spencer was free from Prison he was on his way to the hospital to meet his son.

The team was overjoyed to find him, but their relief was short-lived when they learned the truth about why Y/N had been taken. He had uncovered evidence that pointed to Mr. Scratch. Knowing that he was the one behind it all, the team worked to bring him to justice.

In the end, the BAU team was able to bring Peter Lewis down and Spencer was able to see his son safe and sound.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, I'm currently trying to catch up with all the reqest I've gotten sorry if I don't get to yours for a while.

Request are open!

Word count: 1340

[street-smarts00]

Overwhelmed

Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Summary: Reader gets sensory overload while on a case. Spencer knows how it feels and exactly how to help them.

WC: 1.3k

Based on request

Tags: autistic!reader, gender neutral reader but I only mention pronouns like once. Sensory overload, fluff

A/N: I hope you guys like the fic! I'm familiar with sensory issues cause I have ADHD but I am allistic so I tried my best.

While you were at work it became second nature to mask. Biting back the urge to repeat others when your echolalia was on the tip of your tongue. Bottling up your emotions when they started to feel too strong.

Not stimming at work was found to be the biggest challenge. You tried to find little outlets like tapping your fingertips or playing with your jewelry. But if you didn’t have to mask, you'd probably end up swaying in your seat, clicking pens, or shaking out your hands from nerves or excitement.

Today, you were away on a case with the team. You've been busy since practically the crack of dawn and were both physically and mentally exhausted.

Some of the members of your team were following leads while you and Spencer were going through letters and gifts delivered to the victims before their deaths.

You were reading a letter from the unsub while the loud voices from the precinct seeped into the office your team had settled in. The words on the page in front of you were starting to bleed together. You must have read the same sentence at least 5 times; and yet, you had retained none of the information.

The noise only seemed to get louder and more defined. You could hear at least 4 different voices, the incessant clicking of keyboards, the coffee machine, and a constant buzzing of the electricity from the lights overhead.

And on top of the overwhelming noise, the lights in the room only seemed to get brighter. You kept squinting or rubbing your eyes every minute or so. But nothing could help the words on the page from floating away.

“You okay?”

Your focus was pulled back to reality from the voice across the table. You looked up and met Spencer’s gaze.

“Fine,” you said plainly trying to hide the fact that your head felt like it was going to explode.

“Are you sure? You’ve been staring at that letter for five minutes.”

“I said I’m fine,” you quickly replied a bit harsher than before. You didn’t mean to, you would never snap at him.

You put down the paper and ran your hand over your jeans. Desperate to distract yourself from your other senses.

Your eyes get lost in the pile of paper in front you so you don’t notice Spencer getting up and walking across the room. You don’t notice until the cacophony of the station dulls. It now sounds muffled, almost completely gone.

As you continue tracing your hand against your jeans you hear a soft noise come from behind you. You turn around to see Spencer closing the blinds of the window that leads to the bullpen. He then turns off some of the overhead lights, turning the room dim.

With your mind still fuzzy, you couldn’t comprehend what he was doing but you were grateful for it. The dimmed lights and sound with the added privacy of the blinds helped you start to relax. Yet you still clung to the rough texture of the denim of your jeans.

Spencer then pulled up a chair to sit in front of you and face you.

“Hey,” he held up his hand in front of you. “Put your hand out like this”.

You copied him with the hand that wasn’t running up and down your thigh. Your eyes wouldn’t meet his, you glanced between your lap and his hand.

“Take a deep breath and slowly close your fist while you inhale. Then hold your breath for four seconds while you make a fist. Like this.”

Spencer slowly inhaled as he closed his hand. You copied him with a small shake in your breath. He then quietly counted to four for you to hold your breath.

“Now release your hand as you exhale,” he guided. You copied his actions and watched his hand and you exhaled.

The both of you continued the breathing exercise for a moment. Finally, your head seemed to stop spinning; but there was still a lingering discomfort you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t seem to notice your hand on your thigh had resumed its search for touch in the denim. Spencer did. He saw you using the sensation of your jeans as a way to self-regulate.

“Y/N, do I have your permission to touch you?” He asked softly.

You nodded your head as no words could escape your throat.

Spencer shuffled his chair closer to you and reached for the hand you still held in the air. He lowered your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He placed his other hand on his knee, open, waiting for you to reach out when you felt comfortable.

Almost immediately, the hand that had previously resided on your jeans now reached for his. He gave both your hands a gentle squeeze before rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. The corners of his lips turned up into a smile as he watched the last bit of overwhelm leave your body. He could practically see the weight being lifted off your shoulders.

You brought your gaze up to meet his. His eyes were so kind but also filled with worry. His pupils dilated from the low light in the room, at least that's what you figured.

“How’d you …”

You knew it was a dumb question. He was a profiler and a damn good one. But your brain still questioned how he knew exactly what you needed.

“Sensory overload occurs when your senses are taking in more information than your brain can process. When your brain becomes overstimulated from the input it translates to feelings of anxiety or extreme discomfort,” he explained. He was a bit worried about continuing as most people would brush off or ignore his long explanations.

Instead, he was met with your attention, waiting for him to continue. He then realized he never exactly answered your question.

“You kept rubbing your eyes, reading the same passage over and over again, zoning out, fidgeting, running your hands down your jeans, and … you kinda snapped at me.” His voice lowered towards the end of his statement.

Your eyes widened and eyebrows raised, “I’m so sorry,” you worriedly apologize.

“It’s okay,” he reassured softly as he gave your hands another gentle squeeze. “I know you were overwhelmed and probably felt out of control.”

A small smile spread on your face. “Thank you.”

He unconsciously matched your smile. “It’s no problem.”

“No really. You have no idea how much this helped,” you confessed.

He looked down and licked his lips while considering his response. “I get overstimulated from time to time. It happens a lot when the lights are too bright. I know it’s a stressful thing to experience, especially here at work.”

His eyes rose to meet yours. Your eyes always shined with kindness and warmth. He hoped he could provide that warmth and comfort for you.

“I want you to know I’ll always be here for you when you need it.”

Your eyes wrinkled from the smile on your face. Spencer couldn’t help but mirror your expression.

After a moment of silence, you realized you still had your hands in his. His eyes followed yours to your hands and his face became flushed. Your cheeks soon turned a shade of red as you both pulled your hands apart from each other.

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Thanks again.”

“You- you’re welcome,” he stuttered as he made his way back to his seat.

It took a moment to return to your work. Not because of the chaos outside the office or the overhead lights. Instead, your mind kept wandering to Spencer’s kind gesture and your hands in his.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, it seemed Spencer’s reading speed was decreasing. His eyes wouldn’t stop from wandering to the person across from him.

[reidmania]

hey, i love your work!! i had this idea where room comes home and reader is in their room sitting with her legs close to her chest and her hands over her ears. there's like really loud construction or something going on outside and it's really bothering her, + her clothes touching her is really pissing her off (adhd overstimulation!!). he comes home and helps her relax (and maybe puts his hands over her ears for her??).

- 🍓

pretty beating | s. reid

summary; when the world feels like its closing in on you, spencer is there to calm you down.

warnings; fem readers, mentions of overstimulation, nudity and undressing but not sexually, reader is overwhelmed and shuts down, hurt x comfort, fluff

an; stop this was so cute and i lovedd this idea

The construction outside rattles the windows, drilling into your mind. The cacophony of heavy machinery clashes with the beat of your heart, a rising wave of noise that crests and crashes over and over again. You sit on the floor, legs pulled tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself small, trying to disappear. Your hands press hard over your ears, but it doesn’t help. The noise is everywhere. It’s not just in the air; it’s in your head, pounding, digging, drilling into your thoughts until nothing else remains.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but that only makes things worse. With the world gone dark, every other sensation becomes sharper, more unbearable. The texture of your clothes grates against your skin like sandpaper, the seams pressing, irritating, driving you to the edge. Every shift, every tiny movement makes the fabric brush against you again, and again, and again.

You want to scream, but you don’t. The thought of making more noise is horrifying. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve screaming under the weight of overstimulation, and you can’t turn it off. You can’t stop it. The sounds outside, the feeling of your own clothes, the light that’s too bright even behind your closed eyelids. Everything is too much. Too loud. Too rough. Too everything.

And Spencer isn’t home. Not yet.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, curled up in the corner of your shared room. Time blurs when it’s like this. You can’t remember if it’s been minutes or hours, but it doesn’t really matter. All you can focus on is the noise. The noise that won’t stop, the grinding, the pounding, the hammering from outside and the too-tight, too-itchy sensation of your clothes. You try to focus on your breathing, try to count, but it’s hard to keep your thoughts straight.

Somewhere, distantly, you hear the front door open. You want to cry out for help, but your voice is trapped in your throat, swallowed by the oppressive weight of everything around you. Footsteps approach, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. Maybe you’ve lost track of time so badly that your mind is playing tricks on you. But then the door to your room opens, and Spencer steps inside.

His face softens when he sees you. He takes in the way you’re sitting, hunched over, your body tight with tension. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask you questions. He knows better. He just moves carefully, quietly, coming over to you like he’s approaching something fragile.

He kneels beside you, his voice gentle, quiet, but even that is too much right now. You shake your head, trying to press your hands harder against your ears, trying to block out the world. Spencer’s brow furrows in concern, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask again. Instead, he moves closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

For a second, you flinch. It’s too much. Everything is too much. But then his hands come up to cover yours, gently pulling your hands away from your ears. You don’t resist. You trust him. And when your hands are free, he replaces them with his own, cupping your ears, shielding you from the outside world. The sounds dim immediately, the sharp edges of the noise softening just enough for you to breathe. It’s not gone, but it’s bearable.

You press your face into his chest, and his heart beats steadily against you. Strong. Solid. He’s saying something again, but you can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. You’re not ready for words yet. You just focus on his pulse, on the warmth of his skin through his shirt. The rhythm is steady, grounding, and you try to match your breath to it. In and out. In and out. You focus on the beat of his heart, letting it pull you out of the chaos that’s been clawing at you.

His hands stay firm over your ears, blocking out the worst of the construction noise, and slowly, the world starts to feel a little less overwhelming. The sensation of your clothes, still uncomfortable, fades into the background as you focus on Spencer. Just Spencer. His heartbeat, his warmth, the way he’s holding you without expecting anything in return.

You start to breathe a little easier. The tightness in your chest loosens, and your muscles begin to unclench. Spencer feels the change, and his hands shift from your ears, brushing down to your shoulders in a soothing gesture.

“You’re okay,” he says softly, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. Just focus on me.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak yet, but you do what he says. You focus on him. You let everything else fall away, piece by piece, until the noise outside is just that—noise. It’s not inside you anymore. It’s not swallowing you whole. It’s just something that exists, and you don’t have to carry it.

Spencer’s hands move again, this time to the hem of your shirt. “Do you want me to help with this?” he asks, his voice soft, tentative. He knows how badly your clothes are bothering you, the way they cling and scratch and suffocate.

You nod again, grateful but still unable to form words. He helps you out of the shirt, careful and slow, making sure to avoid any sudden movements. As soon as it’s off, you can breathe easier. The air feels cooler against your skin, a relief after the stifling sensation of fabric.

Next, he helps you out of your jeans, replacing them with a pair of loose, soft pajama pants. The kind that don’t irritate your skin. You sink into the comfort of it, feeling lighter, less tethered to the constant irritation that had been suffocating you just moments ago.

“Better?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You finally manage to nod more firmly. “Better,” you whisper, the first word you’ve been able to say in what feels like hours. Your voice is hoarse, but it doesn’t matter. Spencer’s here, and you’re safe.

He pulls you closer again, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

And you do. Slowly, carefully, you breathe in the smell of his shirt, the familiar scent of home and comfort. The construction noise is still there, but it’s far away now. It can’t reach you as long as Spencer is holding you.

For a long while, the two of you sit there, wrapped in each other’s warmth and presence. Your heartbeat begins to match his, steady and calm, no longer erratic and panicked. You’re no longer drowning in overstimulation. You’re no longer lost.

“I’m here,” Spencer whispers again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in hours, you believe him. The noise outside, the irritations, the chaos—they’re still there. But you’re not alone in it. Spencer is your anchor, pulling you back to solid ground. And as long as he’s here, you know you’ll be okay.