a 20 year old mess | wp: K4REVSREID-spencer reid enthusiast (he’s my hubby)i mostly write on wattpad i just kinda read on here kind of a slut for spencer reid 🪐
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love my lil pervy man
Not So Sweet Dreams
Summary: Perv!Spencer has a wet dream about you... while you're sharing a hotel room.
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This is intended for adult audiences. Minor mention of smut (Dry humping my beloved). Perv!Spencer in denial that he is in fact down tremendously for reader. (That should be all but please let me know if I missed something!!)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader
A/N: This blurb is blurb #1 of my 500 followers event!! :') I hope you guys enjoy it (and that you check out my event pretty please <3). As always, if you did enjoy it please consider liking, commenting, reblogging... whatever floats your boat truly. Okay I love you all MWAH! <3 - K
Yearning would be the downfall of Spencer Reid.
When Hotch announced they’d have to double up on rooms, he jumped at the idea of sharing a room with you, immediately volunteering to be your roommate for the case. You shrugged, agreeing to it with a small smile while he ignored the teasing elbow to his side from Morgan, instead rushing to help you carry your bags.
Spencer knew it was a bad idea.
It was already hard enough for him to function while you were anywhere within a 50 mile radius. Why did he ever think he’d survive you sleeping less than ten feet away? But the opportunity for one on one time with you was rare, and he was helpless to his baser urges. He was simply just a man, after all.
Spencer thought he was doing good, too.
He was keeping his eyes above your neckline while you spoke to him. He didn’t forget how to breathe when the scent of your shampoo wrapped around him when you leaned into him to point at the case file you two were reviewing. And he definitely didn’t stiffen in his slacks when you stood up to dig through your go bag, your already sinful skirt riding up far enough to flash a glimpse of your lace panties when you bent over.
Or at least, those are the lies he clung to so he’d feel better.
One thing Spencer had forgotten to take into account when volunteering to be your roommate was showering. More specifically, you showering. The thought of you, dripping wet and naked with only a wall and a door between you…
He needed to get a grip.
And he swore he was going to—until you stepped out wrapped in only a towel, claiming to have forgotten to grab your toiletry bag. He squeaked out a pathetic “N-no worries!” when you crossed the room to get it, clearing his throat awkwardly. You simply arched a brow, chuckling at how his gaze was glued to you as you made your way back into the bathroom.
Spencer should’ve looked away. His genius-level IQ should’ve been enough to remind him that gawking at a coworker wrapped in a towel was wildly inappropriate. But he didn’t.
Instead, he let the image linger in his mind until he’d somehow managed to drift off.
And now, he was paying for it.
“Does that feel good, Spence? Hm?” You purred, grinding your slick heat over his aching cock once. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
Spencer whimpered, fists gripping the sheets at the delicious friction. His hips bucked upwards helplessly, chasing the feeling and crying out when you repeated the motion.
“Feels good,” he panted out, his eyes squeezing shut as his head thumped back against his pillow.
“Yeah?” You hummed coyly, a malicious grin on your face as you kept rocking against him. “I think you can do better than that. Where’s my smart boy at?”
Spencer was so close. Just one more thrust of his hips and—
He shot up with a sharp gasp, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. Why was he so lightheaded? And why was he on his stomach?
The sound of the AC blowing paired with your soft breathing snapped him back to reality like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. A muffled curse made its way into the air as he rolled over, his hand flying to his crotch before he could stop it. A mortified groan left his lips as he made contact with the sticky fabric of his now soaked pajama pants.
He fucking came in his pants. He had humped his bed and came in his pants while you were sleeping less than ten feet away. All because he’d seen you in a towel.
Swallowing hard, he shuffled awkwardly out of his bed, kneeling to grab a fresh pair of pajama pants from his bag before scurrying off toward the bathroom in shame.
As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, your eyes opened and a satisfied smirk graced your face. You knew exactly what had happened because you’d been awake the entire time, listening to the soft moans and whimpers of your name he let out while he dreamt.
Maybe next time you’d have to come out in less than a towel so he’d get the hint once and for all.
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this is so cute
the last paragraph will forever live in my head rent free
“For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid is truly content.” AS HE SHOULD BE
@ CM WRITERS GET BELLE IN THE WRITERS ROOM NEOW 👹
𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻, 𝗘𝗴𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝗹𝗸, 𝗜 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗔𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂- 𝗦.𝗥.



Pairing- mom!reader x s18!Spencer Reid
WC- just under 1k
Summary- Spencer enjoys a quiet moment with his wife and child. If would have known 20 years ago he’d ever be so happy, he would’ve laughed hysterically.
Contains- just a bunch of dad!Spencer fluff, one super quick Maeve mention, Spencer being the best dad ever, not proofread we die like men
A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto!
Spencer Reid, an accomplished man of three PHDs, is on cleanup duty. The sleeves of his linen pajamas are rolled up to the elbow, his hand gripping a wet dish cloth. It's just as well, really. Cooking with a three year old activates his need to clean immensely.
"Do you want to crack the eggs?" his wife asked, gripping two white ovals in her dexterous fingers. The sight alone is enough to make his stomach turn, let alone the idea of his baby girl trying to not get shells in the egg mixture. He loves them both with everything in him. That doesn't mean he's confident in their coordination.
"Yeah!" She yells in excitement. He can't help but smile, despite his anxiety.
"Alright, you have to be really careful. No shells in the bow now, got it?" She holds up a finger to baby Diana's chubby face, slowly handing off an egg.
Diana is oh so careful. Her two chubby hands cradle the egg, balancing it in her right hand. She hits it once, twice against the counter, a bubbly shriek spilling from her lips when it cracks.
Spencer's heart swells at the two loves of his life, working so hard on making the perfect Sunday breakfast. They have the same crease of concentration between their eyebrows. The sight is like the sun has taken home in his chest, warming him from the inside out.
"Good job! Now crack it over the bowl!" His wife instructs, and she pulls apart the shell, the gooey liquid sloshing in the bowl.
"No shells!" She squeaks, a fierce look of pride on her face.
"Atta girl!" Spencer holds his hand up for a high five, his wife's hand running up and down her back. She kisses Diana's head before cracking another one, giving Diana the last one.
He grabs a fork, whisking the eggs together as his two girls move on to the pancake batter. His wife pours powdered Bisquick in the bowl, giving Diana measuring cups full of milk to pour in.
She approaches Spencer, sleep still lingering in her eye. Her hands graze his waist as she passes, whispering a soft, "Do you want some coffee?" in his ear.
"Please," he nods, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before she goes.
He moves to his baby girl next, his hands wrapping around her soft tummy. She's still little enough for both his hands to fit all the way around her. That won't be for long, though he tries not to think about it. The way she sprouts up gives him at least ten gray hairs a day.
"Daddy look!" She squeals, ever so proud of her work. "Pancakes!" She claps her hands in excitement, splaying powder as she did.
Spencer sneezes at the contact, and a peel of giggles spill from her lips.
"Dada!" She gasps between laughs. Spencer can't help it, he laughs too.
"Diana, was that silly?" He asks, pressing his lips to her head.
"Yes! So silly Dad!" she throws a hand up to her face, like she can't even help herself.
She's too much, so much that he scoops her up, long fingers digging into her tummy in a vicious tickle. She screams even louder, her giggles multiplying in speed and pitch.
"What is going on over there?!" His wife asks as the coffee begins percolating. The strong earthy scent fills the kitchen, easing his uncaffeinated system.
"Daddy is being too silly!" Diana breathes as Spencer slows his attack.
"He loves to be silly, he's good at that. Don't fall for it, he'll still get you!" She waves a spatula at Diana, who just snuggles into him.
He watches his wife, the early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. It cloaks her in a golden haze, like their own personal angel.
Spencer gets a quick flash of the past 20 years, of everything that's led to this moment. Joining the bureau, his eventual decision to leave, accepting a linguistics position at Georgetown, meeting the prettiest European literature professor, his wedding and the birth of Diana...he's baffled.
He thought love like this only existed for other people. He'd seen his colleagues earn it and lose it, seen them grieve and celebrate. He'd learned to be fine without it, especially after Maeve. He just accepted he was one of those people it didn't happen to, that he was always meant to be alone. He'd seen the beauty in it, the freedom in doing whatever he pleased.
It was all well and good, but the love that fills his kitchen now is thick, sticky and sweet. It fills him up like warm cocoa. His wife reaches out for the two of them, wrapping them both in her arms as far as they'll let her. For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid is truly content.
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okay abi what the fuck-
"you won't ever need her again" - spencer reid
in which, Spencer is recovering from addiction and wants to confess his love
who? spencer reid x gn!reader
category: angst!
content warnings: part two of 'and it will never be enough' , imean you don't have to read it to understand this fic but it will help a lot, addict spencer, case info, like its graphic, murder, burning, bombs, everything in cm, serial killers, no happy ending, idiots in love, little cute touches, i promise they have cute moments, i think thats all?
word count: 4.4k
a/n: this took like a week but I'm so insanely proud of this I love you all please comment thoughts
“Do you just throw around the word love like it's a statistic or something Spence?”
Those were the words you’d asked Spencer Reid after he rejected you less than a day after confessing his love to you. In your mind, he was being cruel. But to him? It was making sure you weren’t stuck dating an opioid addict.
Despite the fact you were his sole hope after he was taken by Tobais, he couldn’t let you suffer dating him, not in this state.
It had been nearly a whole month since the faithful morning you sobbed telling him to leave your apartment. He complied, much to his own heart breaking. He told himself one day–if he got sober–he’d explain it to you. Explain why he had to turn you down. How much he loved you. How he hoped you still felt the same.
He’d stayed sober a week now. It’d been hell for him. He was more emotional than usual for him, losing sleep, the constant nausea. But he knew he had to, that this wasn’t just for himself.
You’d hardly spoken to him since that night – not that he blamed you, it just hurt, maybe worse than withdrawal. But he knew the worst thing that could happen was if he lost sight of you, the person he’d truly loved.
—
Three murders in Atlanta, all the victims were young women in their twenties, all of them worked in positions of power. “We believe our unsub is friendly with these women until he gains enough trust to kill them. They’re all brutal; all of them seem to have some form of burn marks on them. The Atlanta police haven’t identified the reason for the murders, they also don't have an M.O on the killer.” JJ told you the BAU gathered around the table. Hotch ordered a wheels up in twenty and with that everyone stood up going to find their bags.
Luckily for Spencer, to him anyways, his desk was placed next to yours. A reminder of who he loved, and that he needed to prove he was worthy of it.
You, on the other hand, didn’t even look over your shoulder to talk to him as you checked your bag. Not even a small smile. That was the reality of your situation recently. A constant game of chess, one side of you wanting to talk to him and ask what was wrong with you that made him reject you, and the other side of you having a list of a million reasons he could have.
He called your name gently like he had numerous times before. You hummed turning to look at him with the same look he had been craving more than the drugs this past week. “Do you maybe want to sit with me on the plane? I think I might need some help working on the geographic profile.” He asked gently, almost bracing for rejection.
“Wow, Spencer Reid needing help is a first, I can try.” You told him slinging your to-go bag over your shoulder. He was taken aback but didn’t want to ask ‘really?’ and risk you re-thinking it. So he just nodded and finished placing a few items delicately into his leather bag.
—
You took your spot next to him watching as he placed markers onto the map of the city explaining what each one was for. “I’ve marked the places where each victim's bodies were found as well as their homes and places of work.”
“These are all really far apart, I can’t even find what our unsub’s comfort zone would be.” You told him scrunching your nose in confusion.
“I’ve narrowed down where he's most comfortable leaving his victims. I don’t believe the homes have any connections to each other. He doesn’t care how secure the place is as long as these women have power he sees a way to strike.”
“Do you think Penelope would be able to find men who have a history of violence against women? Domestic or otherwise?” You asked him noticing the gears turning behind his hazel eyes.
He nodded, returning the request to Hotch; giving you full credit of course. “If this is a pattern of behavior it’s likely our unsubs just got broken up with or perhaps rejected by someone.”
“He’s targeting them as some form of revenge. If he can’t have his sick, twisted, idea of love then nobody else can get any form of love. We’re the victims married, maybe?” You asked, bouncing off his ideas.
Spencer moved the map of the city to the side to grab a copy of the case file scanning it over. “Two of them were married. One of them had just gotten engaged to her partner of 7 years, it was very publicized too.”
“So our unsubs a male with a violent history.” You guessed, trying to form a profile. “Maybe fresh out of prison on the domestic violence charges. He sees these women as a manifestation of his loss of love.”
Spencer stared at you with wide eyes looking at you like you’d just hung the stars and came back to him. He nodded his head in agreement, “I should ask you for help more often.”
—
“Penelope is checking for middle-aged men who are out on domestic violence charges.” Your unit chief told you as everyone stepped off the plane, “Gideon and I will discuss with the Atlanta police. Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to visit the victims' significant others.” He turns to you and Spencer, “Which leaves you two to check the places our unsub left the victims. Is that clear?”
Everyone nodded as Spencer gently took your hand in his, previously the small touches between you two wouldn’t be abnormal. But they had stopped after the morning he rejected you and it made his hands feel cold. But, much to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. Instead you let yourself lace your fingers around his letting him gently bring you into the car as he closed the passenger side door behind you.
“All the places which the victims were disposed are within twenty minutes of each other if you were to take the route without stops.” He informed you as he began driving, he was never the biggest fan of driving despite the fact he’d been capable of doing so since he was fourteen. After a brief moment of driving in silence with only the soft hum of some random radio station did Spencer speak again. “We should work on cases together more often.”
It was only half of what he was craving to say, he knew he owed you the longest explanation. Everything from the second he took the dilaudid from his captors corpse. About all the times that he’d seemed rude that he had just been high out of his mind, About the morning he’d felt as if he had no choice but to turn you down because he didn’t deserve you.
Then he could list every reason he was madly in love with you. How perfect you were. How much he still wanted to be your lover.
But for now all that came out of him was about wanting to work on more cases with you.
“We should, we just haven’t got to lately.” You smile. The reason you hadn’t was hanging in the air for either of you to grab and speak about but neither of you wanted to ruin the mutually agreed upon silence between you two.
Spencer pulls into a parking lot pulling the keys out turning over to you, “Evelyn Moore was killed on this alleyway. She was the Chief Operating Officer for the biggest bank in Atlanta.” He steps out of the car, instinctively moving to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his to keep you close leading the both of you to the alleyway. “She was left right behind the trashcan. The autopsy tells us she was shot on sight.”
“Maybe he was in a rush? Somebody came close to catching him so he ran.”
Spencer nodded, "Definitely, the person who found Evelyn arrived the blood hadn’t dried. The burn marks were only across her stomach, the last few victims had the marks come up to their ribs. She also had traces of alcohol in her system.” He informed you
“She was murdered on a Friday night right?” You asked as Spencer gave you a nod, confused but curious where you were going with this. “When we were driving here there was a nightclub nearby, she probably was coming from there. Had a few drinks there and was walking to her car.”
Spencer stood up straighter, “Or it wasn’t her car. Maybe our unsub gained her trust and was going to take her to his car and-” Spencers hunch was cut off by your phone buzzing from Derek Morgan in your back pocket.
You sighed, taking it out and holding it up to your ear, “Hello?”
“We just got some information from Evelyn’s husband.” She told you, probably having just finished up talking with him.
“Is he a potential suspect?” You asked, covering your other ear to hear him clearly.
“No, he was out of town with family. We have photographs and alibis for him. I’m sending all the notes to Hotch but I’m calling you because he told us he and Evelyn had quietly separated for the past six months. They didn’t want to make it public in case it were to overshadow themselves, individually. It still keeps up with the pattern of his type of women in relationships but I felt like I should tell you guys in case it were to get out to the press so it didn’t throw you off your tracks.”
You nodded and Spencer could almost see the lightbulb above your head as you spoke to JJ, “Thanks, stay safe.” You told her before hanging up the phone, putting it back in your pocket. “Spencer.” You made sure you had his full attention before you presented your idea. “Derek just told me Evelyn and her husband had been separated for nearly half a year. If our unsub lured her in by bringing her to his car. Maybe he was trying to play under the pretense of a hookup.”
“If that's the case then this unsub has been watching her. This wasn’t just some research and a quick murder. He’s been watching these women!” Spencer quickly picked up on what you were saying. “If Evelyn's murder was as rushed as it seems it was, that means the other victims must have had much more violence in their deaths!” You nodded as he grabbed your hand, taking you over to the car to go to the next scene.
—
This time the car ride was filled with light chatter, it started off about the case and hunches on it, but it slowly morphed into small bits of your separate lives over the past month. Sharing about burnt meals you’d made, Spencer talking about books he’d read late at night. It all just felt like coming home.
Unfortunately it did have to an end arriving at the second sight of Lola White, the founder of an international marketing company that came out of Atlanta. She was older than the other two victims and wasn’t even the head of the company anymore, she’d stepped down about a decade ago. “She was last seen at a coffee shop giving an interview about her life since she’d left the company.” Spencer told you, leading you over to the building surrounded in yellow tape. “It’s unclear why she entered this building, they’re doing renovations on it and there were signs all over.”
“If he did the same thing he did with Evelyn then she trusted him. He probably told her there was something over here. The cause of death was asphyxiation by suffocation. The autopsy says it was probably done with his hands but she has burn marks up to her neck so they couldn’t get any type of finger prints or DNA to track them down” You sighed, turning to look at the genius in the cardigan.
“He had more time with Lola. With Evelyn it was quick but with Lola he got to take his time. He watched her suffer.” Spencer concluded looking at you.
“That’s what the burning of them is for!” You exclaimed, as Spencer tilted his head like an adorable owl. “Think about it, they’ve said the autopsies state that the burns aren’t chemical or electrical. They were done with straight up fire. Whenever Penelope gets back to us we need to find out about the people out for domestic violence–” Then Spencer’s phone rings. “Is that her?”
“Matter a fact it is.” He chuckled, bringing the phone to his ear, “Hello?”
“You listening boy wonder? I got a hunch for you and that gorgeous girl you're with.”
Spencer's checks flushed a bit but luckily for him the dim light of the room was enough for you to not notice it. “Yeah?” He asked, clearing his voice knowing your beautiful eyes were on him.
“I found two men within the killer's comfort zone who have gotten out on domestic violence charges in the past six months who fit your profile.” She told you two.
“Garcia, can you give us the names, ages and jobs of the three men?” He questioned.
“Yup, sending them over to your phone as you live and breathe.” She tells you the clicking of her nails against the computer clear over the phone.
Spencer thanked her before hanging up giving you a thumbs up with the dorky upside down smile he’d give people.
“I can read out the profiles while you drive us to the last sight?” You suggested.
“Let’s go then.” He smiled that familiar smile that made your heart its own fireworks show.
He linked your fingers with his again as he led you back to his car, opening the door as always. “So tell me what Penelope sent?” He asked softly, starting up his car.
You sighed opening up the text from her, “The first guy, Robert Plado, is out two months ago on charges of violence towards his then breadwinning CEO wife, andd attempting to rob a gas station. He was there for fifteen years, got into prison fights frequently and spent weeks at a time in solitary.”
“You know that could contribute to this case,” He says his voice beginning to take the Spencer Reid Rambling Tone “If he was isolated he could have time to begin plotting some type of revenge. His wife being a CEO means he has a reason for revenge against these women.”
You nodded, “The other guy is Andrew Bradfield. He was a Blacksmith, perfect family until he committed arson on the family home. He never explained why he did it, but his lawyer got his sentence reduced stating Andrew heard voices telling him to commit the crimes. He just got off probation about six months ago.”
“Can Gideon and Hotch get them to come in for questioning?”
“Penelope told me they already have them coming in. Both of them are being assholes though, so I don’t imagine they’re having a good time.” You chuckled slightly as Spencer’s lips tugged up a tad.
—
You arrived at the final sight of Madison Monroe, the heiress to the family newspaper, stabbed 14 times and burnt across her torso to the second degree. Right in the back alley of her office building.
Spencer opened his mouth rambling, “Her fiance stated that she didn’t have any enemies. Not even business wise, she was personable and nobody ever had anything bad to say. I know those are kind things to say about your partner and all but he would want to tell us if somebody might have done this personally.”
You nodded just staring at the body for a minute, none of the other victims had gotten to you but for some reason the second you stepped onto the street of Madison’s death a feeling of horror went over you not even hearing the soft whispers of your name until a pair of forever cold hands gently holding your waist.
“What happened?” Spencer whispered, it was clear he wasn’t talking about the case, he was asking where you had gone in your mind.
“I don’t know, I think I just lost it for a second.” You informed him trying to take a deep breath to come back to the moment.
“Let’s go, I’ll tell Gideon we’re on our way.” He spoke gently like he could break you if he spoke any louder, he knew he could get some information about Madison on his own but he also knew you couldn’t handle this right now.
You didn’t even have a moment to think about anything as he gently pulled you back to his car as he listened to your soft murmur, “I don’t feel good about this.”
—
Spencer offered you to stay in his hotel room that night, he didn’t want to leave you alone in the state you were in. You accepted, much to his surprise. Maybe it was just hope but he had felt like he saw a glimmer of light he hadn’t since he turned you down. As if everything he cherished was slowly coming back home to him.
You placed your bag on the floor flopping face first onto the bed with a groan of exhaustion as Spencer let out something adjacent to a giggle sitting down next to you gently stroking your hair in a small attempt of soothing the anxiety radiating through your body. “Hey I got you something.” He whispered.
You turned your head to look at him, your cheek adorably squished against the hotel's mattress, “Do you?”
He nodded standing up to grab something out of his bag, a bar of chocolate. “It’s not anything insane but they had some in the hotel gift shop and I thought you’d appreciate it.” He said handing it over to you.
“I do, thank you.” You smiled whilst taking it, opening the wrapper up. Spencer sat down next to you, and like the former second nature of yours, you placed your head onto his crossed legs the moment he sat on the bed.
His breath hitched before moving his hand back to stroke your hair, “Go to sleep angel.” He whispered, your breaths were already leveling, falling asleep in his gentle loving energy.
Once he knew you were asleep Spencer made a promise to himself. The second you two got back to Virginia he would tell you how madly in love with you he was. He knew he had only been sober for a week but seeing you like this, safe, at peace, with him.
He knew this is what he needed for the rest of his days, this was something stronger than any amount of opioids he had taken. The feeling of love for you.
—
“It was a pleasure meeting you all, agents. Considering you think you have me all figured out, so I wish I could allow you to hear about my perfect, burning crime. But alas I think your genius team can crack me and blow the roof off.” - Until we meet again, Atlanta’s Devil
That was the reason Hotch called you all at three in the morning. One of the officers who was working the nightshift had found in the meeting room. As intimidating as that letter may be, the security camera gave you the clearest image possible of the killer.
Andrew Bradfield.
You were slinging in your jacket over your clothes now as Spencer told you facts about serial arsonists. Sure they may be useful to the case. Although even if they didn’t help you’d always appreciate hearing his voice in a stressful situation.
Once you were both dressed and reasonably fine you went to the parking lot of the hotel, you and Spencer were the only two in his car. It was FBI policy to make sure the agents were distributed between the vehicles in case something were to go wrong. It was about a twenty minute drive from the hotel to Andrew’s apartment building, although with nobody on the road it was more likely to be fifteen if that. Spencer’s facts about serial arsonists quickly derailed from one topic to the next, easing the feeling of dread that comes over visiting the unsubs home.
Spencer was the second to arrive, Hotch and Gideon had only arrived mere minutes earlier. Derek and Emily were on their way. Hotch had suggested not having everyone come in with weapons in the hopes of being able to gain the unsubs' trust and not be seen as a threat.
“Oh to be JJ and get to sleep through these early morning calls.” You told Spencer with a yawn.
He nodded, noticing your shivers despite your jacket causing him to gently bring you closer with an arm around your waist.
Emily and Derek arrived, their weapons tucked away, easily accessible but hidden in order to gain Andrew’s trust. Hotch asked you to enter the apartment first. The team claimed you could communicate to anyone and told you to tell them the second you thought you may be in danger and they’d come running in.
You walked to the door with your teammates trailing behind you. To your surprise the door was unlocked leading you to tell Derek, “No need to kick it down this time.” As he rolled his eyes.
You opened the door stepping in expecting to hear the sound of snoring or even footsteps if he had been waiting for you. But instead there was a piece of paper clearly lit, on a table taunting placed in the center of the apartment.
Scrunching your eyebrows together you gestured for somebody to come into the room which of course, Spencer did. He instantly saw why you called him in, “Open it.” He told you, answering the question before you had even asked it. You did so reading it out loud for him.
“Well we meet again, don’t we? I knew you two would try to come here, did you think I was stupid enough to not know you’d catch me on the police cameras? If you aren’t the odd genius agent and the girl he was with, stop now and hand this to them.” You looked up at Spencer to make sure he was hearing this before continuing. “You two, and only you two, are to meet me at the address listed on the back of this paper. I’ll be waiting.” - Andrew
“Do we seriously go meet this crazy man by ourselves? I mean he's clearly been watching us.” You asked the panic seeping through your words.
“This might be our best chance to catch him.” He called for Hotch to get them vests and weapons before telling you, “We’ll be alright, I won’t let anything happen okay?
—
The site was an old government headquarters on the outskirts of town, nobody worked there anymore or even came by. It had only been abandoned for five years but the lack of maintenance done to the place would make you think it’d been much longer. Spencer had triple checked your vest was tightly fastened around you before you entered the building with your flashlights raised to looking for him as the glow hit, another fucking note taped to a door.
You sighed reading it out loud once you’d ripped it off the door in frustration. “I see you’ve found me. It’s time for the main event now isn’t it darlings? To the girl agent I kept seeing today, please come in, if you can reason. I’ll go away in cuffs, no fights, see you darling.”
“Angel, you can’t do that.” Spencer said once you’d finished.”
“Spence you’re the one who said this is our best chance at arresting him, what could happen?” You said unfastening your vest.
“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea can you?” He asked, his voice almost squeaking with nerves.
“I think it's the best thing to do right now, okay?” You looked at him trying to make sure he would let you go with no further protest.
That was until Spencer brought your face between his palms so he could keep your gaze on him, “I love you. I’ll explain more later but I need you to get out of here alive so I can prove how much I’m madly in love with you, please.”
You couldn’t even speak just nodding with your mouth agape before you got out, “I love you too.”
He nodded, “Come back to me okay?”
Before you could even answer you had stepped in defenseless, Andrew was sitting in the middle of the room.
“Well you actually came, gorgeous girl, isn’t that what your friend on the phone called you yesterday?” You nodded letting him go on, “It’s so funny agent. Watching you and your friend trail around the city looking for me, thinking you could win. But theres one thing you don’t know.”
“Oh yeah? What's that Andrew?”
“I know how to take down these strong, independent women like yourself.”
Before you could even question his cryptic words, your body had been flung into the air, the noise of a bomb going off taking over your hearings as you crashed across the building, you could hardly make out Spencer calling your name frantically over the ringing in your ears. The feeling of your broken body and the fire from the blast creeping closer making it hard to focus on life itself.
Spencer slid to his knees in front of you trying to drape his jacket over you, more as a gesture of comfort than anything seeing your blinks getting longer, “No no please don’t do this.” He whispered frantically.
“Fuck Spence everything, gosh.” You groan as he cups your face.
In a strange way both of you knew this was the end for you. The damage was clear, it was more the question of what would kill you first. The internal damage from the blast, the pieces of shrapnel that was impaling your skin, or the dust and soot entering your airways.
“I’m so sorry, I love you, I meant that, I meant it with everything is me.”
Your eyes shut as you got out your final words to him, and to the word, “I meant it back. I love you Spencer Reid.”
And just like that, everything good he had was lost. Because he was stupid enough to let you go in alone. Now he had to hold your body and keep you warm as long as he could, even if the flames ate him up too. At least then he could be with you forever.
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jesus never thought i could relate to something so much 🥲🥲🥲
I love your work sm, could you do soft dom!spence talking you through your first time, maybe after he overhears you telling one of the girls at work (no established relationship)?? 🫶🫶
content warning: First time (reader), oral sex (f receiving), soft dom!Spencer, praise kink, virginity loss, protected sex, aftercare, emotional intimacy, Spencer being the sweetest, reader slightly nervous, but full consent and communication throughout
a/n: sexy virgin!
word count ~ 2k
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
The BAU bullpen was a constant hum of motion—fingers clicking across keyboards, the low murmur of voices, the occasional ding of the elevator. But in a tucked-away corner, you’d thought you were safe.
You weren’t expecting Spencer Reid to overhear anything.
“I just…” you said, leaning in closer to JJ, who looked at you over the rim of her coffee mug, “I feel like I missed some important milestone. I’m not waiting for marriage or anything, I just haven’t…found someone I trusted.”
JJ had smiled kindly, sympathetic. “There’s no timeline. You know that, right?”
You nodded, but it didn’t quiet the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I just don’t want it to be with someone who’ll treat it like a joke. I want it to mean something. Even if it’s just…gentle. Safe.”
Spencer hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He’d turned the corner to grab a file from the printer and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your voice—soft and unguarded. His heart had stuttered at the word “trusted.” It echoed somewhere deep in his chest.
He ducked away before you saw him.
He thought about your words for the rest of the day. And the next.
And two weeks later, when he found you working late and alone in the conference room, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Hey,” Spencer said gently, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “You okay?”
You looked up, startled, then smiled. “Yeah. Just finishing some paperwork.”
He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. “Mind if I sit?”
Your brows rose, but you nodded. “Sure.”
Spencer didn’t open his file. He just sat there, fingers curling and uncurling, clearly working through something.
“I… I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he started. “But I overheard something. A few weeks ago.”
You blinked. “Okay?”
He licked his lips, nervous. “You were talking to JJ. About…not having had your first time yet.”
Your face burned, body going rigid. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to hear,” he rushed, holding up a hand. “But I did. And I’ve been thinking about it. About you.”
You weren’t sure what stunned you more—being overheard or the fact that Spencer Reid, the beautiful, brilliant, soft-spoken man you’d been nursing a quiet crush on for months, had been thinking about you.
Your voice came out small. “What have you been thinking?”
He leaned forward, eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your gaze. “That you deserve someone who sees how important that trust is. Someone who’ll go slow. Make you feel safe. Desired. Cared for.”
A shaky breath left your chest. “Spencer…”
“I’d never pressure you,” he said quickly. “But if you wanted it to be me, I’d be honored.”
You stared at him, mind reeling, body tense with heat and something like hope. “…You’d want that?”
“I want you,” he said, soft but firm. “And I’d take such good care of you. You’d never have to doubt how much you mean.”
His apartment was warm, dimly lit by a single lamp. You were standing in his bedroom, his hand cradling your cheek.
“You can still say no,” he whispered, searching your eyes. “At any moment.”
You nodded. “I know. But I want this. I want you.”
He kissed you like a promise—slow, tender, lips brushing yours like silk. You melted into him, nerves softening under the weight of his gentleness.
“Let me undress you?” he asked, voice barely above a breath.
You nodded.
Spencer moved with reverence, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, trailing kisses down the newly exposed skin. His fingers trembled slightly, even as his voice stayed steady. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”
Your pants followed, and soon you were standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “You’re doing so good.”
He kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, down the center of your chest. “Do you want to keep these on for now?” he asked, fingers ghosting over your bra.
“No,” you whispered. “You can take them off.”
His fingers were slow, careful, unclasping your bra and sliding your panties down your thighs. You gasped when the air hit your skin, and he wrapped his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek against his chest.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me make you feel good.”
He guided you to the bed, laying you down against the pillows like you were something precious.
“I’m going to kiss you here,” he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach, “and here,” to your hips, “and here,” pressing a reverent kiss to your inner thigh.
You let out a small sound, your hips shifting.
“May I taste you, sweetheart?” he asked, settling between your thighs. “You’ll tell me if you need me to stop?”
“Yes, please, Spence—”
And then his mouth was on you.
His tongue was slow, skilled, gentle. He hummed soft praises against your skin. “You taste like heaven. You’re so wet already. That’s it, baby, just let go for me.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, thighs shaking. “Spencer—I—”
“Let it happen,” he coaxed. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
You came with a cry, your entire body trembling, and Spencer didn’t move until you were panting beneath him, thighs twitching.
He pressed kisses up your body, holding you against him. “Still okay?”
You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”
“Are you sure you want to keep going? We don’t have to do anything else.”
“I want you inside me,” you whispered. “I want you to be my first.”
Spencer groaned softly, kissing your jaw. “Then I’ll make it good for you. So, so good.”
He reached for a condom, rolling it on slowly while you watched, heart fluttering. When he moved over you, he paused again. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”
“I trust you,” you said, touching his cheek. “Please.”
He slid in slowly, so slowly you felt every inch. It stung at first—just a little—and he stilled immediately.
“Deep breaths,” he murmured. “You’re doing amazing. Just relax for me.”
You breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth. He whispered sweet nothings, praised your bravery, told you how tight and perfect you were.
After a moment, your body relaxed, and the stretch turned to warmth, fullness.
“You can move now,” you whispered.
His hips moved gently, careful not to push too deep, watching every flicker of sensation on your face.
“God, you feel incredible,” he moaned. “So soft. You’re taking me so well.”
Your legs wrapped around his waist as your body adjusted, soft moans falling from your lips.
He kissed you like he couldn’t help it, like he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you sighed into his mouth.
Each thrust was gentle, every movement deliberate.
“Just like that,” you breathed. “Feels so good.”
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”
You came again with him deep inside you, clinging to his shoulders. He followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he buried himself in you one last time.
After, he cleaned you gently, helped you into one of his shirts, then held you close under the covers.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your hair. “Thank you for trusting me.”
You smiled sleepily against his chest. “You made it easy.”
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damn this hurt
"and it will never be enough" - spencer reid
in which, reader confesses her love unknowing to spencer's addiction
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: ANGST!
content warnings: love confessions, reader is wine drunk, starts in a bar, spencer's addiction, mention of needles, pet names (honey, baby, sweet girl), hangover, probably wrong depiction of being drunk, not my fault my dad wasn't the fun kind, no happy ending
word count: 1.6k
a/n: I've had this idea for like two months and only now wrote it but it's my favorite for this blog so far. also this marks the start of what will be a million Spencer Reid season 2 addiction one-shots. shout-out @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat for proofreading ily
They said drunk words were just sober thoughts.
“Derek is right, Spence. You are really pretty.” You had told him in the bar. “I'm totally in love with you.” Your wine drunken self giggled as you two stood in the corner of the bar with him playing with his brown hair and picking at the loose strings of his cardigan.
Even with Spencer's eidetic memory, he knew for a fact you were the prettiest girl he’d seen since you first walked into the BAU almost two years ago. That you felt the same would be a dream. If it wasn’t for him only half paying attention to the confessional coming out of your mouth.
The other half? Tapping his fingernails against the vial of Dillaud in his messenger bag.
He had kept it ever since you and the rest of the team had saved him from Tobais Hankel just shy of a month ago. He had kept the vials he’d stolen from his captors corpse in his unassuming messenger bag.
Although the team knew something was wrong with him, they had just assumed it was his PTSD from his kidnapping floating over his head. To some extent it was, but his trips to the bathroom to inject an opioid he didn’t need into his veins. He knew it was bad, gosh he knew this was horrible, he was slowly killing himself with this but he couldn’t stop. It just made everything disappear. Aside from this.
He brushed it off with a chuckle, gently stroking your arm with his free hand. “You can not be having any more alcohol. You’ve had so much wine, honey.” He says, letting the pet name slip. It wouldn’t matter in the morning. You’d be too hung over to remember any of this, he hoped. “I need to head to the bathroom but we’ll get a ride back to your apartment after, okay?”
“Only if you come.” You smiled, cupping his face in your shaky hands. He sighed, trying to figure out if it was safe for him to drive after he injected the drug in the bathroom of this bar.
“I will, honey, don’t worry. Don’t talk to anyone unless they’re on the team, okay?” He tells you gently while sitting you down on one of the stools, making sure one of the team members was still in sight.
You were sat giddy whilst swinging your feet and drumming your fingers on the fabric of your pants, thinking about how pretty he was to you. How he always knew the answer to everything you asked. How he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.
Meanwhile he was just thinking about how to kindly reject the most kindhearted woman he had ever met as he injected the fluids into his arm in a public restroom stall while you were sitting alone at that bar wishing for something more than what you had. He was making sure he hadn’t messed up his arm too badly before rolling back down the sleeves of his cardigan and looking at his weary expression in the mirror.
You deserved better than this. He had always believed you were far too good for him. But now that he was a junkie who couldn’t go three hours without running to the bathroom to get his ‘fix,’ it was something he couldn’t fathom putting on someone he loved this much. But how do you reject someone you love that much?
He was hoping – praying even, that you had already forgotten about your confession. Hell, maybe he was even hoping you didn’t really mean it. As much as it would hurt, it was better than the inevitable hurt that would come with dating him in this state.
He found you still sitting alone at the bar, swinging your feet back and forth with the brightest smile on your face as he walked back up to you with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, messenger bag draped over his shoulder. “I’ll get us a cab, okay?” He asks, taking your hands in his trying to hide the slight tremble in him.
“Do you remember my, uh, house number?” You ask tilting your head like an owl. Gosh, you were adorable.
“Your address? I do, sweet girl, don't worry. I can’t forget.” He assured you. He couldn’t forget your address in the same way he knew, no matter how high he was, he’d never be able to forget the night he would be forced to reject you.
“Thank you, you’re so geniusy.” You told him stroking his hair back as you took the glasses off his face and placed them on your nose. “Woah.”
“Yeah, baby.” He said softly trying to support you in, whatever your goal was as he placed a comforting hand on your thigh, calling the cab company to get you to your apartment. “They’ll be here soon, okay?”
You nodded with a massive smile, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “You feel nice, I love you.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around his torso trying to be as close to him as you could.
“I love you too.” He whispered into your hair. This was going to be the worst thing he had to do to someone this sweet, but for now all he was trying to think about was the feeling of being tangled in each other's arms. Maybe the last time he’d ever have this level of comfort and serenity with you.
Eventually, he had gotten notice that the car was waiting outside for the two of you as he gently grabbed your hand in his and held your waist to make sure you wouldn’t trip over your own feet. He opened the door for you before getting in himself and buckling up your seatbelt and gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles as you rambled about some interaction you had with a girl in high school who…honestly, he was hardly understanding what you were saying. They weren’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts of the dread he was going to feel.
Eventually, he grabbed some cash thanking the driver and helping you into your apartment. “Do you know where your keys are, baby?” He asks you.
“Uh, in my pants I’m pretty sure.” You said, reaching into your pocket and handing him the golden keys. He unlocked your door and ushered you inside, he had let go of your waist for a mere second before you ran into one of your kitchen chairs.
“Woah, honey.” He quickly walked up to you, grabbing onto your waist, “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I forgot I had chairs there.” You goofily tell him.
“It’s okay baby, lay on the couch I’ll get you some blankets.” He tells you, gently sitting you down on your cushions. He watches as you lay your head on the pillow, curling yourself into a tight little ball of limbs he finds your blankets, draping them over you until only your head peeks out. “Get some rest, sweet girl. I’ll stay the night here.” He promises stroking your hair gently.
—
You woke up on your couch with Spencer resting his weary head on the cushion next to you. Your hands were intertwined as you focused on his soft breaths trying to remember last night as you looked at his state of peace and rest. Brining your free hand to bring your knuckles along his cheek as his eyelids fluttered open. “Hi.” You whispered, both in an attempt not to startle him and at your hungover voice.
“Hi.” He whispers back sleepily, “Do you need some water?”
“Yeah.” You responded,starting to sit up before he gently grabbed your shoulders prompting you to lay back down as he stood up grabbing a glass from your cupboards before turning on the sink to fill it up.
“I got it.” He told you, going back to kneeling in front of you. You politely thanked him, taking a long sip of the water before putting it down on the floor next to him.
“What..” You start before sighing “About last night. I meant it.” You confess.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You confirm.
“I'm so sorry.” He tells you grabbing your hand.
“What? Why? You told me you loved me last night Spencer.” You ask sitting up before he could pry you back down. “Did you not mean it?”
Of course he meant it. “I did but it’s so much more than that. I’m so sorry honey.”
“Do you just throw around the word love like it's a statistic or something Spence?” You ask looking down at him on the floor, your eyes brimming with tears. He brought his hand up to your face catching one that fell out of your eyes.
“I don’t sweetheart. I just…I can’t do this right now. All I need you to know is I love you.”
“Since when does love mean running away from someone?” You hiccup.
“I’m so sorry sweet girl, truely-”
“No.” You sob, pushing his hand off your face. “I don’t want to hear it just get out I can’t do this right now you don’t get to tell me you love me and then do-do this.”
He nods softly looking at the floor, “I understand.” He whispers standing up. “If you need me for anything, call me or, at least call someone. But, you know I’ll pick up.” He tells you before walking out of your apartment door his hands finding the vial of Dillaud in his messenger bag shortly after closing the door. The door that separated the space between you, and everything that could’ve been that he may have lost sight of for good.
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IM SAYING YES 💁♀️💁♀️💁♀️💁♀️
𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗗𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗭𝗼𝗻𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.



Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Gideon!Reader
WC-
Summary- Jason Gideon's daughter reluctantly accepts a new position at the BAU. The night before her first day, she has a one night stand in order to quell her nerves. When that one night stand turns out to be her coworker and her father's old protégé, she'll have more to fight than just killers.
Contains- canon typical violence, reader coming head-to-head with an unsub, reader is a lil reckless and very stubborn, non-explicit sex scene (18+ MDNI regardless), Spencer has emotional issues from prison, actually proofread this time holla
A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !! I honestly don't love this fic so bon appetite I hope u guys do
Glasses clink together, celebratory whoops ringing through the crowded bar. Your crisp, refreshing vodka cran tickles your throat as a large gulp slides down. You’re desperate to quell the anxiety bubbling up in you, though you’re supposed to be celebrating.
You’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Your fingers squeeze around your glass, your heart pounding. You’re desperate to appear happy and grateful, and your friends truly are great to you, celebrating you in such a way.
It’s hard though, knowing the clock just keeps ticking. The seconds fleeting, one by one, until your arrival at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your father founded it. You swore you’d never follow in his footsteps, scorned from the way it tore your family apart.
Yet, when you received a call from unit chief Emily Prentiss, you’d been hard pressed to say no. Something screamed deep inside you, all the parts given to you by your father, at the case details Agent Prentiss provided.
A serial killer targeting women, within 5 mile radii of historical landmarks all throughout D.C. She said she’d seen your work at the D.C. History Center, your ability to analyze and curate historical artifacts standing out. If you like it, then you have a permanent spot on the team. It’s more money, you told yourself. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel there’s a part of you, deep down, that needed to say yes.
The loud shrieks of laughter emanating from your table snap you back to reality. You scan the bar, patrons packed in like sardines. The low light mixes with the smoke filtering the air. Your eyes narrow into slits as they land on something quite breathtaking.
It’s a man. He seems older, a professional, with the tailored way his suit coat fits. That doesn’t stop his brown curls from flopping in front of his big eyes. His long fingers graze the rim of a whiskey glass, taking a long sip. Your friend follows your gaze, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline at what she finds.
“Oh!” she gasps, impressed by what she sees. “Good find! You gonna go talk to him?”
You shift your head from side to side, rattling the question around in your brain. You’re typically not bold enough to approach a man in a setting like this, let alone the Adonis sitting across the bar from you now. Tonight, though, you might be just tipsy enough, just desperate enough to escape the anxiety of tomorrow, that you may just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?
You slide out of the booth, fingers delicately gripping the rim your glass as you make your way across the bar. You slink onto the bar stool next to him, refusing to make eye contact, though you feel his gaze on you. You adjust your mini dress, pulling the sparkly gold fabric down as far as it’d go, your upper thigh tantalizingly on display. His head drops down to where your hand lay, and he licks his lips. Check and mate.
“Long night?” You ask, crossing your leg over your knee. You sip your drink, still refusing to look at him.
“You could say that,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving your frame.
Your eyes meet his, unable to hold off any longer. God. He’s even more gorgeous than you thought. You study him up close now, your brow furrowing. There’s something about him- his round eyes, the slant of his nose- that feels hauntingly familiar. Like a friend from a past life, returning to you once more. You can’t place your finger on it, though, and the alcohol disorienting you just enough to brush it off. For now.
“How could you tell?” He asks, and it dawns on you that you’d never responded. You poise yourself, sitting up straighter to shake off the mishap.
“Had a hunch,” you reply over the rim of your glass. You let your lips close around it and take a sip. His eyes follow the movement. A shiver runs down your spine.
“You seem like a very smart woman,” he says, his voice soft yet firm. You want to bathe in it.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” you reply, your eyes narrowing as you size him up further. You introduce yourself, reveling in the way his eyes light up at your name.
“Spencer,” he responds, that pesky deja vu creeping back in at the name.
It falls silent between you then, but it’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary, actually. Your eyes never leave each other, having a silent conversation all on their own. His are dark with desire and want, they hang low slightly, due to the alcohol, most likely. They’re otherworldly gorgeous, big and brown like melted pools of chocolate. You could swim in him all night.
There’s something else there entirely, though. Hesitation, confusion maybe. The smallest tint of discomfort lasers through the heat, like he’s out of his comfort zone. A smirk crawls on your lips. What are the odds that tonight, of all nights, was the one in which you both decided to take a chance?

It only takes one more drink and some small talk until you’re up against your own front door. He’s kissing you within an inch of your life, his large hands completely captivating your face. His lips slot over yours, making your brain fuzzy. He kisses like a madman, all encompassing, borderline feral.
There’s a hunger in his tongue that you haven’t tasted in far too long. It’s addictive, his smoky scent, his soft pants against your mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sensations. Your nails grip the root of his curls as his lips move to your neck, softly sucking and nibbling. A whimper escapes your lips, your eyes squeezing shut as you scramble for the doorknob. You rattle against the lock before fumbling for your keys.
You stumble in shortly after, tripping over your gold shoes. Spencer catches you, a large hand splaying over the small of your back. He tugs you closer with it, your chest pressing against his. You walk him down the hall before he scoops you up, taking you the rest of the way to your bedroom.
“Spencer,” you muffle against his neck, overwhelmed by your desire for him.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Give me just one minute and I’m going to make you feel so good,” he whispers against your temple. You nod feverishly, like if you’d stopped he’d disappear.
He lays you down, propping your feet to rest flat on the bed, spreading your knees apart with those large hands. He freezes, his breath hitching at the sight of you under your dress. You smirk, the lace thong you’d worn doing its exact job. His Adam’s apple bobs as you trace a fingernail up his forearm.
“What is it, Spencer?” You question his hesitance, the way he’s stuck in front of you now, dazed. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. It makes you feel divine, the goddess of the universe on display for him.
“You gonna leave me hanging?” you pout, reveling in the way his eyes darken. He kisses you with the fervor to prove he could never do such a thing. You let go. The feeling of his hands are intoxicating, like a rich wine.
They creep up your sides, your dress hitching higher and higher with the movement. You shift under his touch, your body writhing as heat pools in your lower belly.
The second he grazes your bare skin, he freezes. Your eyes shoot open to find his, wide and desperate and so, so gorgeous. It shifts something inside of you, your heart clutching so severely that it scares you.
“Spencer,” you whisper against his lips. He shudders.
“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He kisses you again.

You blink slowly, the soft light of the sunrise filtering through your parted curtains. There’s a slight thump in your head, but thankfully nothing too bad. You massage your temples as you turn. Your eyes shoot open as you hit a body next to you, still sound asleep.
Memories of last night come rushing back- meeting Spencer, taking him home, the phenomenal night you had, and now this. This, the first day of your new job. Your heart drops. You scramble on the bed in a panicked attempt to find your phone. You whip around to see it sitting on your nightstand, thanking any and every higher power that might be.
You let out a sigh of relief when you see you still have some time to get yourself ready. You ignore the 47 text messages from your group chat last night. You’ll tell them you’re alive later.
You only have an hour, not what you’d ideally wanted for your first day of a brand new job, but it’s better than nothing. It still doesn’t solve your problem of the man in your bed, however.
Your hands push the dead weight, rustling him awake. He rubs his eyes, a raspy, “what?” escaping his lips. For a brief moment, you’re sad that you don’t have enough time to appreciate the sight, the sound of his morning voice. You shake it off quickly, though. You push him again, urging him out of your bed.
“Babe, it’s 5:30 a.m.,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. You’re both too tired to address the pet name. At least that’s what you’re telling yourselves.
“Oh, shit. I’m gonna be late for work,” he scrambles off the bed. You take a moment to admire his naked frame in the sunlight as he gathers his clothing.
“Me too,” you say, lunging off the bed yourself. “It’s my first day on a new job, I’m running more behind than I’d like to be right now.” You’re running around your room like a chicken with her head cut off, grabbing your towels and rushing to the ensuite bathroom.
You can’t help but give him one last peck on the lips. This, incidentally, led to two, three, four more. Lastly, one that lingers longer than it should. One long enough for him to graze his hand along your bare arm. You shiver. Your thin bedsheet is the only fabric separating your bare body to his fully clothed one.
You pull away, taking a step back. You release a deep breath as you take him in once more before you leave.
“Feel free to make some coffee on your way out! Cups are in the cupboard above the coffee pot! Thanks for last night!” You call, before slamming the bathroom door on him, running the shower.

Miraculously, you managed to make it at an appropriate time. You park in the FBI car park at 6:45 on the dot. You lean back in your seat, taking a deep breath and a sip of coffee. Finally, you reapply your lip gloss before you turn off your car.
Your heels echo through the hallway leading towards the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You’d always told yourself you would never follow in the steps of your father. And yet, here you are. Each step you take feels as if you’re walking in a giant’s footsteps. You pray you’ll make him proud.
The FBI seal on the door looms over you, unable to keep its claws out of the Gideon lineage. You’re frozen there, stuck staring at it, unable to enter. That is, until you hear your name from behind you. The voice is familiar, too familiar. Your stomach drops.
You whip your head around, coming face to face with-
“Spencer,” you breathe, the air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him.
His hair is slightly damp, falling in front of his eye. There’s static in your ears, a faint ringing torturing you. Panic swells in your stomach, bubbling, boiling. And then it hits you.
Spencer. Spencer Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid.
“You worked with my dad,” you whispered. It’s all you can manage. Your voice still cracks.
“Your dad?” His brow furrows. He studies your face. His eyes scan up and down, desperation taking over. You can basically hear them asking, begging, “Who are you?”You’re still frozen, unable to speak.
Then, it hits him. You know, because he’s found the exact parts of you that resemble your father, his mentor. Your dark eyes, the slant in your nose, the curve of your mouth. The very mouth that was on his just hours ago.
“Oh, God,” he gasps. You turn, walking into the office. All you hear is static as you move, your heart pounding in your ears as you fake a smile through your introductions.
You move throughout your day as easily as you can. The rest of the team is incredibly kind, welcoming. The work starts almost immediately, which you’re thankful for. Like father, like daughter, you suppose. Yet, you can’t escape Spencer, looming over you like an inescapable shadow.
He hasn’t spoken to you since your interaction outside the door, but you feel his eyes on you the whole day. When you speak to the team, when you analyze a document, he’s there. Watching. You feel his eyes creep up your spine, their penetrative gaze lodging deep in your chest. Your heart squeezes each time he walks past you without recognition. The cold shoulder lasts through the rest of the day.
You’re conflicted, your heart at war with your mind. The Spencer you met in the bar last night is nothing like the image you’d created of him in your head years prior. He’s kind, funny, interesting, not because of, but in spite of his accolades and achievements. He’s someone you could fall for. At least, you thought so before seeing him today.
You were young when your dad took Spencer under his wing. You’d never met him, then, just seen a few pictures and heard endless stories. You always felt in his shadow, though. The way your father’s eyes lit up when he spoke about him, the excitement lacing his tone, it was all reserved solely for Spencer Reid.
You’d cry yourself to sleep some nights, desperate to do something, anything as worthwhile in the eyes of your father. You never did. He loved you, of course, and he was proud of you. Yet, nothing ever measured up to his pride and love for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, for Spencer.

As the weeks went by, Spencer couldn’t help but find himself pulling further and further away from her. It’s an anchor on his heart, weighing it down more and more each day. Everything inside him, his soul, his heart, screams to be near her, to hold her, to have her every night the way he did that first one. His mind, though, is an entirely different story.
His mind pumps the brakes, waging a civil war inside him that he won’t be able to win. He’s terrified. Terrified of being left the same way her father did, though he knows in his heart he can’t blame her for his faults. His mind once again holds him back, though. It’s funny that what’s supposed to be his greatest strength can also be his biggest enemy. He reconciled with that a lot when he was behind bars, yet another reason he’s apprehensive of opening up to her. So, he stays away.
Now, Spencer buzzes through the bullpen, coffee in hand as the team rushes to the conference room. He’s stuck behind her, of course. The floral scent of her perfume infiltrates him, threatening a shutdown of his central nervous system. His heart constricts as he watches her, her snug blouse cinching her waist, the tight pencil skirt it’s tucked into rendering him nearly brainless. He sips his coffee, eyes diverting.
He hasn’t spoken to her much in the month she’s been here, though not from a lack of desire. Quite the opposite, actually. His heart is fighting something. Something deep inside him from before he went to prison, before Gideon even left the bureau. Her relation to his former mentor has shifted his world on a different axis, like life is moving in reverse.
With his luck, the only seat left is the one directly across from her, the shine of her lip gloss inescapable. He tries his best to focus as Penelope debriefs them on a triple homicide in Texas, though something peculiar piques his interest. He sees it through the window, someone delivering an envelope on her desk. It’s a black envelope, not anything that would be used for official government business. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stands. The entire team looks at him.
“I need to go check on something,” he murmurs, but before he leaves, he taps her lightly on the shoulder. “You need to come with me,” he says lowly, so only she can hear.
She stands, hesitantly, offering the team a sheepish, apologetic smile. He suppresses a soft chuckle at that. She’s a Gideon, for Christ’s sake. She could show up late for a year straight and they’d thank her just for showing up. He pushes that thought away as he leads her to her desk.
“There was something that was dropped off on your desk just now,” he murmurs into her ear. “It was weird, I have a hunch. I just think you need to look at it before it’s too late.”
“Too late? Spencer-” she stops, her eyes going wide once she sees the envelope. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her fingers covering her mouth.
“What? What is it?” Spencer asks, his pulse speeding up.
“My father received letters in these exact same envelopes in the months before he died,” she looks at him, eyes wild and glossy, laced with deep seated fear.
Meet me at the park at 2:30 p.m. You know which one. Don’t be late.
Spencer races back to the conference room, the letter gripped tightly in his fingers. He lays it out on the table for the team, their brows quirking.
“This was left on her desk. She said her dad received ones just like it in the months before his murder.” It’s all he needs to say before the team scrambles out of the conference room. Penelope’s already on the phone with the case director, forwarding them a new unit for their case. Rossi, Emily, and J.J. are scanning for a return address,
Spencer exits the conference room to see her holstering her gun, fitting her badge in her back pocket.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks her, a tentative hand out in front of him.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she snaps, and he flinches at her tone.
Regret flashes in her eyes, only for a brief moment.
“There’s no way in hell you’re going to that park,” he insists with a shake of his head.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was someone you were interested in at all. What’s it to you that I’m fighting for myself when I couldn’t for my father?” Her voice shakes on the last word, his heart cracking at the sound.
“I know I’ve been…distant,” he mutters, his voice low, “but you need to think about the implications of what you’re doing.”
“Distant? That’s what you want to call it?” She scoffs, moving to follow the rest of the team. “I’ve thought about the implications of these letters since the day my father was killed. You may have been his golden boy, but I’m his blood.” She sneers in his face, before leaving with the team.
His heart plummets, dropping into his stomach like a brick in the ocean. He plows ten fingers through his hair before bringing the letter to Penelope’s office. They have some analyzing to do.

The car ride is silent as you drive. You knew what park they were referring to immediately. It’s the one your father took you to when you were a baby. You stare out the window, mind and body numb to the reality of what’s happening.
“Hey Emily,” your voice is low, tentative. “Did my dad ever talk about me?” You inhale shakily, not sure if you want the answer. You couldn’t help asking, regardless.
“Oh, yeah he did,” she has a soft smile on her face, and it melts something frozen inside you.
You let out an exhale of relief. “Really?” You ask, disbelieving.
“Really. He wasn’t a typical parent, not one to show off accolades or achievements, though we know you had tons of those,” she states, and you smile softly. “What he did show us were glimpses into his life with you.”
You furrow your brow at this, unsure of her point. She looks at you, then smiles, turning her attention back to the road.
“He’d bring you up in random conversation, when we’d work on paperwork, when he was interviewing families…‘Oh, my daughter loves that show,’ or, ‘my daughter loves the color pink.’ Any chance he had, he’d mention it. At a certain point, I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. It just happened.”
You didn’t even realize your eyes were glossing over until a lone tear rolls down your cheek. You swipe it away with your fingers, clearing your throat and looking down at your lap.
“Thank you,” you croak. Emily nods.
It doesn’t take long until you reach the park, each member of the team splitting up in various directions. You’re with Emily, on strict orders to stay near any member of the team. You feel something, though. Something deep down that’s not right, that the team is headed in the wrong direction.
You entered the park at the south entrance, the opposite side from where your father would take you. You scan the premises, your breath catching. It’s mainly families, some couples enjoying a walk or a picnic. It’s peaceful. Guilt boils in the pit of your stomach at the thought of disturbing these people. The job is the job, as your father would always say.
It takes a split second for you to make a decision the entire team will have your head for. You break off from the group, sneaking off to a backwoods trail you would hike with your father. It’ll get you to the other side of the park, the side you need to be. You know you should include the team in this decision, that you’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way. This feels so personal, so vulnerable, though, that your feet are moving before your mind can catch up to your body.
It doesn’t take long for Emily to notice you’ve gone, as you can hear her muffled “shit!” come from behind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you pause, waiting for her to pass by to continue your route.
The trail leads you to the other side, just as it always did, and it doesn’t take long for you to see him. Growing up in the shadow of your father means you know everything there is to know about psychoanalysis. This includes how to spot an unsub. It’s almost too easy at this point, like chess to their checkers.
You exit the trail, the unsub clocking you almost immediately. He cocks his gun, pointing it right at you. You holster yours, holding your hands up in surrender.
“I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk,” you say, voice calm and collected.
“I refuse to talk to a Gideon,” he spits your name. It’s venomous, vengeful. So it is personal.
“Okay, then pretend I’m not a Gideon. Pretend I’m someone who just wants to have a conversation,” you say. You move closer, despite your better judgement.
“Do you think I’m stupid?!” He grits out, aggravation evident in his tone. People around are starting to notice, to flee. You put yourself between him and any other pedestrians still at the park.
“God, you look just like him!” He sounds pained as he says it, like it almost hurts.
He lunges at you, then. Before your body can react, his forearm is held tight against your throat, the gun pressed to your temple. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, as your eyes frantically search for anything they can find.
Then, you spot it. It’s tiny, you could’ve easily missed it. D.M. Small, stark letters tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Your breath catches in your throat when it sinks in.
“Your dad killed my father,” you say. It’s strained as you fight for breath.
“What?” The man says, gripping you tighter.
“D.M. On your wrist. Donnie Mallick. He killed my father,” you breathe, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead. The man pauses, lowering the gun from your head. He’s distracted. Now’s your chance.
You make quick work of gripping the gun, stomping on his foot with your heel to get him to let go of the weapon. His arms collide with your middle, knocking you to the ground. Your knee strikes his gut, and he keels into you. You watch as his arm winds back, gearing up to deliver a severe punch. You wiggle around, bracing yourself for impact.
“I have to finish what he started.”
It’s the last thing you hear before his weight is taken off you completely. You turn to see Spencer on top of him, cuffing his hands behind his back. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the adrenaline mixing with the utter shock of seeing Spencer take down an unsub like that, of seeing Spencer at all. He hands him off to Rossi and makes quick work moving to you.
You dust yourself off, standing on shaky ground. You look at Spencer, only a few feet away, but it feels like oceans. You’re both breathing deep, his chest mirroring your own heaving. You watch as he takes long strides, his hands gripping your face before pulling your lips to his.
He kisses you like you’re Penelope and he’s Odysseus, reunited after 10 years apart. In a way, you feel like you have been. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He deepens the kiss, his lips covering yours almost entirely. His hands find the small of your back, hoisting you closer. He pulls back for air. You can’t help but chase his lips. He gives you one more peck before pulling you back into his chest.
“You really shouldn’t sneak off alone like that,” he breathes. You laugh against him, squeezing him tighter.

The ride back to the bureau with Spencer is quiet. Not tense, but a comfortable silence that falls over you two like a soft blanket. Your brow quirks when Spencer veers to the right, 2 blocks from the office.
“Spencer, you’re going the wrong way,” you breathe out, knowing deep down there’s no possible way he made this mistake unintentionally.
“No, I’m not. You’ll see,” there’s a small smile on his face. You settle back into your seat.
A swarm of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach as he pulls into an all-too-familiar parking lot. The red and white neon sign frames the car in the late sunset. ‘Buddy’s 24H Diner. Best Milkshakes In Town!’ A tear sneaks its way down your cheek before you can stop it.
“My dad used to take me here all the time,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only place he liked that he could take me to after cases.”
“I know,” he smiles. “Let’s go.”
You’re seated in the corner booth, the one your dad insisted on every time. Your lips curl around your milkshake straw, fighting for your life to suck out the thick liquid. It’s not lost on you when Spencer’s eyes follow the movement, bringing his own cup to his lips.
“I’ve been having a hard time, having you on the team,” Spencer mutters. Your heart sinks.
“Oh?” You attempt to remain as calm as possible. “Why’s that?”
He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Your heart picks up in speed, thrumming in your ears.
“I was such a different person when Gideon was in my life. I don’t think I was prepared for another one to enter,” he takes a bite of his burger, chewing before continuing. “Since I got out of prison, I’ve been so desperate to put my old life behind me. You joining the team has forced me to admit that life doesn’t work that way.”
You pop a fry into your mouth, chewing on that and what he said.
“Why were you in prison?” You ask, feeling a slight tinge of regret at the way he flinches.
“I was framed by an unsub. She had someone on the outside,” his voice is clipped. You count yourself lucky for getting even this much information.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter. He shrugs.
“It’s just…thinking about the me I was when I worked with your father…” he trails off, eyes darting out the window. “I was so different. So naive. I had no idea what this job would do to me. So, when I saw you on your first day, it was like all these pieces of my life were colliding. I wasn’t ready for it. I froze. It’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you these past few weeks, and I’ll do everything and anything to make it up to you. I’m sorry,” he finishes with a deep exhale.
“I had a hard time, too,” you mutter, his eyes shooting up to you.
“With what?” He breathes.
“Reconciling my feelings for the great Dr. Spencer Reid.” His brow quirks in confusion. “You’re not the only one with a past life, y’know?” Your voice is sarcastic, but kind all the same.
“You may have only heard about me in passing, but my dad…God, he worshipped you. You were all he talked about most days. I was young. I felt inadequate. When I found out that was the man I ended up sleeping with, I…retreated. I couldn’t make peace with it either,” you utter, a shaky exhale following.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes going soft.
You reach across the table, holding his hand in yours.
“Thank you for the apology, Spencer. It’s okay. How could you have known?” your eyes gleam, the emotion palpable between you two. “Expect to be put through the ringer, though. You said everything and anything, I’m holding you to that.” You point a fry at him in a threatening manner. He smiles.
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” God, his smile is pretty.
“So…” you trail off, flirtation lacing your tone. “What was that kiss back there? You weren’t even supposed to be in the field.”
He avoids eye contact again, fighting back a smile.
“When someone I care about that much risks her life for a case, I’ll find a way to get there. No matter what.” His voice is low, warm. A shiver unzips your spine.
“I’m glad you did,” you smile.

Hours tick by, you and Spencer only moving to use the restroom. It’s like you’re catching up on all the dates you could have had in one night. You’re not complaining.
Each new fact you learn about Spencer makes your heart swell. His pain, his joy, his work. You want to swim in his memories until you’re laced in all of them.
You talked about your dad, about your work at the History Center, and how it led you to the bureau.
“Emily sweet talked me into it. I don’t know how anyone can say no to her,” you chuckle, sipping what must be your fourth cup of coffee.
It’s pitch black out now, the diner nearly empty. Your eyes began to feel heavy hours ago. You still haven’t moved. You can tell Spencer’s tired, too. The bags under his eyes are prominent, darker than usual.
Speak of the devil, both your phones buzz with an alert from your unit chief.
Emily: I know you’ve been at that diner all night. Go home and go to bed, you psychopaths.
You look at Spencer, brow raised. “My place?”
“Let’s do it,” Spencer smiles.
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grey’s anatomy dupe 💁♀️
OH BELLE THIS WAS SO GOOD
𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗗𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗭𝗼𝗻𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.



Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Gideon!Reader
WC-
Summary- Jason Gideon's daughter reluctantly accepts a new position at the BAU. The night before her first day, she has a one night stand in order to quell her nerves. When that one night stand turns out to be her coworker and her father's old protégé, she'll have more to fight than just killers.
Contains- canon typical violence, reader coming head-to-head with an unsub, reader is a lil reckless and very stubborn, non-explicit sex scene (18+ MDNI regardless), Spencer has emotional issues from prison, actually proofread this time holla
A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !! I honestly don't love this fic so bon appetite I hope u guys do
Glasses clink together, celebratory whoops ringing through the crowded bar. Your crisp, refreshing vodka cran tickles your throat as a large gulp slides down. You’re desperate to quell the anxiety bubbling up in you, though you’re supposed to be celebrating.
You’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Your fingers squeeze around your glass, your heart pounding. You’re desperate to appear happy and grateful, and your friends truly are great to you, celebrating you in such a way.
It’s hard though, knowing the clock just keeps ticking. The seconds fleeting, one by one, until your arrival at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your father founded it. You swore you’d never follow in his footsteps, scorned from the way it tore your family apart.
Yet, when you received a call from unit chief Emily Prentiss, you’d been hard pressed to say no. Something screamed deep inside you, all the parts given to you by your father, at the case details Agent Prentiss provided.
A serial killer targeting women, within 5 mile radii of historical landmarks all throughout D.C. She said she’d seen your work at the D.C. History Center, your ability to analyze and curate historical artifacts standing out. If you like it, then you have a permanent spot on the team. It’s more money, you told yourself. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel there’s a part of you, deep down, that needed to say yes.
The loud shrieks of laughter emanating from your table snap you back to reality. You scan the bar, patrons packed in like sardines. The low light mixes with the smoke filtering the air. Your eyes narrow into slits as they land on something quite breathtaking.
It’s a man. He seems older, a professional, with the tailored way his suit coat fits. That doesn’t stop his brown curls from flopping in front of his big eyes. His long fingers graze the rim of a whiskey glass, taking a long sip. Your friend follows your gaze, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline at what she finds.
“Oh!” she gasps, impressed by what she sees. “Good find! You gonna go talk to him?”
You shift your head from side to side, rattling the question around in your brain. You’re typically not bold enough to approach a man in a setting like this, let alone the Adonis sitting across the bar from you now. Tonight, though, you might be just tipsy enough, just desperate enough to escape the anxiety of tomorrow, that you may just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?
You slide out of the booth, fingers delicately gripping the rim your glass as you make your way across the bar. You slink onto the bar stool next to him, refusing to make eye contact, though you feel his gaze on you. You adjust your mini dress, pulling the sparkly gold fabric down as far as it’d go, your upper thigh tantalizingly on display. His head drops down to where your hand lay, and he licks his lips. Check and mate.
“Long night?” You ask, crossing your leg over your knee. You sip your drink, still refusing to look at him.
“You could say that,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving your frame.
Your eyes meet his, unable to hold off any longer. God. He’s even more gorgeous than you thought. You study him up close now, your brow furrowing. There’s something about him- his round eyes, the slant of his nose- that feels hauntingly familiar. Like a friend from a past life, returning to you once more. You can’t place your finger on it, though, and the alcohol disorienting you just enough to brush it off. For now.
“How could you tell?” He asks, and it dawns on you that you’d never responded. You poise yourself, sitting up straighter to shake off the mishap.
“Had a hunch,” you reply over the rim of your glass. You let your lips close around it and take a sip. His eyes follow the movement. A shiver runs down your spine.
“You seem like a very smart woman,” he says, his voice soft yet firm. You want to bathe in it.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” you reply, your eyes narrowing as you size him up further. You introduce yourself, reveling in the way his eyes light up at your name.
“Spencer,” he responds, that pesky deja vu creeping back in at the name.
It falls silent between you then, but it’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary, actually. Your eyes never leave each other, having a silent conversation all on their own. His are dark with desire and want, they hang low slightly, due to the alcohol, most likely. They’re otherworldly gorgeous, big and brown like melted pools of chocolate. You could swim in him all night.
There’s something else there entirely, though. Hesitation, confusion maybe. The smallest tint of discomfort lasers through the heat, like he’s out of his comfort zone. A smirk crawls on your lips. What are the odds that tonight, of all nights, was the one in which you both decided to take a chance?

It only takes one more drink and some small talk until you’re up against your own front door. He’s kissing you within an inch of your life, his large hands completely captivating your face. His lips slot over yours, making your brain fuzzy. He kisses like a madman, all encompassing, borderline feral.
There’s a hunger in his tongue that you haven’t tasted in far too long. It’s addictive, his smoky scent, his soft pants against your mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sensations. Your nails grip the root of his curls as his lips move to your neck, softly sucking and nibbling. A whimper escapes your lips, your eyes squeezing shut as you scramble for the doorknob. You rattle against the lock before fumbling for your keys.
You stumble in shortly after, tripping over your gold shoes. Spencer catches you, a large hand splaying over the small of your back. He tugs you closer with it, your chest pressing against his. You walk him down the hall before he scoops you up, taking you the rest of the way to your bedroom.
“Spencer,” you muffle against his neck, overwhelmed by your desire for him.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Give me just one minute and I’m going to make you feel so good,” he whispers against your temple. You nod feverishly, like if you’d stopped he’d disappear.
He lays you down, propping your feet to rest flat on the bed, spreading your knees apart with those large hands. He freezes, his breath hitching at the sight of you under your dress. You smirk, the lace thong you’d worn doing its exact job. His Adam’s apple bobs as you trace a fingernail up his forearm.
“What is it, Spencer?” You question his hesitance, the way he’s stuck in front of you now, dazed. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. It makes you feel divine, the goddess of the universe on display for him.
“You gonna leave me hanging?” you pout, reveling in the way his eyes darken. He kisses you with the fervor to prove he could never do such a thing. You let go. The feeling of his hands are intoxicating, like a rich wine.
They creep up your sides, your dress hitching higher and higher with the movement. You shift under his touch, your body writhing as heat pools in your lower belly.
The second he grazes your bare skin, he freezes. Your eyes shoot open to find his, wide and desperate and so, so gorgeous. It shifts something inside of you, your heart clutching so severely that it scares you.
“Spencer,” you whisper against his lips. He shudders.
“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He kisses you again.

You blink slowly, the soft light of the sunrise filtering through your parted curtains. There’s a slight thump in your head, but thankfully nothing too bad. You massage your temples as you turn. Your eyes shoot open as you hit a body next to you, still sound asleep.
Memories of last night come rushing back- meeting Spencer, taking him home, the phenomenal night you had, and now this. This, the first day of your new job. Your heart drops. You scramble on the bed in a panicked attempt to find your phone. You whip around to see it sitting on your nightstand, thanking any and every higher power that might be.
You let out a sigh of relief when you see you still have some time to get yourself ready. You ignore the 47 text messages from your group chat last night. You’ll tell them you’re alive later.
You only have an hour, not what you’d ideally wanted for your first day of a brand new job, but it’s better than nothing. It still doesn’t solve your problem of the man in your bed, however.
Your hands push the dead weight, rustling him awake. He rubs his eyes, a raspy, “what?” escaping his lips. For a brief moment, you’re sad that you don’t have enough time to appreciate the sight, the sound of his morning voice. You shake it off quickly, though. You push him again, urging him out of your bed.
“Babe, it’s 5:30 a.m.,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. You’re both too tired to address the pet name. At least that’s what you’re telling yourselves.
“Oh, shit. I’m gonna be late for work,” he scrambles off the bed. You take a moment to admire his naked frame in the sunlight as he gathers his clothing.
“Me too,” you say, lunging off the bed yourself. “It’s my first day on a new job, I’m running more behind than I’d like to be right now.” You’re running around your room like a chicken with her head cut off, grabbing your towels and rushing to the ensuite bathroom.
You can’t help but give him one last peck on the lips. This, incidentally, led to two, three, four more. Lastly, one that lingers longer than it should. One long enough for him to graze his hand along your bare arm. You shiver. Your thin bedsheet is the only fabric separating your bare body to his fully clothed one.
You pull away, taking a step back. You release a deep breath as you take him in once more before you leave.
“Feel free to make some coffee on your way out! Cups are in the cupboard above the coffee pot! Thanks for last night!” You call, before slamming the bathroom door on him, running the shower.

Miraculously, you managed to make it at an appropriate time. You park in the FBI car park at 6:45 on the dot. You lean back in your seat, taking a deep breath and a sip of coffee. Finally, you reapply your lip gloss before you turn off your car.
Your heels echo through the hallway leading towards the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You’d always told yourself you would never follow in the steps of your father. And yet, here you are. Each step you take feels as if you’re walking in a giant’s footsteps. You pray you’ll make him proud.
The FBI seal on the door looms over you, unable to keep its claws out of the Gideon lineage. You’re frozen there, stuck staring at it, unable to enter. That is, until you hear your name from behind you. The voice is familiar, too familiar. Your stomach drops.
You whip your head around, coming face to face with-
“Spencer,” you breathe, the air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him.
His hair is slightly damp, falling in front of his eye. There’s static in your ears, a faint ringing torturing you. Panic swells in your stomach, bubbling, boiling. And then it hits you.
Spencer. Spencer Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid.
“You worked with my dad,” you whispered. It’s all you can manage. Your voice still cracks.
“Your dad?” His brow furrows. He studies your face. His eyes scan up and down, desperation taking over. You can basically hear them asking, begging, “Who are you?”You’re still frozen, unable to speak.
Then, it hits him. You know, because he’s found the exact parts of you that resemble your father, his mentor. Your dark eyes, the slant in your nose, the curve of your mouth. The very mouth that was on his just hours ago.
“Oh, God,” he gasps. You turn, walking into the office. All you hear is static as you move, your heart pounding in your ears as you fake a smile through your introductions.
You move throughout your day as easily as you can. The rest of the team is incredibly kind, welcoming. The work starts almost immediately, which you’re thankful for. Like father, like daughter, you suppose. Yet, you can’t escape Spencer, looming over you like an inescapable shadow.
He hasn’t spoken to you since your interaction outside the door, but you feel his eyes on you the whole day. When you speak to the team, when you analyze a document, he’s there. Watching. You feel his eyes creep up your spine, their penetrative gaze lodging deep in your chest. Your heart squeezes each time he walks past you without recognition. The cold shoulder lasts through the rest of the day.
You’re conflicted, your heart at war with your mind. The Spencer you met in the bar last night is nothing like the image you’d created of him in your head years prior. He’s kind, funny, interesting, not because of, but in spite of his accolades and achievements. He’s someone you could fall for. At least, you thought so before seeing him today.
You were young when your dad took Spencer under his wing. You’d never met him, then, just seen a few pictures and heard endless stories. You always felt in his shadow, though. The way your father’s eyes lit up when he spoke about him, the excitement lacing his tone, it was all reserved solely for Spencer Reid.
You’d cry yourself to sleep some nights, desperate to do something, anything as worthwhile in the eyes of your father. You never did. He loved you, of course, and he was proud of you. Yet, nothing ever measured up to his pride and love for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, for Spencer.

As the weeks went by, Spencer couldn’t help but find himself pulling further and further away from her. It’s an anchor on his heart, weighing it down more and more each day. Everything inside him, his soul, his heart, screams to be near her, to hold her, to have her every night the way he did that first one. His mind, though, is an entirely different story.
His mind pumps the brakes, waging a civil war inside him that he won’t be able to win. He’s terrified. Terrified of being left the same way her father did, though he knows in his heart he can’t blame her for his faults. His mind once again holds him back, though. It’s funny that what’s supposed to be his greatest strength can also be his biggest enemy. He reconciled with that a lot when he was behind bars, yet another reason he’s apprehensive of opening up to her. So, he stays away.
Now, Spencer buzzes through the bullpen, coffee in hand as the team rushes to the conference room. He’s stuck behind her, of course. The floral scent of her perfume infiltrates him, threatening a shutdown of his central nervous system. His heart constricts as he watches her, her snug blouse cinching her waist, the tight pencil skirt it’s tucked into rendering him nearly brainless. He sips his coffee, eyes diverting.
He hasn’t spoken to her much in the month she’s been here, though not from a lack of desire. Quite the opposite, actually. His heart is fighting something. Something deep inside him from before he went to prison, before Gideon even left the bureau. Her relation to his former mentor has shifted his world on a different axis, like life is moving in reverse.
With his luck, the only seat left is the one directly across from her, the shine of her lip gloss inescapable. He tries his best to focus as Penelope debriefs them on a triple homicide in Texas, though something peculiar piques his interest. He sees it through the window, someone delivering an envelope on her desk. It’s a black envelope, not anything that would be used for official government business. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stands. The entire team looks at him.
“I need to go check on something,” he murmurs, but before he leaves, he taps her lightly on the shoulder. “You need to come with me,” he says lowly, so only she can hear.
She stands, hesitantly, offering the team a sheepish, apologetic smile. He suppresses a soft chuckle at that. She’s a Gideon, for Christ’s sake. She could show up late for a year straight and they’d thank her just for showing up. He pushes that thought away as he leads her to her desk.
“There was something that was dropped off on your desk just now,” he murmurs into her ear. “It was weird, I have a hunch. I just think you need to look at it before it’s too late.”
“Too late? Spencer-” she stops, her eyes going wide once she sees the envelope. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her fingers covering her mouth.
“What? What is it?” Spencer asks, his pulse speeding up.
“My father received letters in these exact same envelopes in the months before he died,” she looks at him, eyes wild and glossy, laced with deep seated fear.
Meet me at the park at 2:30 p.m. You know which one. Don’t be late.
Spencer races back to the conference room, the letter gripped tightly in his fingers. He lays it out on the table for the team, their brows quirking.
“This was left on her desk. She said her dad received ones just like it in the months before his murder.” It’s all he needs to say before the team scrambles out of the conference room. Penelope’s already on the phone with the case director, forwarding them a new unit for their case. Rossi, Emily, and J.J. are scanning for a return address,
Spencer exits the conference room to see her holstering her gun, fitting her badge in her back pocket.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks her, a tentative hand out in front of him.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she snaps, and he flinches at her tone.
Regret flashes in her eyes, only for a brief moment.
“There’s no way in hell you’re going to that park,” he insists with a shake of his head.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was someone you were interested in at all. What’s it to you that I’m fighting for myself when I couldn’t for my father?” Her voice shakes on the last word, his heart cracking at the sound.
“I know I’ve been…distant,” he mutters, his voice low, “but you need to think about the implications of what you’re doing.”
“Distant? That’s what you want to call it?” She scoffs, moving to follow the rest of the team. “I’ve thought about the implications of these letters since the day my father was killed. You may have been his golden boy, but I’m his blood.” She sneers in his face, before leaving with the team.
His heart plummets, dropping into his stomach like a brick in the ocean. He plows ten fingers through his hair before bringing the letter to Penelope’s office. They have some analyzing to do.

The car ride is silent as you drive. You knew what park they were referring to immediately. It’s the one your father took you to when you were a baby. You stare out the window, mind and body numb to the reality of what’s happening.
“Hey Emily,” your voice is low, tentative. “Did my dad ever talk about me?” You inhale shakily, not sure if you want the answer. You couldn’t help asking, regardless.
“Oh, yeah he did,” she has a soft smile on her face, and it melts something frozen inside you.
You let out an exhale of relief. “Really?” You ask, disbelieving.
“Really. He wasn’t a typical parent, not one to show off accolades or achievements, though we know you had tons of those,” she states, and you smile softly. “What he did show us were glimpses into his life with you.”
You furrow your brow at this, unsure of her point. She looks at you, then smiles, turning her attention back to the road.
“He’d bring you up in random conversation, when we’d work on paperwork, when he was interviewing families…‘Oh, my daughter loves that show,’ or, ‘my daughter loves the color pink.’ Any chance he had, he’d mention it. At a certain point, I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. It just happened.”
You didn’t even realize your eyes were glossing over until a lone tear rolls down your cheek. You swipe it away with your fingers, clearing your throat and looking down at your lap.
“Thank you,” you croak. Emily nods.
It doesn’t take long until you reach the park, each member of the team splitting up in various directions. You’re with Emily, on strict orders to stay near any member of the team. You feel something, though. Something deep down that’s not right, that the team is headed in the wrong direction.
You entered the park at the south entrance, the opposite side from where your father would take you. You scan the premises, your breath catching. It’s mainly families, some couples enjoying a walk or a picnic. It’s peaceful. Guilt boils in the pit of your stomach at the thought of disturbing these people. The job is the job, as your father would always say.
It takes a split second for you to make a decision the entire team will have your head for. You break off from the group, sneaking off to a backwoods trail you would hike with your father. It’ll get you to the other side of the park, the side you need to be. You know you should include the team in this decision, that you’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way. This feels so personal, so vulnerable, though, that your feet are moving before your mind can catch up to your body.
It doesn’t take long for Emily to notice you’ve gone, as you can hear her muffled “shit!” come from behind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you pause, waiting for her to pass by to continue your route.
The trail leads you to the other side, just as it always did, and it doesn’t take long for you to see him. Growing up in the shadow of your father means you know everything there is to know about psychoanalysis. This includes how to spot an unsub. It’s almost too easy at this point, like chess to their checkers.
You exit the trail, the unsub clocking you almost immediately. He cocks his gun, pointing it right at you. You holster yours, holding your hands up in surrender.
“I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk,” you say, voice calm and collected.
“I refuse to talk to a Gideon,” he spits your name. It’s venomous, vengeful. So it is personal.
“Okay, then pretend I’m not a Gideon. Pretend I’m someone who just wants to have a conversation,” you say. You move closer, despite your better judgement.
“Do you think I’m stupid?!” He grits out, aggravation evident in his tone. People around are starting to notice, to flee. You put yourself between him and any other pedestrians still at the park.
“God, you look just like him!” He sounds pained as he says it, like it almost hurts.
He lunges at you, then. Before your body can react, his forearm is held tight against your throat, the gun pressed to your temple. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, as your eyes frantically search for anything they can find.
Then, you spot it. It’s tiny, you could’ve easily missed it. D.M. Small, stark letters tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Your breath catches in your throat when it sinks in.
“Your dad killed my father,” you say. It’s strained as you fight for breath.
“What?” The man says, gripping you tighter.
“D.M. On your wrist. Donnie Mallick. He killed my father,” you breathe, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead. The man pauses, lowering the gun from your head. He’s distracted. Now’s your chance.
You make quick work of gripping the gun, stomping on his foot with your heel to get him to let go of the weapon. His arms collide with your middle, knocking you to the ground. Your knee strikes his gut, and he keels into you. You watch as his arm winds back, gearing up to deliver a severe punch. You wiggle around, bracing yourself for impact.
“I have to finish what he started.”
It’s the last thing you hear before his weight is taken off you completely. You turn to see Spencer on top of him, cuffing his hands behind his back. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the adrenaline mixing with the utter shock of seeing Spencer take down an unsub like that, of seeing Spencer at all. He hands him off to Rossi and makes quick work moving to you.
You dust yourself off, standing on shaky ground. You look at Spencer, only a few feet away, but it feels like oceans. You’re both breathing deep, his chest mirroring your own heaving. You watch as he takes long strides, his hands gripping your face before pulling your lips to his.
He kisses you like you’re Penelope and he’s Odysseus, reunited after 10 years apart. In a way, you feel like you have been. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He deepens the kiss, his lips covering yours almost entirely. His hands find the small of your back, hoisting you closer. He pulls back for air. You can’t help but chase his lips. He gives you one more peck before pulling you back into his chest.
“You really shouldn’t sneak off alone like that,” he breathes. You laugh against him, squeezing him tighter.

The ride back to the bureau with Spencer is quiet. Not tense, but a comfortable silence that falls over you two like a soft blanket. Your brow quirks when Spencer veers to the right, 2 blocks from the office.
“Spencer, you’re going the wrong way,” you breathe out, knowing deep down there’s no possible way he made this mistake unintentionally.
“No, I’m not. You’ll see,” there’s a small smile on his face. You settle back into your seat.
A swarm of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach as he pulls into an all-too-familiar parking lot. The red and white neon sign frames the car in the late sunset. ‘Buddy’s 24H Diner. Best Milkshakes In Town!’ A tear sneaks its way down your cheek before you can stop it.
“My dad used to take me here all the time,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only place he liked that he could take me to after cases.”
“I know,” he smiles. “Let’s go.”
You’re seated in the corner booth, the one your dad insisted on every time. Your lips curl around your milkshake straw, fighting for your life to suck out the thick liquid. It’s not lost on you when Spencer’s eyes follow the movement, bringing his own cup to his lips.
“I’ve been having a hard time, having you on the team,” Spencer mutters. Your heart sinks.
“Oh?” You attempt to remain as calm as possible. “Why’s that?”
He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Your heart picks up in speed, thrumming in your ears.
“I was such a different person when Gideon was in my life. I don’t think I was prepared for another one to enter,” he takes a bite of his burger, chewing before continuing. “Since I got out of prison, I’ve been so desperate to put my old life behind me. You joining the team has forced me to admit that life doesn’t work that way.”
You pop a fry into your mouth, chewing on that and what he said.
“Why were you in prison?” You ask, feeling a slight tinge of regret at the way he flinches.
“I was framed by an unsub. She had someone on the outside,” his voice is clipped. You count yourself lucky for getting even this much information.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter. He shrugs.
“It’s just…thinking about the me I was when I worked with your father…” he trails off, eyes darting out the window. “I was so different. So naive. I had no idea what this job would do to me. So, when I saw you on your first day, it was like all these pieces of my life were colliding. I wasn’t ready for it. I froze. It’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you these past few weeks, and I’ll do everything and anything to make it up to you. I’m sorry,” he finishes with a deep exhale.
“I had a hard time, too,” you mutter, his eyes shooting up to you.
“With what?” He breathes.
“Reconciling my feelings for the great Dr. Spencer Reid.” His brow quirks in confusion. “You’re not the only one with a past life, y’know?” Your voice is sarcastic, but kind all the same.
“You may have only heard about me in passing, but my dad…God, he worshipped you. You were all he talked about most days. I was young. I felt inadequate. When I found out that was the man I ended up sleeping with, I…retreated. I couldn’t make peace with it either,” you utter, a shaky exhale following.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes going soft.
You reach across the table, holding his hand in yours.
“Thank you for the apology, Spencer. It’s okay. How could you have known?” your eyes gleam, the emotion palpable between you two. “Expect to be put through the ringer, though. You said everything and anything, I’m holding you to that.” You point a fry at him in a threatening manner. He smiles.
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” God, his smile is pretty.
“So…” you trail off, flirtation lacing your tone. “What was that kiss back there? You weren’t even supposed to be in the field.”
He avoids eye contact again, fighting back a smile.
“When someone I care about that much risks her life for a case, I’ll find a way to get there. No matter what.” His voice is low, warm. A shiver unzips your spine.
“I’m glad you did,” you smile.

Hours tick by, you and Spencer only moving to use the restroom. It’s like you’re catching up on all the dates you could have had in one night. You’re not complaining.
Each new fact you learn about Spencer makes your heart swell. His pain, his joy, his work. You want to swim in his memories until you’re laced in all of them.
You talked about your dad, about your work at the History Center, and how it led you to the bureau.
“Emily sweet talked me into it. I don’t know how anyone can say no to her,” you chuckle, sipping what must be your fourth cup of coffee.
It’s pitch black out now, the diner nearly empty. Your eyes began to feel heavy hours ago. You still haven’t moved. You can tell Spencer’s tired, too. The bags under his eyes are prominent, darker than usual.
Speak of the devil, both your phones buzz with an alert from your unit chief.
Emily: I know you’ve been at that diner all night. Go home and go to bed, you psychopaths.
You look at Spencer, brow raised. “My place?”
“Let’s do it,” Spencer smiles.
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OH THIS WAS SO CUTE
I LIVE FOR DAD SPENCER
when the night ends | s.r.
in which your teenage daughter doesn't come home after prom
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: underage drinking, missing child, protective parents, prom, drunk driving. word count: 3.46k a/n: i hope u like dad!spencer because i have lotssss of him coming
You startled yourself awake, turning over from where you had fallen asleep on the couch, your eyes snapped open before you had the opportunity to topple over. Sitting up, you looked over to the recliner. In it, your eldest daughter was curled in a ball, sound asleep, just as you had been moments ago.
Slowly, you dragged your hands down your face, the show you’d been watching together still playing on the television while you checked the time on the cable box below.
Your heart dropped to your stomach when your eyes cleared enough to read the clock. It was nearly midnight, and you’d fallen asleep waiting for your younger daughter to get home from her school dance. She hadn’t woken you up on her way in, so you wrapped your arms around yourself while you made your way upstairs to her bedroom.
While your intentions had been to make sure she got to bed safely, you felt sick to your stomach at the sight you were met with. Her room was just the way she left it, your sixteen year old, while usually neat as a pin, had been so excited getting ready for prom that makeup and earrings were strewn around her room. Her lamp was still on at her desk, which had been transformed into a vanity for the event, and Olivia was nowhere to be seen.
“Spence?” You called out softly, not wanting to wake Finn, who you knew was asleep in his bed. You wondered if your husband was still awake, laying in bed reading, or if he too had succumbed to sleep. Your chest ached when you opened the door, finding him asleep with his reading light on. Part of you had hoped you’d find Olivia in there, gravitating to her favorite person to debrief with, likely so she’d have everything fully processed before breakfast. “Spencer,” you echoed, this time a bit louder, knowing you’d have to wake him up.
For better or for worse, Spencer was a light sleeper. Years spent in the BAU had trained him to wake up at the slightest of noises, and it wasn’t a skill that was easy to unlearn. He started to wake up after the second time you called his name, propping himself up on his hands and tilting his head. It took him less than a minute to remember, frowning at you and peeking out into the hallway, “Liv?”
Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “She’s not here.” You said, watching him stumble out of bed with an urgency you rarely saw from him—the last time would’ve been when Finn hit his head after falling out of a tree. You were fairly certain Spencer had never run so fast before.
As fate would have it, Spencer had more experience with these situations than you did, so you followed his lead, trailing behind him while he made his way downstairs. “Where’s my phone?” He asked, patting the empty pockets of his pajama pants while he prowled the kitchen for the little black box.
You glanced around the room, eyes skimming for any sign of a phone—yours or his. “Who are we calling?” The question was simple enough, you wanted to know who the first line of defense was in this instance.
He frowned, finding his phone exactly where it should’ve been, sitting on the charger and opening it. “Emily,” he answered, having already made up his mind.
Doubtful, you reached a tentative hand out and placed it on his wrist, stopping him in his frantic typing. “Shouldn’t we try to call Liv first?”
Spencer’s shoulder’s slackened, arms falling limply when he nodded once. Your husband switched modes, opening the favorites tab on his contacts and calling your daughter. While the call went out, he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers before removing the phone from his ear and frowning at the screen. “Straight to voicemail,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He lifted his chin to look over at you, his eyes finding something else over your shoulder.
Looking behind you, you saw Nell standing nervously, her hair mussed on one side of her head while she teetered on the heels of her feet, glancing between her parents. The commotion had likely roused her from her spot on the recliner. She didn’t speak, waiting impatiently for someone to tell her what was going on.
Considering your options, you looked at her phone, practically an attachment of herself, “Can you find your sister’s phone with yours?”
Solemnly, Eleanor shook her head, “Not if your call went straight to voicemail. That means her phone’s probably dead.”
“Probably?” Spencer asked doubtfully, he hoped for further explanation from your teenager, but you were already moving on to next steps.
Nell shrugged helplessly, “Her phone is either off or dead, which is why it went to voicemail. Livvy wouldn’t turn her phone off for anything while she was out, she knows it’d freak you guys out.” Your daughter pursed her lips, “So it’s probably dead, or…”
You bristled at the way her voice trailed off. “Or what?” Spencer asked, trying not to project his frustration onto your nineteen year old.
“Or the phone’s broken,” you continued for her, watching your husband warily as you broke the news to him. “Nell, can you go on your phone and look at any social media site where you can talk to someone?”
Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Livvy doesn’t use social media.”
Nodding, you turned back to face him, “But her friends do, all of the kids she went with have probably been on social media all night long posting pictures with the location tags on.”
“Should I go get Finn?” Nell asked from her perch on the recliner, wondering aloud if her little brother should be involved in this search.
In complete synchronicity, you and Spencer both answer, “No.” Finn was cranky enough in the morning, waking him up at midnight was a sure way to make everyone’s lives miserable tomorrow. “We need to figure out what we’re dealing with first…” You watched Spencer dial a number on his phone, “Who are you calling now?”
Your husband lifted the phone to his ear, “Penelope… if anyone can find a phone while it’s off…”
“It’s her,” you finished for him, nodding assuredly before turning around to look for your phone. You made your way over to the couch, stumbling slightly and using the armrest for support.
Phone in hand, Eleanor watched you with concern, “Mom?”
Shaking your head, you dismissed her concern, pulling the blanket off of the couch and jostling it in the air in hopes that your phone would fall out of the bundle of fleece. You looked down at the couch, tossing the blanket onto the floor while you looked for your phone, breath hitching when you heard it start to ring.
You fished the phone out from between the cushions and checked the contact that was illuminating the screen. It was an unknown number, but you answered anyways, not willing to take any chances. Lifting your phone to your ear, you spoke first, “Livvy?”
The other end of the call was silent, but you weren’t going to be the one to hang up. You waited, listening to the wind blow on the other end of the call. There was a dark pit in your chest at that moment, a horrified part of you thought a stranger was going to start speaking to you about your daughter. Both Spencer and Nell were giving you their undivided attention.
Taking a deep breath, you almost said her name again, tears pricking along your lashline while you tried not to break down. Ever since you had kids, this had been your worst nightmare, one of them not coming home at the end of the day, and now it was your reality—you just didn’t know why.
“Mommy?” A timid voice came through the call, and you sat down on the couch, sinking down into the cushion while fear and confusion and relief spun through your body quickly enough to give you vertigo.
You looked up to meet Spencer’s eyes, hoping to signal him to your relief, “Where are you? Whose phone are you using?” She’d called you by a name none of your kids had used in years, and it sent you into even more worry.
A small sniffle came from your daughter, and your previously heavy heart broke at the sound of her misery, “Uh, I walked to school after the dance. They still have a payphone.”
Confused, you tried to recall the plans that she’d laid out for you in the midst of begging for permission to attend the senior prom, and there was never any information about walking anywhere. “Maya’s mom was supposed to drive you home,” you reminded her, getting up from the couch while Spencer gathered the car keys from a dish in the entryway.
“But…” Liv’s voice trailed off, “I know. I’m sorry. I was gonna walk the rest of the way home but my phone died-”
“You’re not walking home,” You interrupted her, pulling out your mom voice. “You’re going to stay put at school and dad and I are going to come get you. Here, talk to your sister for a second,” you quickly handed off your phone to Nell, surprising her for a moment before she took the phone and talked to her little sister.
You went to the stairs, holding up a hand so Spencer would wait for you while you went to Liv’s room. “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, following you upstairs, growing anxious with every passing moment.
Rummaging through her closet, you sighed at his impatience, “Grabbing a hoodie, it’s chilly outside.” While you fought with a hanger, you nodded at the floor, “We should take her flip flops with us.”
“Why?” Spencer asked, appalled at your suggestion.
Glaring at him, you pointed to the floor again, “She’s been walking around in heels all night. Trust me, she’ll be grateful for the flip flops.”
Taking your word for it, Spencer crouched to the floor to grab her shoes, “Okay, let’s go.”
By the time you took your phone back from Nell and got in the car, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car. Your brain was still moving a mile a minute, but with Olivia sitting on the other end of the phone call, neither of you could say what you were really thinking. It would have to wait until all of your kids were under the same roof again.
Your husband was similarly tense, his jaw tight while he spoke with your daughter, but the concern never left his eyes, a small part of him wondering if you’d make it to Liv before someone else got there. Silently, he reached a hand over, setting it on your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze before he spoke, “We’re here, Liv.” Spencer moved his hand, using it to unbuckle his seatbelt while you followed suit. “Stay on the phone, we’ll come to you.”
Liv was quiet on the other end of the call, the occasional forlorn sigh being the only sign of life from the teenager.
“Liv!” You called out, nearing the corner where you were pretty sure the payphone was located. You turned the corner, and sure enough, Livvy was sitting on the pavement. Her dress was in a pool of lavender chiffon on the sidewalk, and when she noticed her parents approaching her, she looked horrified.
As you got closer, you could see her face in the dim school lighting, her brown eyes were bleary with tears. Eyes bloodshot in a way that could only be produced by a high school dance gone wrong.
Waiting to speak, you sat down next to her while Spencer tenderly took the payphone from her hands, returning it to the hook before sitting down on the side opposite of you. “Are you hurt?” Spencer asked, the first in a barrage of questions that the three of you had seen coming from a mile away.
She shook her head miserably, strands of hair falling from her meticulous updo while she avoided looking at both of you, “No.”
Unraveling the hoodie from your lap, you draped the cotton over her shoulders, wanting to warm her up after sitting outside for who knows how long. As you made sure her arms were covered and rubbed her arms up and down, you faltered when she started to trembled, shuddering back a sob when you put your arms around her. “It’s okay, lovey. We’re here,” you reassured her, smiling when Spencer pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“Maya wanted to leave early,” she cried, pulling away from you so she could put her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. “I went with her because I thought she’d have her mom pick us up from wherever we went, but she wanted to go hang out with a bunch of seniors.”
You nodded, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear while she explained herself, “You should’ve told us Liv.” You weren’t berating her, there would be plenty of time for consequences tomorrow, but right now she only needed comfort.
She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her face, cringing at the makeup that came off on the cuff, “One of the seniors asked me to come, and I wondered… I thought maybe he liked me.”
Spencer bristled at her answer, but one glare from you got him to relax his shoulders, “It’s okay, Liv,” he murmured to her. “It’s okay to want to be liked, you know?”
Her father understood her in ways you’d never be able to. He was the one who had to sit her down both times and discuss the opportunity to skip grades, explaining to her that graduating at sixteen was an option, but she didn’t have to take it. She’d left all of her friends behind in the process, and as time went by, invitations slowed, kids couldn’t reach out when she went to high school without them. The students in her own grade weren’t interested in being friends with someone so young, leaving Olivia ostracized from her own age and her own grade. It helped that Eleanor was just one grade above her, keeping an eye out for her little sister, but with Nell off at school this past year, senior year was hard for Liv.
“I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve just stayed at prom,” Livvy insisted. “I’m supposed to be the smart one.”
Your eyebrows raised in alarm, sharing a look with your husband before asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Livvy shook her head dismissively, “Nell’s the oldest, and Finn’s the youngest and the only boy. I’m supposed to be the smart one. That’s my niche. I don’t have anything else.”
“You have plenty,” you insisted, nudging her leg with yours.
Your daughter looked dubious, but intrigued, “Like what?”
Before you had the chance to list off one of her many positive attributes, Spencer answered for you, “You were the only planned baby.”
“Spencer,” you sighed, hanging your head in exasperation. You took a deep breath to chide him, but bit your tongue at the realization that he’d gotten Olivia to giggle—likely his plan all along.
The three of you sat in silence for a moment, and before you got to ask if she wanted to go home, Liv spoke up again, “We went to a park down the road, and one of the guys brought beers. I didn’t…” Her voice trailed off, nipped by nerves while she tried to explain the sequence of events from the evening. “I didn’t think about it until everyone got back in the car and they asked me to give directions home.”
You hummed softly, “They were going to drive drunk.”
Olivia nodded, confirming your assumption. “I asked them to wait a little while before driving, but one of the guys’ girlfriends called and wanted them to pick her up. So, they kicked me out of the car and left anyway.”
“Why didn’t you offer to drive instead?” Spencer asked, ever the logical thinker.
She was silent, staring blankly at the pavement while you figured out the answer on your own, “You were drinking too.”
Your daughter nodded miserably, more tears streaming down her face, “And it was gross! I don’t understand why people drink that stuff.”
You stifled your laughter, knowing she was probably drinking cheap beer that had been sitting in the trunk of a kids car all night, “Are you feeling okay?”
Shrugging, Liv wiped her face again, “I haven’t puked, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Look at it this way, you’re doing better than your sister the first night after we dropped her off at school,” Spencer consoled her, choosing to be lighthearted, but you both knew what he had to do next. “What kind of car are they driving?”
“John’s mom’s old Pacifica,” Olivia answered, propping her chin up on her knees while Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket. Her eyes widened in fear, “What are you doing?”
Spencer sighed, “I have to call and let someone know that they’re out right now.”
“Dad, no!” Liv begged, tears welling in the eyes that he’d passed down to her. She watched in terror as Spencer stood up and typed a number in his phone. “You can’t. Please. They’ll never talk to me again.”
It wasn’t something he wanted to do, per se, but rather it was something he felt duty bound to do. “Honey, they could hurt someone while they’re out driving under the influence. They could hurt themselves. That’s the reason you let them kick you out of the car, isn’t it?”
The teenager faltered, running into a wall when she opened her mouth to rebut. “Mom,” Olivia begged, hoping you’d talk some sense into your husband, but he was making perfect sense.
“Baby, would you rather they never speak to you again or would you rather hear about something happening on the news tomorrow?” You tried to reason with her, letting her rest her head on your shoulder while Spencer hit the call button on your phone.
Spencer walked out of hearing distance while he spoke on the phone, probably to an old contact from the past. The two of you watched him talk while staying seated on the floor, “Nell said you wouldn’t be mad.”
“We aren’t,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “We were worried. Dad was ready to call the BAU in when we realized you weren’t at home,” you told her, watching a shy smile bloom on her face. “I hope you know this doesn’t change anything. We’re still so proud of you, Liv.”
She sniffled softly, “I’m sorry. I was so stupid,” she said mournfully. “I’ll never be that stupid again.”
You hummed, “You were never stupid.”
“Then what would you call it?” She asked, her natural curiosity peaked.
Squeezing her shoulder, your eyes followed Spencer as he made his way back over to you. “Being sixteen,” you answered, and that reasoning was enough for you.
Her father crouched in front of her, gently resting a hand on her knee while he smiled at her. He smiled at her the way he had since the day they first met, “You know I love you, right?”
Nervously, Liv nodded, “Yeah.”
“I know it’s hard to go through school feeling like no one wants to be your friend, and I know how nice it is when someone finally extends that olive branch,” he consoled her. “Someday, these kids might thank you for calling us, and if they don’t, they weren’t worth your time anyway.”
She accepted his hand when he reached out to help her up, letting him pull her into a hug while you rose to your feet, “I just wanted them to like me.”
You smiled, “We like you.”
“You’re my parents,” Olivia countered.
Spencer shrugged, “Your brother and sister like you.”
Your sixteen year old shook her head, “Finn does not like me. He’s just acting like he does because he wants my room when I move out.”
“And he’s not gonna get it,” you reassured her. “You’ll always have a place to come back to, no matter how far away you move.”
Olivia frowned, “Mom, Boston isn’t that far away.”
“To you, maybe,” Spencer interjected, “To us it’s like losing a limb.”
“I think it might be better if you were mad at me,” Olivia suggested, leading the way to the car, groaning at the way you suggested leaving water and Tylenol out on her nightstand.
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god i hate this episode but i love the way he looks
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blushinggggg
𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗜 𝗞𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗜 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗠𝘆 𝗣𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻- 𝗦.𝗥.



Pairing- Spencer Reid x ChildrensLibrarian!Reader
WC- ~1kish
Summary- Spencer finally gets to go out with his dream girl.
Contains- first date fluffy goodness, making out but no explicit smut (18+ regardless, MDNI), not proofread we die like men
A/N- heavily recommend listening to potion by djo while reading this 😇 (also just in general) divider from @thecutestgrotto! Part one can be found here!
Spencer taps his fingers nervously against his thigh, a bouquet of pink peonies in his free arm. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, sizing up her apartment door. His eyes scan from top to bottom, as if it were an unsub he could outsmart. He knows he can’t, and brings a shaky knuckle to the door. He raps on it a few times, his heart pounding in his ears at the sound of her heels clicking through the door.
The door swings open, and it’s like he’s at the gates of Heaven. She’s dressed in all white, a flowing sundress draped around her frame. Early afternoon sunlight trickles in from her window, bathing her in gold like an angel sent to save him from eternal damnation.
“Hi, Spencer,” she breathes out, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. He can’t help but latch on to the way her chest heaves with the movement, greedily drinking in the sight.
A soft giggle spills from her lips, and his eyes snap back up to her. Her glossy lips are curved upward in the most enticing smile, her soft eyes sparkling. His heart clutches. His stomach aches.
“Hi, you look incredible,” he replies, voice low and tender.
She preens at the compliment, and his fate is sealed. He’ll have to spend everyday for the rest of forever getting her to smile like that.
“Thank you,” she replies. It’s bashful, shy, and he can’t help but long to bring her out of that shell, to peel the layers back and get to the core of her. He’s so lost in her, he hasn’t realized he’s missed one key detail. That is, until her gaze shifts to his right arm, the flowers tucked into the crook of his elbow.
“Oh! These are for you,” he hands them over, revelling in that sweet smile once again.
“Thank you, Spencer. They’re beautiful,” she brings the flowers to her nose, closing her eyes and gently inhaling. He wants to paint the sight from memory. “Let me get a vase, you can come in if you’d like!”
Spencer nods, taking a few steps forward into a colorful wonderland. Spools of fabric pile up in the corner, scrapbooking material lay out on the coffee table, books of all shapes and sizes litter the bookcases along the wall. If he were to profile the apartment of a children’s librarian, it’d be hard to imagine a more accurate one than this.
His eyes land on the extravagant picnic basket she’d prepared for the day. He’d insisted on bringing something, but she maintained that he bring nothing but ‘his cute self’. He wasn't sure about that, so he hopes flowers suffice.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. My job kind of requires it,” she jokes, fumbling around for a vase.
“That’s okay. You’re passionate, I think that’s a good thing,” he’s surprising himself, but he really means it. He thought he’d be crawling out of his skin, but it’s not dirty. It’s just lived in, cozy almost.
“Thank you,” that twinkle in her eye sparks again as she cuts the stems, placing them into a green glass vase.
She slings her purse over her shoulder, as Spencer nestles the basket and blanket into the crook of his elbow. As they turn to leave, she holds her hand out for him to take. His stomach twists. He takes it.
“It’s actually really interesting, romantic bonding is driven by our neurotransmitters like dopamine and oxytocin and is influenced by factors such as physical touch,” Spencer presses his lips together.
Embarrassment creeps up his spine, he squeezes his eyes shut. This is typically when girls turn the other way, make up some sort of excuse to leave. She only gets more comfortable, leaning on her forearm, stretching out the length of the picnic blanket.
“Oh yeah?” She wiggles her brows, and butterflies are unleashed in his stomach. She scoots closer, a delicate fingernail grazing along his forearm. “Like this?” He shivers.
The golden sun bathes the two of them in a comforting warmth. He works on his sandwich- an incredible Italian sub concoction- while watching her bask in the daylight. It shines on her like her own natural spotlight. She’s so beautiful, it hurts. He tells her so.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. It's low, he’s desperate not to convey his agony. How can he contain it, though? The prettiest woman he’s ever seen is laid out on a blanket, her angelic dress hugging every curve perfectly.
“You really think so?” She bats her lashes up at him, as if she’s innocent. He scoffs, leaning on his elbow parallel to her.
“Yeah. Yeah, I really do,” he moves closer to her so that their arms are touching. The hairs there stand on end. “I thought so on that first day, I think so now. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
A delicate hand rests on his cheek. He closes his eyes on instinct. “Can I kiss you, Spencer?” Her voice is soft, like she’s afraid to test the waters.
“Please,” he breathes, shakily.
Her lips meet his, and he can almost hear angels singing. She grips on his button up, pulling him closer in a way that singes his insides. He’s hot all over, his skin heating from her touch.
Before he knows it, he’s rolled on his back, a slight ‘oof!’ escaping him at the movement. He opens his eyes to see her above him, her dress flowing around him, billowing in the wind as she swings her thighs on either side of him.
His large hands slide the fabric higher on her hips, resting on her upper thighs. His thumb rubs patterns there. She shivers at the contact. He grows uncomfortably firm in his pants. She gasps, rocking her hips slightly at the feeling.
She leans over him to capture his lips once more. His hands clutch her waist, moving tantalizingly lower, her curves shifting under his touch. She arches her back, pressing her chest into his. The pillowy softness renders him brainless. His hand presses into the arch of her back, ensuring she stays there.
She comes up for air, to his everlasting dismay. Her hair drapes all around him like a waterfall. “We should probably finish our food before we get written up for public indecency,” she breathes against his mouth. He groans in response and she chuckles, moving off of him and grabbing the remains of her sandwich.
She plants one more kiss to his lips before taking a bite. He steals one more, then another. He’ll never get tired of kissing her.
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oh this was soooo cute!!!
𝐈'𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐩- 𝐒.𝐑.



Pairing- Spencer Reid x ChildrensLibrarian!Reader
WC- 4.7k
Summary- Spencer stumbles on an incredibly special story time at the library one day. It changes everything.
Contains- Miss Honey-esque reader, Spencer is a complete and total simp, reader is described with curly hair that can be tucked behind her ears, idiots in love, love-ish at first sight, they keep missing each other until they don't
A/N- heavily recommend listening to potion by djo while reading this 😇 (also just in general) divider from @thecutestgrotto! Blurb of their date can be found here!
Spencer Reid is on a mission. The smoky scent of the local library engulfs him, the earthiness nearly swallowing him whole as the sliding doors part. He’s single minded today, on the hunt for Trediakovsky’s Razgovor ob Ortografii. While the study of the phonetic structure of the Russian language sounds like some light reading to him, his use for it today is much more sinister. The case they’re on is local, a serial killer leaving Russian poems at each crime scene. The letters and words twist in his mind as he tries to make sense of them, of why they were picked, why they were left at certain crime scenes, why-
“Now every year in Africa, they hold the Jungle Dance, where every single animal turns up to skip and prance!” He freezes in his tracks.The softest voice lilts its way in his head, breaking through his swirling sinister speculations. It’s a girl. The prettiest one he’s ever seen. His heart picks up at the sight of her, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes drape over her frame, the way her soft dress flows over it. They nearly roll back in his head once he sees the soft fabric delicately, deliciously, cinch her waist.
She’s reading to a crowd of eager listeners, most of them below the age of seven. She’s able to captivate what could be an incredibly rambunctious group, and that feat alone is enough to stop Spencer in his tracks.
“And this year when the day arrived, poor Gerald felt so sad, because when it came to dancing, he was really very bad,” a soft sadness captivates her voice, prompting a few ‘awww’s from the crowd of littles.
Before Spencer could stop himself, before he knew what he was even doing, he took two steps toward her, lingering gently in the back of the crowd. There’s a voice in the deepest recess of his mind- ‘focus on the case, focus on the book.’ And yet, the only thing he can focus on is the way each word fits around her mouth, her supple lips twisting and turning to capture each word, each nuance.
“The warthogs started waltzing, and the rhinos rock ‘n’ rolled,” she whips her hair slightly, her fingers stretched in a ‘rock on’ sign that encourages fits of giggles from the group. Spencer himself even cracks a smile.
Soon enough, Spencer’s learned all about Gerald- the giraffe who can’t dance- and how he finds his confidence, and how the audience can too! She’s so enthralling, the way her ringlets bounce with each movement, the shine of her lip gloss in the fluorescent light- how can someone look that good in fluorescent lighting? So enthralling, he doesn’t even register how weird it might look that he’s the only childless adult in the group. A fact he should be self conscious of, if it weren’t for the way his heart pounds when he looks at her.
He eventually retreats, pursuing the foreign language section in the world’s most pathetic attempt at nonchalance. Really, he should win an award for stupidity, with the way his eyes find her every 30 seconds, desperate to keep her in his line of sight. Soon enough, a light, floral aroma breaks through the bibliosmia coating the building. He turns, almost flinching at the proximity to her.
“Hi,” she smiles, and he’s a goner. His ever racing mind, the one that couldn’t shut off just moments ago, now rendered completely useless thanks to a sundress and perfume. IQ slashed to 80, as the team likes to say. “You seemed to be very interested in Gerald the dancing giraffe, I can’t help but think these books might be a little bit out of your lexile range, if that’s the case,” she references the stacks of Russian literature they stand before.
He chuckles, a breathless, unbelieving sound forced from his chest. His cheeks tint, a reddish hue overtaking them. He looks at his shoes. “Uhm, yeah. Yeah. I guess that would be the case wouldn’t it?” He makes the mistake of looking back up at her. Their eyes meet. His heart stops.
This must be what dying feels like. He’s dying, isn’t he? He has to be, because there’s no way people feel this way every time they’re attracted to someone. How would anyone get anything done? She giggles then, and it only makes it worse.
“What are you really here for? Let me help you,” she smiles, and he almost keels over at that moment.
“I’m looking for Trediakovsky, Razgovor ob Ortografii,” the Russian flows neatly off his tongue. Her eyes widen, an impressed smile creeping up her lips.
She nods, “Hm, handsome and smart, I’ll have to remember you.” He’s dizzy as he watches her scan through the rows of books- a perfectly manicured finger grazing the spines. He wonders what it’d be like for her to do that down his own spine. He shivers.
“Ah! Here it is!” she plucks it from the shelf, turning to him with an assured smile. “I can only give it to you if you tell me your name.”
A blush creeps up his neck once more, he avoids eye contact. His heart drops when he hears his phone beep in his back pocket. The case. His face goes white as he rips it from his pocket, coming face to face with a message from Derek.
Hello??? We’ve been waiting for 45 minutes. I hope the unsub got you because that’s the only reason I won’t whoop your ass for taking so long.
Spencer’s blush deepens He puts his phone down, coming face to face with her again. Her brows are furrowed this time, a pout on her lips that feels like an anvil on his heart.
“I have to go, I’m so sorry. I’m-um-yeah,” he turns, running off at the speed of light. He leaves the library. Without the book.
20 minutes later, he’s stuck in the passenger seat of the SUV, next to a very disapproving Morgan.
“I mean, you’re literally considered a genius by governmental standards, Reid. I don’t know how you forgot the one thing you needed from this library,” Morgan’s fingers tap against the steering wheel in their own impatient dance.
Spencer’s heart stops as they pull up to the library, the only saving grace of this moment the sheer prospect of being able to see her again. His palms sweat as he walks in behind Derek, who immediately flashes his badge to the older woman at the front desk. Spencer follows suit, and he sees the woman’s eyes light up in a way that says ‘hey, I know you!’
He prays she won’t say anything about his earlier…conversations with her coworker, desperate to keep it from Derek as long as possible. At least until he knows her name. But of course, he’s afforded no such luck.
“Oh, I had a feeling you’d be back! You were looking for the Russian book, yes? The…Trediakovsky?” She pushes up the sleeves of her pink knit cardigan as she moves, maneuvering the tiny space they stand before.
“Ah! Here it is, our lovely children’s librarian dropped it off for you, said you might be coming back for it,” there’s a twinkle in her eye as she says it. Spencer’s face is red as a beet, he can just feel it. “She really is very good, you know. Families come from miles away to hear her read. If either of you have little ones at home, feel free to come see us, tell ‘em Myrtle sent ya,” she winks as she scans the book. Spencer locks his eyes on her movements, even when Morgan glances back at him. Especially when Morgan glances back at him.
Once it’s been checked out, he grabs it from her with a breathy, “thank you,” before rushing off to the parking lot.
He stops with his hand at the car door, frozen in place at the sight of her. She’s toting multiple large bags through the parking lot, arms full of various costumes and fabrics as she attempts to unlock her car. Derek saddles up behind him, lifting his sunglasses. His confused gaze melts into one of petulant understanding, an older brother who found his diary littered with his crush’s name.
“Ahh, now I see why you forgot,” he ruffles his hair before jogging to the other side of the car. “I’d give you a chance to go help her, but your little mistake has now put us back 40 minutes. Get in.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, cheeks heating even more when she turns towards their voices, their eyes connecting. There’s a sparkle in hers, one of kind familiarity that sends his heart into a tailspin. He nods ever so slightly. He gets in the car.
You walk up and down the aisles, browsing the expansive children’s section for this week’s read aloud. Giraffes Can’t Dance was a hit, for more than your usual reasons. You shake that thought from your head, burying the unusual disappointment of not seeing the handsome, illusive stranger since that day. You clocked him the second he walked through the door, frenzied and frantic. You clocked the way he slowed down when he saw you, the small, purposeful steps he took in contrast with the quick pitter pats of his entrance.
His eyes never left you the whole time. While that’s not atypical during your story times, it usually comes from wide-eyed toddlers, not the most handsome being on two legs. His eyes were jet streams, steering gusts of wind right through you, rendering you breathless. You could never forget those brown eyes. It’s making you nearly insane.
You crouch in front of your seasonal display, various titles about the arrival of spring popping out at you. You decide on one of your favorites- There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Frog. You glance at the clock- you have about an hour until the kids begin arriving. You have plenty of time to get into costume. You smooth down the front of your dress, knowing it’ll be covered in one of Myrtle's cardigans in no time.
You situate yourself in the break room, assembling all your necessary materials to get ready for this morning’s read aloud. You fix a grey wig onto your head, along with fake glasses with a chain. You complete your look by adding wrinkles along your face, even going so far as to grab your frog puppet. Puppets are a necessity in a read aloud.
Your heels click their way out to the main lobby, where families have already begun to trickle in. You’re already in character, greeting the kids in a shaky voice, pretending not to recognize your own name.
"You're looking for who? Well, I've never heard of her in my whole life!" You'd insist to fits of giggles.
You eventually make your way over to the chair, frog and book in hand. You’re still waiting for one person in particular, though you know wishing to see him again would be like wishing on a dead star.
Every time you hear the door open, your back straightens just slightly. You’re met with Myrtle’s disappointed shake of the head each time. She’s heard your ramblings all about this mystery man over the past week, and of course is in full support. She even told you she gave your read alouds a shoutout, just so he would come back. You smile at the memory, though your heart sinks at the prospect of him not coming back. It’s agony, not even knowing his name. You could at least have done some internet stalking, but no. The world does not seem to be so kind.
Until it is. Myrtle shoots up, a gleeful ‘hello!’ spilling from her lips. Your heart begins racing, pounding against your ribcage with fervor. You see a familiar head of brown, fluffy hair, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You even forget your ridiculous getup, if only for a moment.
It doesn’t take long for the universe to unleash its cruelty once more, as a blonde woman with two children walks in behind him. Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Of course he’s taken, you think, face burning with humiliation. He wasn’t wearing a ring, so you’d assumed you just got lucky. Clearly not.
The boys are adorable, though it takes everything in you to put a smile on your face. You welcome them in your crotchety grandma voice, despite wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.
His soft chuckle rings in your ears, ricocheting like gunshots. You flinch. His smile drops at that, his eyes studying you in a way that leaves you vulnerable, raw. You can’t help but catch his gaze, silently communicating to this stranger everything he’s made you feel.
Once the kids are all accounted for, you begin your story. For a moment, you disconnect, losing yourself entirely in the story of the old lady who swallowed the frog, the dirt, the seeds, the sunlight. Once the story is finished, you place the book in your lap to thunderous applause.
“Wow! Thanks so much for joining me in that journey, friends!” you exclaim, your grandma voice still entirely intact. “Now, I have a special surprise for you guys,” you wiggle your eyebrows as the kids anticipatingly lean forward.
You reach behind you, grabbing seeds for various plants- marigolds, sunflowers, lettuce, and beans. “We are going to plant some seeds, just like my friend here swallowed!” You point to the old lady on the cover of the book. “We are going to be the first planters in our new community garden here at the library!”
The kids take immediate gratification in this activity, racing to get their own pouch of seeds to plant. You line them up in an orderly fashion, your mystery man front and center- of course- before leading them out to their own section of the garden. You walk up and down the patch of grass your boss so gracefully granted you for this project, a smile wide on your face.
That is, until you bump into him. You stop abruptly, face heating as his gorgeous brown eyes bore into yours. Your heart shutters against your chest, completely ignoring the blonde woman behind him with two kids.
“Oh!” You gasp. “Uhm-hello, I- I didn’t think I’d see you again. It’s good to have you here, with the whole family!” There’s an airy lilt to your voice, disingenuous in every way possible. He sees right through it, you can tell by the light chuckle, followed by the realization dawning on his raised brow, his wide eyes.
“Oh! Oh, no-I uhm, this is my-” he clears his throat, gesturing to the woman and children behind him. “This is my coworker, and her kids. Her kids with another man-uhm-not with me. I’m just the godfather.”
His face is beet red. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. You smile gently at his awkwardness, thankful you’re not the only one feeling vulnerable seeing him again.
“Hi, I’m Jennifer,” the blonde says, shaking your hand and wiggling her way in between you two.
“Jennifer, hi,” you smile, breathing out your own name in return.
“And these are my two boys, Henry and Michael!” She scoops up the youngest one, and you absolutely melt. They’re both the picture of sweetness, big blue eyes and chubby cheeks that won’t quit. They excitedly wave hello and you crouch down to meet the older one at eye level.
“Well, hello!” You chirp. “How are you? It’s so nice to meet you!” He’s shy, you can tell by the way his cheek meets his shoulder, the bashful look in his eye.
“I liked your story,” he mumbles. Your heart is a puddle in your chest. Those four words are music to your ears, the reason you show up day in and day out.
“I’m so glad! Have you gotten the chance to plant anything yet, Henry?” You ask, and he nods fervently.
“I planted marigolds with my brudder!” He exclaims, grabbing your hand to show you his hard work.
“Wow! Look at you two!” You exclaim, turning back to include the little one in his mom’s arms. Though, when you do turn, you freeze at the big, brown eyes still trained on you. His gaze is sparkling, full of light and adoration that make you feel fuzzy inside. Your stomach is a butterfly garden, rendering you lovesick and dizzy.
You finch at the sharp beep of a cell phone, Jennfier reaching in her back pocket with her free hand. She groans, and your heart drops.
“Spencer, we gotta go,” she whispers, though you catch his name and cling onto it for dear life.
Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.
His face falls, yours with it. You mirror each other’s regret, a sad smile forming on your face as the boys cling to you in deep goodbye hugs.
“Thank you very much for your hard work,” Jennifer says. “Hopefully, we’ll be back, godfather included.” Her tone is playful, her brows wiggling as she glances in between you and Spencer. Spencer.
The jet engine rumbles as the team settles in after another successful case. Spencer’s already made himself comfortable, curled up on the couch, desperate to think of anything other than the pretty librarian mind controlling him. He’s leaning into dramatics, this he knows. His forearm draped over his eyes, his free one limp at his side. He’s sure he looks like something out of Madame Bovary. The fabric of her dress swishing around in his mind renders him unable to care.
That is, until he feels a rustling of his hair. He peeks over his arm to see J.J. and Derek, watching him with knowing smiles on their faces.
“You guys look like the unsub we just caught,” Spencer muffles out, pride singed at their intentional, teasing gazes.
“Maybe…” Derek trails, “or maybe we just want to support you. Ever thought about that?”
This causes Spencer to sit up. Derek’s hardly ever this nice to him without a catch. He loves him for it, the way a brother would, but it doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing.
“What could you possibly want to help me with?” Spencer mutters. He knows playing dumb is useless, but he’s not sure he’s ready to face the reality of his rapid heart, his swirling thoughts.
“I don’t know…maybe a girl…” J.J. trails, and he’s a goner. “Maybe she works at the library, is great with kids, someone you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.”
He stands at that, walking to the other side of the jet. Their playful scoffs and footsteps follow behind him.
“Oh, come on, man! There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush!” Derek teases, nudging his shoulder with his. Spencer plows ten fingers through his hair before sitting in a corner seat.
“Aah, Boy Genius has a crush, eh?” Dave chimes in, turning in his chair to get a better look at the scene unfolding.
“Ohh, is that why you forgot that Russian book the other week? I thought there was something up with you, I just never guessed it’d be a girl!” Emily interjects, a smile spreading on her face.
“I am never talking to you people ever again,” Spencer states plainly, closing his eyes and turning his body away from his team.
“Leave him alone,” he hears Hotch warn. He’s stern as always, but there’s a playful lilt in his tone that has Spencer’s cheeks heating up. Why is he on this team again?
He’s rustled awake a few hours later, surprised that he was able to get some actual shut eye on the jet. He wipes his eyes to see Derek above him. He rolls his eyes, but Derek offers him a hand, helping him up. He claps a hand on his shoulder as they walk out.
“I’m sorry for teasing you, man,” he starts. “It’s not a bad thing to have feelings for someone, y’know? Maybe she likes you back.”
Spencer wrestles with the thought, an activity he’s grown way too accustomed to these past few weeks. He raises a brow at Derek, an unsure, “maybe,” leaving his lips.
Derek gives him two supportive pats before hopping off the jet. “C’mon, I’ll take ya home.”
Spencer’s brow starts to raise as Derek misses several turns, at one point going the exact opposite way of Spencer’s apartment.
“You do know where I live, right?” He asks, confusing lacing each syllable.
“Of course I do, genius,” the sarcasm rolls off Derek's tongue. “I just thought there’s somewhere else you’d rather be right now.”
Realization dawns on him as Derek parks in front of the library. Spencer’s heart drops, his palms immediately clamming up, mind calculating any and all possibilities. What if I smell from the jet? What if I look like I haven’t slept in four days? I mean I haven’t, but…can’t I take a shower first?
Derek must see the reservation on his face. He checks his watch. “From what I can tell, story time starts in about 5 minutes. That’s Will’s car over there,” Derek points out the window to a blue sedan that does in fact belong to the father of his godchildren. “Go get her.”
Invigorated by his words, Spencer darts out of the car, go bag slung over his shoulder. Derek speeds off before he can change his mind, leaving Spencer to cough on the dust. A small smile forms on his face, feeling lucky to be cared for in such a way.
He turns, now intimidated by the large building, glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. He sees her setting up on the first floor. His heart skips a beat.
She’s wearing a new dress today, one he hasn’t seen before, that is. It’s a cream colored, decorated with dainty pink flowers that clutch his heart. The sleeves are puffy, decorating her shoulders as she works hastily to put her finishing touches on the day’s read aloud.
She freezes when she sees him, and it finally dawns on him how much of a creep he must look like, watching her from the window. His cheeks heat up, that panicky feeling pumping through his heart. She smiles and waves. It only makes it worse. He feels as if he could melt into a puddle, right there on the sidewalk. He manages his own smile and wave, and she moves her arm in a ‘come here!’ motion.
It feels like he’s stuck in quicksand, the world slowing down as he enters the building. He’s not sure why, but it feels much more real this time. He’s come for her, and her only. There’s no more pretenses, no more games. It scares the living daylights out of him. He keeps walking, anyway.
He’s greeted by Myrtle, her knowing smile growing bigger as she sees him. He offers her a polite nod, before beelining directly for the children’s area.
“Uncle Spencer!” Two little voices cry out as Henry and Michael wrap themselves around his legs. He feels her eyes snap towards the noise, a pretty smile lining her lips as she watches the scene.
“Hi boys!” He whispers, trying not to cause any more commotion.
He settles in behind the boys, Will giving him a very knowing nod. The small bodies quiet at her request as she opens the book. The Very Hungry Caterpillar rests delicately between her fingers, manicured nails flipping through the pages with ease.
He watches in awe as she reads, the way she’s able to captivate a group of children, the adults, even, the ease with which she switches in and out of her goofy voices. It’s a talent. One that Spencer would do anything to watch behind the scenes. Each fruit and food mentioned gets their own moment, a stuffed apple resting on her lap, bowls of strawberries, grapes, and oranges lining the table next to her as the caterpillar wiggles his way through each food.
By the end, the kids all have sticky faces and fingers, the smiles not leaving their faces. She’s met with raucous applause afterwards, Spencer can’t resist joining in. She rests the book in her lap and leans forward.
“Thank you so much for coming, my friends!” She squeals. “If you planted some seeds last week, we will be going out to the garden to look at our progress! If you didn’t get a chance to, don’t worry! We have plenty of seeds leftover! Please form a quiet line at the door!”
He’s speechless at the way she commands the room, the kids wiggling around each other to get to the front. Spencer laughs at their attempts to be as quiet as possible, all while wanting to be as close as possible to their favorite librarian. He knows the feeling well.
He finds himself back where he was a week before, waiting with Henry and Michael, waiting for her to notice him. Waiting. That pang returns, the one he’s felt these past few weeks. The waiting, the wanting, the longing. It’s almost too much for him to bear as she nears closer, her eyes alight at the work the kids have done. They shine even brighter when she reaches him, her hands clasped to her chest.
“Wow, boys! Look at what you did! You made that! Be proud of yourself!” She’s crouched down at their level, holding her hand up for enthusiastic high fives.
Henry’s nearly knocks her off kilter, but she readjusts on small kitten heels that Spencer has decided are the bane of his existence. They’re cute, pink sandals with a bow at the top. All he can think about is how they’d look at his front door, resting next to his Converse.
He shakes that thought off when her gaze turns to him. By some grace of a higher power, his brain functions enough to offer her a hand. She accepts it as she rises back up, holding onto his hand for just a moment longer than necessary. It’s electric, energy charging through his veins at her touch. It’s static on his heart, electrocuting him and rendering him completely helpless. Helpless to her.
“Hello Spencer, it’s good to see you again,” her voice is small, flirty yet professional. She smooths down the fabric of her dress, her eyes scanning him up and down. He shifts, self consciously, but the small smile on her lips tells him she’s not judging. She never has.
“Oh! Mr. LaMontagne, forgive me, it’s great to see you again,” she jumps, shaking his hand with forgiveness.
Will holds a hand out, nodding his head in understanding. “No worries, doll. This has been a bit of a team effort,” he jokes, referencing between Spencer and her.
“Oh, goodness,” she says, gentle but embarrassed. She tucks her hair behind her ears. Spencer’s officially fallen. Hard. Will nods, moving away to be with the boys.
“So, Spencer…” She trails off, and he can’t help himself.
“Will you go out with me?” Spencer burts. Her face lights up. “We just keep missing each other, and I think you’re incredibly beautiful and so amazing at your job. I just want to get to know you more, if you’ll let me.”His smile is bashful to match hers, his cheeks tinted a bright red.
“That sounds amazing, thank you for thinking of me, Spencer,” her voice is so soft, he could wrap himself in it like a blanket. He breathes out a laugh, as if he could think about anything other than her.
She grabs a pink marker from the pocket of her dress and flips his palm over. He’s once again rendered useless by her touch. He feels some ticklish scribbles, his eyes trained on her the entire time. She looks up at him through her lashes, meeting his gaze. The sight constricts his heart, those eyes gripping it firmly, squeezing for all its worth. He needs a nurse.
“Call me, we’ll set something up,” she mutters lowly, a wink punctuating her words. Spencer nods his head bashfully, heat once again singing his cheeks.
“Yeah, okay. Yeah,” he replies. He gives himself some grace, it’s all his brain can come up with.
He watches her go, eyes trained on her as she continues to work her magic. The way she lights up at each child, finding something new and unique in each of them warms his heart. He smiles, eager for what the future could hold with such a sweet soul.
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crying brb
“you became that little girl in a big house with an angry man” JESUS CHRIST-
felt this in my soul and it was so good
a permanent wound | s.r.
in which Spencer is the perfect father to your daughter and you're forced to wonder why you didn't deserve that as a child
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: daddy issues but in a traumatizing way not a silly the neighbourhood way, childhood trauma word count: 2.09k a/n: coming at you live from my personal hotspot because my internet is out and now i need to have a technician come look at it. i couldn't make this fic pretty bc of my wifi so we are going back in time before the colors and pictures. anyways hot girls have daddy issues and thanks for reading.
You stopped slightly in your tracks, hesitating to open the door to your daughter’s room and instead standing outside of the door, listening into the conversation she was having with her father. “Do you remember what we say?” He asked her, his voice calm and level, as if he calculated every word he said to her.
“Thank you for coming to my party!” She exclaimed excitedly, knowing her Bluey themed birthday party was waiting downstairs for her. The words came easily to her, and you knew Spencer had probably been trying to teach her about the important of manners.
He hummed softly, “Okay, I think you’re good to go, Princess Kathleen.” You imagined the two of them, him dressed for the party and her in her lilac princess dress.
Kathleen giggled at her designation for the day before quieting down, “Are we gonna do it now, daddy?”
“Yes,” Spencer said, and you knew exactly what he was doing. Standing her up on her stool, right in front of her full length mirror - at least, as full length as a four year old needed. “I am smart,” he started, giving her the first prompt of the day. He changed the order of them every day, but ever since he’d left the BAU, he’d made it a priority to do this with Kit every morning when getting ready and every night after her teeth were brushed.
She took a deep breath before repeating, “I am smart.”
You peeked through the slight crack of the door, watching the two of them perform their morning ritual. “I am kind,” Spencer cued her again.
“I am kind,” Kit echoed, a shy smile on her face, exhibiting her toothy grin.
Gently, Spencer reached to the top of her head, straightening the bedazzled tiara she had gotten specially for the special day. You’d placed it there earlier, after you’d done the princess hair that she had been begging for. “I am beautiful,” he told her.
Kathleen swayed gently on the stool, the shimmery fabric of her dress glistening in the daylight that peeked in from the windows. “I am beautiful,” she responded, patiently sounding out the word.
“My mommy and daddy love me very much,” Spencer said, kissing her cheek with a knowing smile.
Her grin broadened, “My mommy and daddy love me very much.” She bounced on the stool, and she would’ve fallen off if Spencer hadn’t been there to corral her back onto the platform.
Your chest ached while you watched the two of them, so focused on their interactions that you hadn’t noticed the tears that were beginning to sting your eyes. Spencer continued, “I’m four years old today!”
Kit cheered, “I’m four years old today!”
“Okay,” Spencer said, picking up your newly four year old daughter and holding her. “Are you excited for your party?”
She nodded, “Yes and cake.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Really? Well, we have plenty of cake.”
“Can I have two pieces?” She asked, dishing out her puppy dog eyes that he’d never be able to resist.
He hummed and pretended to consider the option, “I think we can make that happen. Now, do you wanna go downstairs and watch Uncle Derek put up the bounce house?”
At the offer for her to go downstairs, you quickly got yourself out of the hallway, taking a few steps and turning into your bedroom. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths, you paced the length of the room, pulling your shirt off of your skin when the fabric started to suffocate you. You turned around to continue your pacing when you were met with familiar brown eyes, “I thought I heard you out in the hallway.”
The concern that dripped from his words only made you feel worse. With tears dangling from your lower lash line, you glanced at the floor around him, “Where’s…” Your voice trailed off, foregoing the name of your daughter and instead trusting Spencer to understand you.
“She’s with Garcia, telling Derek how he should be inflating the bounce house,” he explained, smiling softly at you.
You laughed despite yourself. The image of your daughter, dressed like a princess, instructing Derek Morgan on how to put up the nylon structure that you’d rented for her birthday was enough to diminish even the saddest of emotions. “Good,” you said, sniffling through your tears, “Someone has to keep him in line.”
He nodded with understanding, “What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, stepping toward you and guiding you until you were sitting on the bed, him taking the spot next to you.
“She’s four today,” you said miserably. You wished you could remember being four, but as Spencer already knew, you’d forgotten a majority of your childhood. You knew there was an abyss of unhappiness that was buried there. You remembered shouting and you remembered tears, but none of the details had stuck to you. Sometimes, you preferred it that way.
Without another word, Spencer put his arms tightly around you, letting your salty tears fall on his shirt uninhibited. “I know,” he murmured, holding you so tightly that your body was being dragged closer and closer to his until you were nearly in his lap.
Your chest ached. Instead of reciprocating Spencer’s hug, you pressed your hands to your chest to ease the pain of your broken heart, “You’re such a good dad.” Your words escaped from your swollen throat, remembering the grin on your daughter’s face when the two of them had done their affirmations earlier.
To that, he was silent, knowing there was nothing he could say that would make it any better - make it hurt any less. There were no words in any available language that would heal the wound left in you by your father. Your childhood stuck to your heart like a wound that would never heal, there were some days where the pain couldn’t get to you, blocked by a pain medication that came in the form of your husband and child, but sometimes the world felt too vast, and you became that little girl in a big house with an angry man.
There were some things that Spencer could understand, but while Spencer had felt the absence of his father, you’d felt the opposite. Like a poltergeist, your father lingered in every corner of your home, you’d learned to recognize the footsteps of everyone in your house. Sometimes, when someone's gait had just the right rhythm, your heart started to race and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. There were some things that were just your own.
“She has such a good dad,” you murmured, screwing your eyes shut as if that would prevent any other tears from forming. Your stomach roiled as the gears in your brain started to turn and you recognized the emotion that burned your skin - envy. You gasped back a sob, “Why didn’t I deserve that?” You considered it to be a cosmic joke, that you had, at the toddler stage of life, done something to deserve the father you had gotten. “What did I do wrong?”
This time, your husband cooed, dragging his fingertips up and down your back, outlining your spine. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered. You knew it broke his heart to see you like this, reduced to nothing more than a puddle of tears by a man who was no longer there to haunt you, but you couldn’t get yourself to stop.
Your question echoed in your ears, every time you had asked yourself if you had done something wrong reverberated in your skull like a gong. Ranging from when you were a kid and banned from attending the school carnival to when you were an adult, and your final attempt at reaching out had ended in tears much like these. He’d never met Kathleen, and admittedly, you preferred it that way. There was no way he could weasel his way into your lives, flooding your daughter’s mind with the same muck that you spent years watering down. Hours of speeches about disappointment from before you were able to stand up for yourself, but even then, the only way out had been to leave.
It wasn’t until years later that it felt like a refuge, leaving behind the life you had spent so many years trying to fix. You hadn’t been that girl in so many years, but she was still in there. Behind a closed door, there was a little girl who just wanted to wear a princess dress and go to her father daughter dance. Some days you let her out, finding her again when you sat down to a tea party with Kathleen, but sometimes she snuck out, filling your chest with envy when you saw the care that Spencer put into his relationship with her, just as she had done today. You couldn’t blame her, because what you did remember was growing up and seeing girls with their dads, being pushed on the swing without being critiqued, being congratulated for their hard work without being asked why they hadn’t done better, and you’d felt the same jealousy then that you did now. She was just a girl. She didn’t know any better.
There had been a time when you assumed all fathers were like that. That the fathers in books and movies were dreams of other daughters that hadn’t been able to go to their daddy daughter dance, but as you got older, the absence of paternal love ostracized you from your peers.
“You did nothing wrong,” Spencer whispered to you again, softly dragging his knuckle across your cheek. Your head now rested comfortably in his head, and you were running out of time.
Sniffling, you pushed yourself up, looking at your husband with bleary eyes, “I love her so much, and I love that you love her so much.” It was the truth, too. You loved that Spencer was a good father, especially after growing up with a fear of angry men in your home.
He nodded understandingly, “I know you do, and she knows you do.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, afraid you had ruined what should’ve been a happy day with the gaping wound on your heart.
Dismissing your concern, your husband shook his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, sometimes we feel big emotions and they have to come out one way or another.”
A small smile bloomed on your face, recognizing the words you’d said to your daughter earlier that week. “That’s right, and we shouldn’t be ashamed of our emotions, no matter how big they are,” you finished your speech from that night. You had talked her down from what had been, as it turned out, her final toddler tantrum.
Gently, Spencer cupped your cheeks and kissed you. You closed your eyes, letting the last of your tears fall where he could easily swipe them away, “I am smart.”
A soft laugh escaped your lips when you recognized what he was doing with you, giving you the same affirmations that he had given to your daughter earlier. “I am smart,” you repeated, entertaining his methods.
“I am kind,” he said, reaching over to your nightstand for a tissue so he could better dry your tears.
You nodded in confirmation, “I am kind.” You closed your eyes while he wiped at them, smiling at the familiar giggles you heard coming from the backyard.
He smiled at you, though a thread of sympathy remained sewn in his irises, “I am beautiful.” He hooked his finger beneath your chin, lifting it so he could see you better.
“I am beautiful,” you echoed, your confidence waning ever so slightly.
Spencer noticed, you could tell by the way he took your hand in his. “My husband and daughter love me very much,” he told you, squeezing your hand comfortingly.
Taking a deep breath, you squeezed his hand back, “My husband and daughter love me very much.”
“And I am worthy,” he reminded you, an affirmation that was unique and directly pointed at you.
“And I am worthy,” you responded, setting your shoulders. “I love you,” you told him, grateful to have him by your side.
He nodded reassuringly, “I love you too.” Your eyes met one more time when a small voice started calling for you, knowing it was only a moment before tiny feet started running up the stairs, Spencer got up from the bed. “I’ll get her,” he promised, “Come down when you’re ready.”
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OH THIS ATEEEE
the plot twist towards the end 😫
Scent from Heaven
Summary: Spencer cannot stop fantasizing about you
Request: A fic where Spencer’s crush on BAU!Reader is so intense and he’s having all these sex dreams about her and his main dream for him is to go down on her. He wants nothing more than to go down on her and taste her and worship her.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Spencer is a bit of a pervert, sex fantasies and dreams, there was only one bed, male masturbation, description of oral (fem receiving) and fingering, coming untouched
Word count: 1.9k
Masterlist
It had to be your scent.
Floral, sweet and absolutely mesmerizing.
For weeks Spencer had been trying to figure out what it was about you that slowly drove him mad. He even looked at the latest research about physical attraction, only to come to the conclusion that the two of you apparently were a perfect match.
Only you didn’t know that yet.
So Spencer had no choice but to indulge in his fantasies about you to soothe his yearning for your nearness.
It all began a few weeks ago, just a couple of days after you had started working at the BAU. Spencer stood behind you at your desk, leaning over your shoulder to read over the case report you had just finished.
He had every intention of giving you constructive feedback but his mind went completely blank once he noticed your scent. It wasn’t some perfume, Spencer was sure about that. It was like your neck emanated some sorcerous haze that rendered him completely speechless.
Lucky for him, you hadn’t noticed how dumbfounded he suddenly felt around you.
Later that night, when Spencer was fast asleep in his bed, you visited him in his dream. He noticed your sweet smell before he saw you, waiting for him completely bare, ready to be devoured. There was no hesitation, no holding back before Spencer fell to his knees to worship every part of you.
He woke up painfully hard the next morning, a desperate sigh escaping his lips when he realized it was only a dream. Spencer felt bad to taint you like that but he couldn’t help but touch himself to the thought of you.
With closed eyes he let his mind flood with your images. The way your chest vibrated when you laughed, the way you looked at him with wide eyes when he explained something to you.
A determined hand pulled down the waistband of his pajama pants to free his aching cock. Wrapping his fingers around it, he began moving slowly. A different memory of you appeared inside his head with every stroke.
He thought about when he watched you stretch your arms over your head at your desk and a small patch of skin became visible just beneath the hem of your blouse. Then, the memory of your scent hit him like a train.
Desperately, Spencer let his thumb swipe over the leaking tip of his hardness before speeding up his strokes. Biting down on his lips, he held back his desperate whines.
He imagined how your skin would smell when he’d kiss down your body. How it would intensify the closer he got to your core. He thought about you spreading your legs for him and how your honeyed wetness would taste on his tongue.
That was what threw him over the edge. With a pathetic whimper he came, spilling his essence over his hand and stomach. The cool shower that followed was not enough to wash away the guilt he felt for doing something so sinful while thinking about the purest thing he’d ever seen - you.
However, it was nothing compared to how mortified he was when he actually saw you that day. His cheeks were blooming bright pink and he could barely stutter ‘good morning’ once he laid eyes on you. Only focussing back on his job allowed him to take his mind off you for a couple of hours.
Over the following weeks, Spencer felt like he was going insane anytime he stood too close to you.
It was the same every time. He sensed your wonderful smell and he was a goner for the rest of the day, already knowing what would happen once he fell asleep that night. The dreams of you became more vivid each time, so much so that Spencer had trouble telling fantasy apart from reality whenever he woke up the next morning.
When he woke up today, he could have sworn he could still taste you. Lively was the memory of the way your silken folds felt under his tongue and how enchanting your heady aroma was. Only it was not a memory, it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
Over the past few weeks Spencer had learned to act normal around you despite the peccable thoughts he had whenever he was alone. That was until the two of you were told to share a room on the current case.
When you noticed that there was only one bed in the room, you let out a breathy laugh, “Of course.”
Spencer avoided your eyes when you turned to him and you noticed how his cheeks turned pink. “I uh…,” he stuttered. “Uhm I could ask someone to switch rooms?”
“I’m okay with this if you are,” you told him. “There’s enough room for the both of us.”
Spencer, however, was not okay with it but had no intention of letting you know that. Not because he didn’t crave your nearness but because he was certain it would be his downfall. After clearing his throat, he tried as best as he could to get his composure back and nod.
It was already late and both of you were exhausted after working on a very tiring case all day. Spencer was the first one to take a shower and settle down on one side of the bed, a book in his hands, pretending to read until you’d find your home under the covers, too.
When you stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but flimsy pajama shorts and a white tank top, Spencer’s brain almost short-circuited. It was so bad, he couldn’t even hide his staring. The natural curve of your breasts was visible under the fabric of your shirt, a view Spencer had only imagined so far.
When he felt too much blood rushing down to his center, he quickly averted his eyes back to the book in his hands, hoping you hadn’t noticed his staring.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Your words brought Spencer back to reality. He found your eyes and raised his eyebrows.
“Seeing each other like that, I mean,” you clarified. “It’s very different from our usual work attire.”
Spencer looked down at his washed-out Caltech shirt. “Yeah, that’s true.”
He tried not to look at you when you slid beneath the covers right beside him but he couldn’t help but watch the way your body moved from the corners of his eyes. You turned off the nightlight on your side of the bed before laying down.
“You can keep reading if you want, I don’t mind,” you whispered as you closed your eyes.
“No, I’m really tired,” Spencer said as he turned off the lights on his side and put the book down. “Good night.”
Once he had laid down, he felt wide awake though. As he listened to your steady breathing, your scent filled the room and began clouding Spencer’s brain. Minutes passed as he just laid there, contemplating how inappropriate it would be for him to make a move. He thought about rolling to his side, wrapping you into his arms and kissing your neck. To keep his indecent thoughts at bay, he forced himself not to take this fantasy any further.
Finally, his body started feeling heavy and sleep began dulling his senses, relieving him from the torture that was reality. That was until he felt your fingertips gently brushing over his arm, a sensation that almost shocked him.
“Are you still awake?” He heard your hushed voice.
“Yes.”
You turned and slid closer to him until your face was mere inches away from his. There was little light in the room but it was enough for Spencer to notice the smirk on your face.
“I can’t sleep,” you said. “I can’t turn my mind off.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Because of the case? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s not the case,” you purred. “I just can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”
Before he could ask any more questions, he felt your mouth against his. It was as if a dam broke when he felt your nearness, there was no more holding back. Spencer pulled you closer, his hands on your back pressing you into him, not allowing any distance between the two of you.
His lips were greedy and demanding, kissing you like he was starving. In a way, he was. When a whimper escaped your throat, he saw it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue met yours, tasting you for the first time as you two melted into each other.
It wasn’t enough, though.
Spencer turned you on your back and hovered over you as he began kissing and nipping down your neck, taking in your sweet smell.
“You’re mesmerizing,” he breathed against your pulse point before licking along your neck. “I can’t get enough.”
Hurriedly his hands grabbed the hem of your shirt and you moved with him as he pulled it over your head. His palms were on your breasts before your back could touch the mattress again. His mouth followed his fingers, caressing your chest and hardened peaks until the sounds of your pleasure filled the room.
“Please, Spencer,” you moaned. “I need you.”
There was no need to explain any further what you needed, he understood. Slowly, Spencer kissed down your stomach before licking along the seam of your shorts. Then, he sat up and slid the fabric down your thighs before you spread them for him.
He wished there was more light so he could see all the glory your body had to offer but he had to rely on his other senses to explore you. Spencer lay down between your legs and began kissing your inner thighs while breathing in your infatuating scent.
The mewls falling from your lips once he licked over your slit with a flattened tongue were driving him insane. But it was nothing compared to finally tasting your heady dew on his tongue. With the utmost care he kissed and licked over your folds, tasting every bit of you while imprinting your uniqueness into his brain.
Spencer barely noticed how painfully hard he was as he rocked his hips against the mattress ever so slightly. Tasting you and feeling you writhe beneath him was the best sensation he had ever experienced.
When he let two of his fingers gently glide into you, Spencer was sure he just entered heaven. The way you enveloped his fingers while releasing even more of your honeyed wetness was absolutely magnificent.
When you began pulsing around his fingers while crying out his name, Spencer couldn’t help but indulge in this sensation with you. He released himself into his pajama pants while grinding against the mattress.
Spencer's eyes shot open while a sigh left his lips. The morning sun was already coming through the curtains of the hotel room window. You were asleep, your back turned to Spencer. He looked at you, wondering how he had just laid between your legs, and now you were lying fully clothed an arm's length away from him.
He thought back to moments ago. What he first thought was a memory began to blur and fade away. Slowly he realized that none of it had been real.
It was yet another dream.
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you guys like my necklace? 😁
GAHDAMN THOSE HANDS RAHHHH
spencer reid + hands
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this was so cute and so sad 😭
legally single - spencer reid x fem!reader


on a walk of shame after a frankly devastating breakup, reader gets stopped by coworker spencer reid and he offers her a ride home
genre: hurt/comfort wc: 1.1k warnings: break up, reader wears makeup and heels, mention of vomit, unhealthy coping, protective spencer, anxiety a/n: based off the beginning of legally blonde!!! yes i wrote this instead of my requests
Heels click on the damp sidewalk in a way that feels mocking. Like a toddler, you sniffle with a humbling pout on your pink lips. You ignore the burning in your feet because you fear it’s your punishment for having so much faith in a person. It’s ridiculous, you know, but if it wasn’t for blind optimism and high expectations you probably wouldn’t be crying on the side of the road. But you don’t know if it’s fair to hate yourself for something that’s not actually your fault at all. You’re not the one who uttered the words I think we should break up. No, that was him.
Unsympathetic too.
Each syllable took an eternity to actually fucking leave his lips. Like it was all an elaborate plan to humiliate you publicly. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
It was a long relationship that ended neatly with one very simple sentence. It feels like a cosmic joke created only for the purpose of you becoming the butt of some–any–joke. Unfair.
Every car that drives by ignores your presence. To them you probably look like you’re taking a walk of shame. Maybe, in a way, you are. One car doesn’t ignore you, though. An old one that’s white or pale yellow. You barely finish the thought that it looks familiar before you see the figure behind the wheel.
He calls your name but you don’t respond. It was embarrassing enough when you were alone.
“Do you need a ride?” he asks.
You just keep on walking. His eyes flick down to your shoes, dampening against the wet concrete. You can’t even remember when it rained last. He doesn’t let you go, slowly driving alongside you until you answer.
An answer he’ll get.
“Go home, Spencer,” you grumble, squeezing your hands into fists at your sides.
Unfortunately, he knows you. “You’ll ruin your shoes.”
He’s right. But you’re not happy about it.
You get in the car, never once allowing your eyes to meet his purely for the very big reason that you’re humiliated. Because of how he does nothing but simply drives, you think he’s okay with the silence. Awkward silence is discussed so often that every time nobody speaks, you feel uncomfortable. This might be the first time you’ve been comfortable in the quiet.
Whatever that means.
The silence only lasts so long, however.
Spencer glances at the smeared makeup under your eyes. “You don't need to tell me what happened but… just know that I’m sure you're better than whoever you're crying over.”
Your eyes finally and cautiously meet his.
That boyish look that shows that he simultaneously wants to make you feel better and show he cares makes your heart sink. You hate yourself for feeling. For having a reaction to what’s surely a friendly gesture. Your stomach swirls with uncertainty.
You know he cares about you, that much is obvious just by how he acts around you. Almost like he has to physically restrain himself from stepping between you and something potentially dangerous. The small kink is that, for him, everything is a threat of danger.
His mind works in a way you’ll never understand. One simple scenario has hundreds of outcomes, each one of them assessed by him in detail. With that ability, he’s able to create alternate realities within his brain. Some of which are affected by his fears. If he can think it, it can happen. So he puts himself a few sacred steps in front of you. Every time.
Because, if anyone was getting hurt, he'd rather it be him. It’s simpler that way.
So, yes, he cares about you.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
It’s like the words register in him differently than they would to someone else. Because he looks at you like he wants to fix you so you never have to say thank you like that ever again.
You never thought you’d want a man to fix you.
The eyes you know so well seem to follow each microexpression on your face. While driving.
Somehow.
The familiar lead-up to your apartment building makes your stomach curdle. In a way that makes you feel like an expired bag of milk. You’re not sure why.
You think you might throw up.
That is, without company.
Every time you look at the man to your left, you feel oddly at ease. Maybe he could be of service tonight. You mean, you haven’t been alone with a guy since you started dating your ex.
Ex.
It’s when he stops the car that you can’t hold it inside. The worst he can say is no.
“Spence… I really don’t want to be alone…,” you pause for a beat, looking down at your heels, “would you maybe want to come in?”
Your eyes anxiously survey his, searching for whatever it is that means he’ll say yes.
“Just for a minute?” you ask.
The gold in his irises is almost completely swallowed by his pupils, blown wide to accommodate the darkness. He considers it with a bitten bottom lip. His jaw stays stiff until he finally nods.
You try to hide the relief lacing your sigh and just get out of the car. After any emotional day, your advice is to simply go the fuck to sleep. Perhaps it's hypocritical of you to write that advice off as not relevant in this case. Perhaps you’re acting out because you think it’ll make everything go numb. It’s as if you have no control over your body because you know this is a bad idea. You know you shouldn’t be inviting your coworker up to your apartment when you’re in such a vulnerable state.
But you just don’t care.
When your feet hit the first step up, you can’t think of another way you’d be taking such a step. Having Spencer here feels like you have something tethering you to the outside. So you’re not just lonely in a place where you once were in what you thought was love.
That never meant Spencer belonged here, though.
His very presence makes you feel softer but it makes him feel indescribably lost. He wishes he could read the situation better or maybe even have the courage to ask you. His silhouette lingers in the open doorway like he knows he has a decision to make. A decision he would’ve made better any other time.
But it’s after ten pm and he never said he was strong.
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the way i felt this IN MY SOUL. as for someone that worries about that stuff when it comes to relationships, reading a spencer fic about it made me feel a little better lol
northern attitude
who? spencer reid (s3) x tough!reader summary: after your friends with benefits arrangement comes to an end, spencer's persistence gets him to the bottom of your fear to commit to him, especially when all signs point to you liking him back. content warnings: hurt/comfort, r's insecurities (not being good enough for spencer, not being a particularly romantic person), r yells at spencer word count: 1.4k a/n: sequel to orbiting around you. find more tough!reader here <3, dividers are by @saradika-graphics
It’s like withdrawal, being cut off from you, and it hurts. It hurts watching you act like nothing had changed between the two of you. His mood flits from hurt and sad to angry and frustrated. He wants to beg on his knees, wants to put his fist through a wall. It doesn’t help that he can’t sleep at night, his mind replaying that day at the high school, in the mens’ room, begging the man with a shotgun not to kill the boys who assaulted his daughter, trying to argue over the voice of the girl who egged him on.
Usually, he could turn over, use you as a distraction, hand skimming soft skin, sliding under your cami, tucking you closer as he pressed his lips to your shoulder until you stirred. Or, if you weren’t already there, he’d cross the distance between motel rooms, knocking on the door, barely waiting until the door shut to crush his lips against yours.
But he’d ruined it. He’d wanted more. Pushing your guard down with each kiss, each ramble, falling in love with your soft smile, your quiet sense of humour. Not a week went by when he wasn’t catching your wrist in his hand, his grip loose, asking the same question: “Why does it have to be one or the other?”
And every week, you’d give the same answer: “I’m no good for you.”
Unanswered questions keep him up all the time, you keep him up all the time. Every day, he dragged himself out of bed, going to work, facing you and your schooled expressions, rivalled only by Hotch. And yet, a coffee would appear on his desk, made just the way he liked it, and the ache would return. Pending case files would mysteriously disappear from his desk when he came back from the bathroom. It comes to a head when you argue Derek down from the ledge of dragging them all out clubbing to a quieter bar which he’s eternally grateful for, and it’s when it clicks for him.
“You’re afraid,” he murmured, sidling up to you, the now-empty glass of wine making him more confident. Your back’s against the wall, watching the rest of the team play pool, in your leather jacket and maroon tee, black Levi’s and sleek boots.
“I’m sorry?” you asked, caught off-guard as he leaned against the wall beside you.
“You’re afraid,” he repeated, adding, “of how much you like me. That’s why you don’t want commitment.”
You’re good at pretending, too good, but he’s gotten better at seeing the chinks in your armour now. “That’s a stretch,” you said, raising a delicate brow.
“No, the stretch is you assuming what’s good for me and making decisions for me like I’m not a grown adult,” he shot back, and judging by how your jaw twitches, it lands. You moved, draining the rest of your glass of whiskey before setting it down, fluidly grabbing your bag.
“I think that’s it for me tonight,” you announced loudly, the rest of the team murmuring ‘see you’s and ‘goodbye’s, and Spencer doesn’t bother with niceties, simply following you out.
“Stop running away from this conversation,” he demanded, walking out onto the curb.
“Oh, because you have me all figured out?” you scoffed, glancing at him before starting to walk to the nearest Metro station.
“Why is that so bad?” he asked, easily catching up with his long strides, turning on his heel to look at you as you both walk. His hair’s getting longer, a dark blue shirt contrasting pale skin, sleeves rolled up to veiny forearms, a striped tie that had been bothering her all day with how he’d done it unevenly, the end of it reaching his belt. He’s insistent, eager to please, an irresistable combination in the sheets, completely irritating outside of it. “I mean, your excuse is that the problem is with you, right? So, let’s talk about it,” he demanded, almost bumping into a lamp-post.
“I’m not doing this with you, Reid,” you told him, focused on getting to the subway entrance a couple feet away. “And especially not in public.”
“There’s no-one out here,” he contradicted, standing in front of you. “Would it kill you to be honest with me?” You let out a frustrated sigh as you find yourself blocked by his chest, his gaze laser sharp. “I deserve to be more than just a distraction, and so do you,” he continued, determined to get under your skin.
“Spencer, stop,” you snapped at him and he narrowed her eyes.
“Is that what it is?” he probed deeper. “You think you don’t deserve a relationship?”
“Jesus Christ, would you stop?” you almost shrieked, if not for the fact that you were on the street.
“No, because we’re talking about this!” he cried. “I’m done shoving this under the rug for whatever reason, and you— You will hide behind whatever excuse you can find to not confront this, which is really contradictory considering you’re the last person I’d call a coward—”
“Spencer, shut the fuck up!” you yelled at him, unrestrained anger lashing out at him, and he actually flinched. He stopped talking, watching you breathe heavily, sinking back against a wall and sliding down to a seat. He tried not to think about all the germs and bacteria that infest the street, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your hands laced on your knees, pressing your thumbs to your forehead.
Spencer simply shook his head. “I pushed you to it.” He watched you breathe, catching your breath.
“I’m not good at being a girlfriend,” you said softly, looking at your callused hand. “I’m not… romantic, or whatever.”
“Says who?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing, looking at you. “You make me coffee almost every day. You stole my case files so I wouldn’t work too late. And you know my favourite food, and you keep candy in a drawer for when I have sugar cravings. You listen to everything I have to say, even when you have no interest in it. That’s plenty romantic.” You met his gaze, earnest hazel eyes, turned amber by the streetlight, looking down at you fondly, and it terrified you, your eyes flitting back to your hands, lips pursed. He bumped your shoulder lightly. “What are you so scared of?” he asked you gently, watching you lean your head back, tongue darting out to wet your lips.
“Not being good enough. Or what you expect from a girlfriend,” you answered eventually.
“How can you say that without knowing what my expectations are?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern as you looked back up at him. “I mean, I want you to be you, and I want you to be comfortable, and to be honest, if you weren’t yourself, I wouldn’t like you half as much as I do.”
You take a beat to just process what he’s said, and then shake your head with a scoff. “This is what I mean. You’re just… effortlessly sweet, Spencer. And I’m not. I can’t… It doesn’t come as easy to me.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Spencer countered, shifting to look at you better. “I mean… sure, maybe it’s hard for you to say it, but… I do think you show it. You show it every day.”
“That’s hardly enough, Spence—”
“It is for me,” he insisted, placing his hand on yours. “All I’m asking for… really… is the chance to return the favour. The only thing that has to change, if you think about it, is that we get exclusivity. That I get to call you my girlfriend.” He watched you mull over it for a moment.
“I think I’d like that,” you said eventually, your voice slightly small, and it’s the first time he’s smiled in weeks. Suddenly, he’s all energy, pulling you up by the wrist.
“Good, cause I have so many plans and places I want to take you, and they’re doing Othello this weekend at the Shakespeare Theatre Company—” You let him ramble on all the way to the subway, your brain fuzzy simply from holding his hand all the way, and he finally lets you fix his tie once you’re in the train, headed to his place.
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AWH SO CUTE
wanna hug that man so bad
"do you wanna see the worst of me?" - spencer reid
in which, spencer thinks he's a bad person after prison
who? spencer reid x gn!reader
category: hurt/comfort
content warnings: post prison spencer, mentions of his addiction and his mom, mentions of murder and guns but nothing graphic, hard convos, girlfriend reader, tears
word count: 0.8k
a/n: hi guys! I think I forgot how to write but I'm back bitches
3 months. That's how long your boyfriend was in prison for a crime he never committed.
Despite the fact he hadn’t done a single fucking thing wrong to end up behind bars the guilt followed. Being a murder, a convict, a prisoner. Attacked by a group of prisoners, forced to stab himself, forced to survive hell.
It wasn’t something that just left him once the judge declared him ‘not guilty’ it was a nightmare that was going to keep following him. You knew that. You knew it from the moment you saw him drugged up in a jail cell.
It had been almost 3 months since he had gotten out and came back in your loving arms. It was almost surprising to him you welcomed him so easily. In his world he was horrible just for being in that place. He’d always had issues of thinking he was a monster of a man. From the first time he’d killed an unsub, leaving his mother, becoming an addict. Everything that wasn’t perfect meant he was a horrific person. Of course, being in hell didn’t help.
That's how you ended up laying in your bed one night after a case, one of the first he’d worked on since prison; A young woman being threatened to kill victims and hide the bodies by a drug dealer.
Spencer was laying next to you reading some book in a language you didn’t understand as you shifted restlessly under the covers trying to get your brain to turn off for the night. Spencer let out a sigh as he placed down the book on his lap running his hands over his face.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” He asked, not even looking at you, moreso like he was asking the world if he was.
Your breath stuttered for a second almost unsure if you heard him right, “What?”
He lifted his hands from his face to look at you, his eyes pleading for an answer like a kicked puppy, “Am I a bad person?”
“Of course I don’t think that Spencer.” You tried to reassure him, it was true, you never thought he was a bad person.
“I don’t think that's true.” He told you, “Everyday I wake up with needle marks in my arm and have to replay every wrong thing I’ve ever done before I even leave our bed.”
You blew air at that statement, it was true, you couldn’t deny what he felt. To everyone else he was the genius who saved lives profiling for the FBI against the worst people known to man but to him he was still the person who couldn’t do anything right.
“You have to stop punishing yourself Spencer.” You started after what felt like hours of silence. “Its not fair. To you.” He tilted his head silently asking you to keep going, to explain how he wasn’t a bad person. “Have you ever viewed me as a bad person after killing an unsub?”
“What? No, of course I haven’t. You had to defend yourself or the people in danger. How could you be a bad person?” He scrammed for the words, almost trying to reassure you now.
“So how could you be a bad person then baby?” The question hung in the air taking up space begging to be answered. The silence weighed heavier than any answer he could’ve given in words, trying so hard to think about what it was making him as bad as he thought.
“I just am.” He tried to reason.
“No you're not.” You said scooting closer “This…this job is insane I’m not going to say it's not. But you know what you do everything you could ever do Spencer. A bad person like you think you are wouldn’t even take this job.”
He just looked at you, his expression hard to read even for a profiler, his brain and heart in a battle of wanting to believe your words and the urge to deny it in case you were wrong. Not that he thinks you’d ever want to lie to him on purpose but it was hard to believe when every move he had made over his life seemed to be the wrong one.
“You know I’m so fucking proud of you right?” You practically whispered to him “For everything, ever.”
You could see his eyes begin to water slightly as he moved closer squeezing you into a tight embrace, burying his teary face into your shoulder. “I know, thank you.”
“Thank you Spence.” You whispered, threading your fingers in his hair.
“For what?” He sniffed.
“Letting me know how you're feeling, letting me help,” you pause, “being my partner.”
He chuckled softly , nodding “Thank you for caring enough to stay.”
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