i-get-obsessed-fast

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and the glasses stay on! ౨ৎ

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

This one had be kicking my feet and giggling☝🏻

— THE FIRST KISS, SPENCER REID.

It had always been more than clear— Spencer harbored feelings for you. From the moment you joined the BAU, his attention often drifted your way. You were close to him in age— perhaps a year or two younger— but enough to remind him that he wasn’t the youngest on the team anymore.

You arrived like a breath of fresh air— wide-eyed, curious, and eager to prove yourself. Even in the face of the team’s often grisly work, you brought light with you. No matter how dark the case, you wore a smile and tackled every task with unwavering dedication. Spencer noticed. More than that— he admired you. Maybe more than anyone else on the team.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that you were beautiful. Radiant, even. Your warmth and optimism were exactly what Spencer hadn’t realized he needed after years of emotional strain and trauma. One glance in your direction, and his famously sharp mind felt like it dropped a hundred IQ points. His thoughts scrambled, palms sweating, heart racing.

But what truly captivated him was the way you listened. You didn’t dismiss his endless streams of data or theoretical tangents. You didn’t roll your eyes like Morgan often did, or cut him off like Hotch. You waited. You listened. You smiled.

You weren’t annoyed by his quirks—you were intrigued. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer found himself genuinely curious, not about facts or statistics, but about you. What made you laugh? What did you love? What did you see in him?

It gave him just enough courage to act.

The jet was quiet as it cut through the night sky on its return to Quantico. After a grueling case, most of the team had dozed off or buried themselves in reports. You were bent over the small pull-out table, scribbling something in a worn leather journal. Spencer approached silently and slid into the seat beside you, gently tugging the pen from your fingers.

Startled at first, your expression quickly softened. “Can I have that back?” you whispered, amused.

Spencer hesitated before handing it back, offering a nervous smile. “I just… wanted to check in. Are you okay?”

You tilted toward him, placing the pen aside. “I’m okay,” you replied gently. “Are you?”

He nodded slowly, eyes on you but unsure what to say next.

“You sure?” you asked again, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

“I’m fine,” he said, exhaling with a slight laugh. “I’ve been doing this a long time. It’s… second nature now. But I know this was one of your first field cases. I didn’t want to leave you alone with everything we just saw.”

Your giggle was soft, but it lit him up. “I’m alright, Spence. Really.”

He looked down, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. You leaned closer, your hand resting lightly on his thigh for balance as you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for checking in,” you whispered near his ear.

Spencer remained still, his face burning red, too flustered to speak. You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Spencer?” you said softly, prompting him to look up. He did so with hesitation, face flushed, lips parted in nervous anticipation.

Without another word, you kissed him— briefly, softly— watching him carefully as you pulled away.

But before you could retreat fully, he leaned forward again, capturing your lips once more, this time with quiet confidence. His hand came up to cradle the side of your neck as he deepened the kiss, tender and sincere.

Across the aisle, Morgan, who hadn’t missed a beat, glanced down at his lap and smiled to himself. “Atta boy,” he muttered under his breath.

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DEAR DILF ENTHUSIAST🙏

All I want for Christmas (early or late Christmas, you decide) is a Spencer Reid x bau agent! reader fanfic about with a reader that has an avoidant attachment style due to childhood trauma and tries to pull away from Reid early in the relationship because because she thinks she’ll be “too much for him” and has the mindset to better leave him now then to have him leave her and get hurt, BUT Spencer and his psych degree ass is like “you only are trying to sabotage this relationship because you’re scared of getting hurt, I will never hurt you, and I will stay with you long enough to prove to you this” AND SO NO MATTER HOW MUCH TIMES THE READER PULLS AWAY HE CRAWLS HIS WAY BACK IN (not in a creepy way ofc it’s just because he can’t lose her and is willing to stick around for the bad bits because of how much he loves her) TYY I LOVE YOU AND PLEASE CAN IT BE FLUFFY??? ALSO TOTALLY IGNORE THIS REQUEST IF UOU DONT WANNA DO IT NO WORRIES!!

I’ve rewritten this so many times it’s crazy BUT this request is one of my favs!! So I tried my best to make it a good one! Hopefully I executed it!! Sorry for the wait, and ILYYY <3

Runaway | S. Reid

Your start at life hadn’t been easy. You grew up in a home where your feelings weren’t validated, your parents’ marriage wasn’t one to admire, and the people you loved most had a tendency to leave.

At first, you thought none of that would matter once you got away. Once you lived on your own. Left your home state, but the truth was, it followed you.

Every fear, every scar, it followed you everywhere. In friends and relationships.

Now here you are, standing in the break room, nervously fidgeting with your hands as you wait for the coffee machine to finish dispensing the last few drops of black liquid into your mug.

You’re lost in thought, spiraling just a little deeper every second, until his voice pulls you out.

“You alright?” Spencer asks gently, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

You turn, a little startled by his sudden presence. “Yeah, just zoned out or something.” You let out a small, nervous laugh. He nods, eyes filled with understanding that always made you feel seen.

You grab your mug, adding the exact amount of cream and sugar you always do.

“You know what I realized today?” Spencer begins, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ve been together exactly ninety-one days, seven hours, twenty-two minutes, and… ten seconds. Isn’t that cool?”

Your eyes widen. “Wow, that sounds like a long time when you put it like that.” He grins. “Yeah… it’s been a good ninety-one days, seven hours-”

“I get it.” You cut him off, laughing softly. He just smiled again, the smile that caused butterflies in your stomach, but also fear.

You mix your drink “Well, talk later?”

“Of course.” You walk out and leave him behind, making your way back to your desk, but your mind is still tangled.

You’ve been silently fighting yourself for weeks now. You have something so good. He’s so good. But your mind won’t let you enjoy it.

You glance up and see Spencer who was now at his desk wearing that soft focused look he always wears when he’s deep into work mode.

As soon as you two got together, you’ve noticed there’s been something lighter about him. Happier.

You wish you were able to feel that too.

But all you feel is fear.

Fear that he’s going to leave you.

You sigh, looking back down at the file on your desk. Time to drown your mind in work. It’s the only thing that’s ever really silenced the noise for you.

You work for hours, barely moving, barely blinking. You don’t notice your coffee is gone until a fresh cup appears in front of you.

“Brought you a new one.” Spencer says, placing it down right beside your hand. You look up, surprised. “How’d you know mines ran out?”

“Well.” He chuckles. “You’ve been sitting here for a couple hours. It wasn’t exactly a difficult guess.”

“Thank you.” You softly say.

“Anything for you.” His voice drops as he looks at you, the warmth in his eyes almost unbearable. You could feel the way he loves you, just in the way he looks at you.

It scares the hell out of you.

“Restroom break.” You stand abruptly. Before he can say anything or see the panic in your eyes, you’re gone.

You enter the restroom, shut the stall door behind you and exhale, hands trembling.

You take a few deep breaths, the way Spencer showed you how.

Inhale and exhale. Slowly.

“I can’t continue this.” You whisper, voice cracking.

“Can’t continue what?” Comes a voice.

You nearly jump out of your skin. Quickly unlocking the stall, you step out and come face-to-face with Emily.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, flustered. She raises an eyebrow. “The women’s restroom?”

Right. Duh.

“Yeah. That was dumb. I was just… talking to myself.” You explain, trying to play it off.

She gives you a slow, uncertain nod as you wash your hands and bolt out.

You walk toward your desk but Spencer is still there, you turn around quickly and head toward the printing room.

You’re breathing heavily, like you just ran a mile. You try talking yourself down. But all you want to do is collapse onto the floor and cry until the world disappears.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

You turn and see Spencer standing there.

“Hm? Yes, I’m good.” You say, quickly.

His eyebrows rise just slightly. “Really? Because I think I just saw you actively trying to avoid me”

“What? No, I-I just had remembered that I needed to print something really important.” You lie. He doesn’t believe you. He always knows when you’re not being honest with him.

“Right… well if something is bothering you, or if you need to talk, I’m here.” He says, stepping closer. He reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. I know.” You say, forcing a smile.

“Okay.” Is all he says before turning and walking out.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You felt horrible, disgusted with yourself. ‘How could you lie to him?’ you thought.

You make your way back to your desk and sink into your chair. Thoughts still racing.

When the work day finally ends, you start packing up your bag. Spencer shows up beside you as he always did, only this time it felt a bit suffocating.

“Walk down together?” He asks.

“Uh, you can go ahead. No need to wait for me.” You tell him. “But we always walk down together.” He softly reminds you. “Yeah. That’s true. I was just… I don’t want you to feel obligated. I can get to my car safely on my own.”

“I know you can. I just like being with you.”

You swallow hard. “I like being with you too.”

What you told him wasn’t a lie. You loved being with him, but that’s why you had to put some distance because you couldn’t let yourself love it too much.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk to the elevator together. Inside, Spencer reaches for your hand, but you pull away before he can reach you.

You feel his eyes on you. Burning you with his intense stare. You never meet them, you stare at the floor, the buttons of the elevator, anything else.

When the doors finally open, you hurry out.

He follows, faster this time, finally catching your hand and turning you to look at him.

“You aren’t acting normal, what is going on?”

You freeze. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you’ve been avoiding everything that has to do with me. Did I do something?” He asks. You sigh. “No, you did nothing. I just don’t feel good right now. I must be getting sick or something.”

He stared at you, and nodded slowly. “Want me to come over? I can make soup and tea.”

You shake your head. “I can do that myself. I just want to be alone, alright?” He nods. “Yeah. I understand.”

You keep walking toward your car, Spencer silently walking beside you. You get in, wave goodbye, and he doesn’t leave until he sees you pull out of the lot.

When you get home, you immediately take off your shoes and coat and drop your bag.

You’re starting to get a headache and surprisingly for once it wasn’t due to work.

You change into comfortable clothes, make your way into the kitchen, and begin making your nightly tea.

The comes a knock. Mug in hand, you walk toward the door, opening it. “Spencer?” You ask, confused to see him standing right in front of you.

“I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I can’t help but feel like something’s not right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you’re overthinking. I just wanted space, Spence.”

“You can want space, there’s nothing wrong with that. But I know you. I know when you’re hiding something from me. You can talk to me. I’ll listen.”

Your chest tightens. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Please just let me help you.”

“Help me with what? There’s nothing going on.” You argue. “Then why are you pulling away?” He asks, voice rising slightly. “I noticed, the way you don’t want me to touch you, or how you barely talk to me. The shift in your behavior. I know when you’re upset, uncomfortable, mad. When you’re hiding something.”

You suck in your lips, thinking for a moment. “No, you don’t. You think you know me Spencer but you don’t.”

“I know you’re scared.” He says quietly.

“Scared of what?” You asked.

“Scared to let me in. Scared to accept that I love you.”

You laugh without humor. “Really? Because I told you that myself?”

“You didn’t have to. I knew before we were even together. When you’d talk to me about guys, how they’d leave. But it wasn’t really them. You were scared and they weren’t patient enough to prove that they would stay. But I love you. And I want to prove to you that I will.”

“Spencer you don’t know what you’re talking about. Go home.” You say, starting to close the door. “Y/n don’t build a wall between us. Please?” He pleads.

But you can’t handle it, you can’t handle the truth, so you shut the door on his face.

The next day at work, you don’t look at Spencer. You don’t even tell him good morning.

You aren’t sure where things stand between you now. You don’t even know if you guys are in a relationship. You were cold to him, and you wouldn’t blame him for walking away from you.

After settling in, Spencer finally approaches you.

“I’m not upset with you.” He says softly. You look at him. “You should be. I was horrible last night. You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.” He says honestly, you sigh. “That’s not good. I can use that to manipulate you or something.”

“You wouldn’t. That’s not who you are.” He replies, You nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t.”

You both stand there for a moment, just looking at each other.

“If you’re comfortable, I’d like to talk about last night. Not here. Maybe we could take a walk at the park after work?”

You hesitate for a second. “Yeah, we can do that.”

He gives a small smile. “Thank you.”

You hum in response and watch him walk away.

Work ends faster than usual, which is weird because it rarely does.

You and Spencer meet at the elevator, you give him a small barely there smile, he returns one.

You ride the elevator down together, a bit of space between you.

He opens the passenger door for you, then heads to the drivers side. The car ride is quiet, aside from the soft hum of classical music playing.

When you arrive, the park is empty, the lamps casting a soft glow.

You walk side by side in silence for a moment. You stare at your shoes, his hands stay in his coat pocket.

“I meant what I said yesterday. I love you. And I want to prove I’m here to stay.” He finally says.

You fidget with your fingers.

“Spencer… I’m too much for you. Your life is already overwhelming. You don’t need me adding more to it. You deserve someone calm, not someone who’s constantly afraid you’ll leave… or someone who runs. You deserve someone that’s not like me. Someone special.”

He stopped walking and gently turned you to face him, his hands resting on your arms, his thumbs moving in slow, soothing strokes to comfort you.

“You’re not too much. You’re perfect for me. You’re special to me.” He says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes to understand you, to prove that I am not going anywhere.”

A lump forms in your throat, your chest tightens. “You think this is what you want, but I know that eventually you’ll get tired. You’re not the first person to say these things.”

“Maybe not.” He softly says. “But I’ll be the first one to show them. I want to be here for all of it. The difficult moments, the good ones… everything.” His eyes are filled with quiet hope. He slides his hands slowly down your arms before intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, your voice barely holding together as tears well in your eyes.

“I know.” He replies, his gaze not leaving yours. “I’m sorry that this feels so scary. But please let me help you… no more pushing me away. We deserve each other.”

Then he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly, protectively. Your tears spill freely now, soaking his shirt as you cling to him.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He whispers in your ear, just for you to hear.

You held onto each other for a moment longer before you finally pulled away.

Looking up at him, your nose red and cheeks stained, he gently wiped your face and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

The two of you walked back to the car, and Spencer drove you to his home. Neither of you needed to say much, there was a quiet understanding between you now.

You spent the night enjoying each other’s presence, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hold onto him a little longer than usual.

Over the next few months, he did exactly what he said he would, he showed up for you, not just with his words but with his actions.

There was still moments when you’d pull away, retreating back into your old habits, but he always found you, and held you close and reminded you that he was here, and assured you that you were never too much.

Eventually, you finally told him you loved him. That was a big step for you.

“I love you, Spence.” You said, your fingers threading through his hair as the two of you laid tangled together in his bed. He looked at you like you were his entire world.

“I love you too.” He said, kissing you, unable to stop smiling. In that moment, he felt like the happiest man alive, and it was because of you.

You were his happiness, and he was becoming yours. And this time, you weren’t going to pull away…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami

Thank you to all who reblog and comment! I appreciate it sm!!<3

~ tag list ~

@alastorssimp @samslovebug @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

i enjoy evolution!! i think it has gotten a little boring though :( but i very much enjoy getting more garcia content!!! i love her sm

-🪲

Yess Garcia😫 mainly might watch because I love Emily sm honestly 😭

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Guys is evolution good? I've been seeing a lot of people on social media say they don't watch it & that they also stopped watching CM after season 12 because it isn’t good. I’m definitely going to continue but I’m not sure about evolution. 😭 I probs will because Emily but ugh I love that in the Og cm it’s different unsubs and I seen someone say in evo it’s the same unsub for the whole season??? Someone confirm or deny pls. 🙏🏻

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S10 Spencer Reid oml, he is so foineeeee. 😈

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Statistically Speaking

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

words: 600 words

summary: Spencer thought he was in a long-term relationship— turns out, he forgot to tell her.

warnings: none, babe. this is pure fluff <3

“Come on, man,” Derek said, arms folded as he stared Spencer down across the break room table. “You can’t just read a thousand relationship books and think that’s the same as the real thing.”

Spencer looked up from the folder in his lap, utterly unbothered. “Thirty-nine books. And they’re peer-reviewed studies. It’s not about anecdotes, it’s about data.”

Penelope leaned over her coffee, eyes sparkling. “Oh boy. He’s going full empirical. This should be good.”

“It’s not that I think I understand relationships,” Spencer continued, adjusting his glasses. “It’s just that I recognize functional dynamics when I see them. And I happen to know what one looks like.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah? Like what, The Notebook?”

“No,” Spencer said. “Like me and Y/N.”

There was a beat of silence.

Y/N, seated two chairs down with a half-drunk coffee in her hand, turned very slowly. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Spencer blinked at her like she’d asked if water was wet. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘you and me’?”

He frowned, confused. “I mean us. Our dynamic. It’s a prime example of a healthy relationship.”

Garcia dropped her muffin.

Derek leaned in like he was about to watch a car crash in slow motion. “Go on.”

Spencer tilted his head at Y/N. “You seriously didn’t know?”

She blinked. “Know what exactly?”

“That we’re in a relationship. Or— at least something adjacent to one. I assumed we were both aware of that.”

Y/N stared at him.

Spencer, sensing the disbelief, leaned back in his chair and began to list things off like he was briefing a case. “We text every night before bed. You bring me coffee the way I like it— three sugars, not stirred— almost every day, without asking. I’ve picked you up from the airport twice. You’ve stayed over at my apartment more than once, and you steal my hoodies.”

“That’s just…” She trailed off, looking helplessly at Garcia, who was frozen mid-bite.

Spencer wasn’t done.

“We hold hands when we walk across busy streets. You braid my hair when I’m stressed. I read you poetry once and you cried, which I took as a positive emotional response and not distress.”

Y/N slowly set her coffee down. “Okay.”

“I’ve memorized your Chipotle order,” Spencer added, like that sealed it.

“Okay.”

Spencer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “We literally hold hands all the time.”

“…Okay, yeah, I see where I went wrong.”

Derek lost it.

Garcia was fanning herself with a napkin, whispering “my stars” under her breath.

Y/N looked like she was debating the moral and logistical weight of throwing herself into the nearest garbage can.

Spencer, meanwhile, just looked vaguely betrayed. “How did you not know?”

She gave him a look. “Because you never said it out loud?”

“I thought it was implied!”

Derek clapped once, loud. “Oh, I live for this.”

Garcia blinked. “Cool, so I’ve been third-wheeling a relationship that wasn’t even technically happening. Love that for me.”

Y/N turned back to Spencer, who was still trying to solve the mystery of how she missed this.

“Are you mad?” she asked.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “Just… surprised. I really thought we were on the same page.”

“Well.” She exhaled, slow and a little amused. “We are now.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Does this mean we’re officially dating?”

Y/N shrugged. “Statistically speaking?”

That got the smallest smile out of him.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

a/n: first spencer fic can i get a whoop whoop (i hope this is good, oh god)

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

hello! can i just say your fics are so amazingly written and make me feel really fluffy inside <33

i was wondering if you could write a spencer reid x new bau reader? reader is a new hire at the bau and always has her hair up in a cute new hairstyle everyday because she has curly hair and if she were to have it out, it would just get in the way in the field. so, when she is invited to rossis house for the first time for a dinner, she finally wears it out for the first time in front of them. spencer, seeinf her hair for the first time like this, malfunctions and goes speechless for a bit. very fluffy and self indulgent

thank you so much if you end of writing it!!!!

Yay thank you so much! I'm glad they make you feel that way!<3 and LOVE this request!

Curl Pattern | S. Reid

It had been six months since you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and while it had been nothing short of stressful, in a strange way, you’d come to love it. Not only what you do but the members on the team.

They had welcomed you with open arms from day one, and over time, they’d grown from colleagues to genuine friends.

“Hey! Love your hair.” Emily said as you entered the roundtable room, plopping down in your usual chair.

“Thank you.” You replied, grinning. She always made it a point to compliment the various updos you’d show up to work with.

JJ leaned in, squinting playfully. “You know, your hair always looks amazing when it’s up, but why don’t you ever wear it down?”

You shrugged. “It’s a hassle, and would probably just get in the way.”

JJ nodded, understanding, just as Garcia swept into the room, her voice commanding everyone’s attention.

“We’ve got a case, angels.” She said, her tone more serious than usual.

Los Angeles. The case was ugly. You guys ended up staying for days, combing through evidence and following dead-end leads, until the end came suddenly…and at a cost.

“Damn.” Morgan muttered, the weight in his voice matching what everyone was feeling.

You all stood there silently as officer jones body was carried away in a bag. He had saved your guys team by stepping in at the last second.

It hit you then: This job isn’t just high stakes. It truly is life and death. Every time you pack up and answer a call, it could be the last.

The ride to the airport was quiet. You sat in the back, leaning your head gently against Spencer’s shoulder, something you guys always did, while you held onto Emily’s hand on the other side of you.

No one spoke, and that silence was louder than anything.

When you boarded the jet, you instinctively took the seat beside Spencer. He gave you a small smile, and you offered one back, grateful for the quiet comfort he always managed to give without even trying.

Across from you, Hotch and Rossi spoke in low voices, going over the final details of the case. You leaned back, closing your eyes, hoping for a few minutes of rest, but your mind was too restless.

Back in Virginia, you all returned to the office just long enough to grab your belongings.

As you all waited by the elevator, Rossi turned to address the group.

“Before everyone runs off, I’ve been thinking.” He said, his voice warm but firm. “We see each other in the worst circumstances. Maybe it’s time we try to be together in better ones. So, I’d like to host a dinner. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock. Bring your families, your partners, hell bring your pet. Let’s appreciate the lives we fight to protect.”

Everyone nodded, some smiling, others still to drained do more than murmur their agreement.

“I’ll be there.” You said softly, stepping away from the group. “I’m taking the stairs.”

“Goodnight.” JJ said. A chorus of goodbyes followed.

“Uh- I’ll walk with you.” Spencer said suddenly, falling into step beside you. You looked up, a little surprised, but smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” he said simply, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“So… What’s wrong with the elevator?” He asked, after a beat, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Didn’t feel like waiting. I’m exhausted.” You replied with a shrug. “Yeah, me too.” He said quietly, then hesitated. “You will be a Rossi’s tomorrow, right?”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. You?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be nice to be together…outside of work.”

You smiled at that. “Are you bringing anyone?”

He shook his head. “No. Just me.”

“Same.”

When you reached the last floor, he moved ahead to open the door for you. “Here.” He said softly.

“Thank you.” You replied, brushing past him with a smile.

He didn’t stop there, he walked you to your car. “Uh, drive safe.” He said, his voice a little quieter now.

“You too, Reid.”

You slid into your car and glanced up at him one last time before pulling away. He stood there for a moment, watching you go, hands still in his pockets, eyes soft.

౨ৎ

You arrived at Rossi’s exactly at eight, nerves buzzing under your skin. It was silly, maybe, how much you’d overthought this, your first time at his home, the outfit you debated over a dozen times, and most of all your hair.

You rarely wore it down, it was easier to just keep it up and out of the way, at work and sometimes even outside. Today though, tonight was the night you decided to let it be free and you were a bit nervous.

You walked up to the front door, glancing at the cars in the driveway. Everyone else was already inside. You rang the doorbell.

Rossi opened it up almost immediately with his signature warmth, already holding a glass of wine. “There she is!” He beamed, pulling you into a quick hug before hanging off the glass. “Come in, come in!”

You smiled, stepping into his home. It was beautiful.

Elegant, cozy, timeless. Just like him.

Following the sound of laughter, you made your way into the kitchen. The moment you walked in, the room went just a touch quieter.

“Okay, wow.” Emily said, setting her wine glass down dramatically. “Your hair! It’s gorgeous.”

Your cheeks burned. “I figured I’d let it down tonight. Special occasion.”

“You need to let it down always.” Penelope gasps, walking over to gently fluff a curl. “It’s so pretty, I’m obsessed!”

JJ grinned from her place on the island. “Seriously, you look amazing.”

“You guys are sweet.” You smiled.

You move through the group, greeting everyone, but your steps slowed when your eyes landed on Spencer.

He was standing, frozen in place like someone had hit pause on him. His wine glass was in one hand, and the other was in his pocket like always.

“H-hey.” He stammered as you reached him. “Hi.” You replied with a smile, leaning in for a gentle hug. He barely moved, still staring at you.

His gaze flicked to your curls, and he blinked. “I-I love your hair. I mean, not that I didn’t like it before, but it’s-um-it’s just-” he trailed off, visibly malfunctioning.

You tried not to giggle. “Thank you, I let it free tonight.”

He nodded a little too fast. “Good decision. A great decision. Everyone loves it. I-I love it. I mean, yeah.” He looked like he wanted to curl into himself.

You looked down shyly, smiling to yourself.

The night carried on with soft music, clinking glasses, and the kind of comfort only you guys could create.

You and Spencer eventually found yourselves with the little kids watching as Spencer showed them a magic trick then watched as they slowly lost interest and start playing tag instead.

Henry shouted something and ran off with Jack close behind, leaving the two of you now alone, while the others were caught up in Rossi’s wine-tasting tangents.

It was quiet for a moment. You glanced at Spencer, who was already looking at you. Again.

His voice came out all at once, like he’d been holding it in. “Did you know that the shape of your hair follicle determines curl pattern? Curly hair follicle are more oval, which causes the strand to curl at an angle, creating the spiral-”

He stopped himself mid-ramble, his eyes going wide. “N-not that I’m analyzing your hair or anything, I wasn’t, well, I kind of was, but not in a weird way. It’s just, you know, science. And- uh- it’s… lovely. Really lovely.”

You laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “Spencer, are you nerding out over my hair?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered but unable to stop smiling. “Maybe a little. It’s just… scientifically interesting. And aesthetically… breathtaking. On you.”

You bit back a grin. “That’s the nerdiest and sweetest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

He ducked his head, the tips of his ears glowing pink. “Well… I’m kind of full of those.”

You leaned your shoulder gently into his, your voice playful. “Guess I’ll have to wear my hair down more often, huh?”

Spencer nodded, almost too quickly again, still blushing. “I-I wouldn’t mind that. At all.”

And for the rest of the night, every time you caught him looking your way, his smile was just a little softer than usual, and his stare more meaningful and filled with something more…

Hope you enjoyed @athenxt !! Thank you sm for your request<3 had sm fun writing this.

I’m going to get to the rest of the requests soon!! So if you’ve sent one in recently I promise they will be out! I’ve just been in a slump, unfortunately, but thank you all! <3

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Princess ☼ Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and your daughter are having a hard time sleeping apart from one another…

A/N: probs going to be writing dad Spencer a bit more, been yearning for a daughter recently & yes I did steal the name from ‘My Girl’ hehe ✿

BYR(b4 u Reid): dad Spencer, toddler tantrum, talks of another baby, and fluff<3

You stepped quietly through the front door, the click of the lock echoing in the soft silence of the house. It was just shy of ten o’clock, and after a long late shift, the quiet was expected.

Spencer had thankfully been able to pick up your daughter from preschool, and even got around to cleaning up and leaving your home dimly lit, a gesture he does when you work late so you aren’t left in total darkness when you come home.

You slipped off your shoes and shrugged out of your coat, hanging it up on the hook by the door.

Passing through the hallway, you found yourself drawn, as always, to the soft glow spilling out from your daughter’s bedroom. You peeked through the cracked door and immediately your heart melted at the sight.

Vada had fallen asleep sprawled across Spencer’s chest, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt like she never wants to let go.

That was her favorite place in the world, on top of him, where the sound of his heartbeat soothes her to sleep and feel completely safe.

You pushed the door just a little more open and walked toward them, feeling your chest swell with the so much love you had for them. They looked peaceful, mirrored expressions, soft breaths. Sometimes you swore they were the same person, just two different sizes.

Spencer’s arms were wrapped around her protectively, holding her close even in his sleep. He always held on like that when either of you were near. It was instinct, like if he didn’t, the world might try to take something from him again.

You leaned down beside him and gently traced your hand along his arm, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. He stirred almost instantly, he's always been a light sleeper.

His eyes fluttered open as he blinked up at you, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Still half-asleep, he didn't speak right away, instead, he just reached for your hand with one of his, still holding your daughter tightly with the other.

“Hello.” He whispered, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hi.” You murmured, bending to press a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He let go of your hand after a moment and carefully began to shift, cradling your daughter as he gently sat up. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake until he started easing her off of him and into her bed.

The second her body lost contact with his, she whispered. “Daddy…”

“Go to sleep, princess.” Spencer whispered, brushing her forehead with a kiss and sliding out of her tiny bed.

“No!” She cried, her voice cracking as she sat up and reached out for him, her arms raised in a plea.

“Baby.” You said softly, stepping in. “Daddy needs to sleep in his own bed tonight.” You tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she looked at you with her big tear-filled brown eyes.

She shook her head, adamant. “No.”

Spencer hesitated, eyes flickering to you for permission, silently asking if he should just climb back into bed with her. You met his gaze and gave a firm shake of your head. His shoulders sank a little.

“She just started sleeping in here, Spence. If we give in now, it’ll be even harder tomorrow.” He sighed, clearly torn. “I know, I just…” he trailed off, looking at Vada with worry.

“I know.” You repeated, gently rubbing his back.

“Baby.” He said tenderly as he picked her up and tried again to settle her back into bed. “You need to sleep in your room tonight.”

Immediately her arms started flailing, legs kicking, her face crumpling in frustration and fear. The tantrum hit hard, and you could see the pain in Spencer’s eyes.

This transition hadn’t been easy on him. After years of having her curled up beside the two of you every night, the idea of her sleeping alone felt almost cruel to him. He needed to feel her there, to know she was safe. But you’d finally convinced him it was time, for her sake more than anything.

He knelt beside the bed, brushing her hair away from her face as he whispered. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. Come on, with me. In… and out…”

Through hiccuping sobs, she followed his lead, slowly calming as he counted breaths with her. You sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing her back as her cries turned into soft sniffles.

“Good job.” Spencer said gently, pulling her into a hug once her body stopped trembling. “I want mommy and daddy.” She whispered, voice heavy with sadness.

“I know, baby. But remember, this is part of being a big girl, right? We all have to sleep in our own beds now.” You kissed her temple, your voice soft but firm.

She pouted, crossing her arms with finality. “No.”

Spencer chuckled quietly and leaned in. “How about this.” He offered. “Tomorrow night, we have a sleepover. All three of us. We’ll make popcorn and camp out in the living room. Sound good?”

She considered it, then slowly nodded. “Okay…but you sleep here.” She bargained, her eyes locking onto his.

Spencer looked at you again, but you raised a brow.

He sighed, defeated. “I-I can’t, sweetheart.” Spencer said gently, “You have to sleep here by yourself tonight.”

Her teary eyes immediately turn to you. “Please mommy…”

Your heart ached, almost giving in. But you saw Spencer’s expression, and you knew you had to be strong for the both of you.

“I’m sorry, princess.” You whispered. “But we’re really proud of you, okay? What you’re doing is so brave. And you’ve been doing such a great job.”

She dropped her gaze, her small shoulders sagging. She could tell you weren’t going to change your mind.

“We’re going to go now.” Spencer added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So you can get your rest.”

Together, the two of you leaned down to tuck her in, smoothing out her blanket and making sure her favorite stuffed animal was nestled beside her.

“Love you, princess.” Spencer murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight, baby.” You added, your voice thick with emotion as you kissed the other cheek. “I love you so, so much.”

She didn’t respond, instead, she looked at the both of you with the saddest heart-wrenching expression. A silent plea not to go.

It nearly broke you.

You and Spencer stood slowly, but when you reached the doorway, your feet refused to carry you any farther. You turned back to look at her once more.

Spencer’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“She’ll be okay.” you whispered, more to convince yourself than him.

He nodded, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. Neither of you moved for a long moment.

She was learning how to sleep alone.

But the truth was, all three of you were learning how to let go, just a little bit.

As you watched Spencer quietly close the door behind him, your heart ached. Every part of you wanted to go back in there and scoop her into your arms, hold her close, tell her she didn’t have to be a big girl yet.

And from the way Spencer stared at the door, you knew he felt the same way.

You sighed softly and turned toward your bedroom, your body dragging with exhaustion. Work had been rough, but somehow, mentally and emotionally, getting your daughter to sleep in her own room felt harder.

You collapsed onto the bed, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

Spencer joined you moments later, flopping beside you. He turned his head, looking at you with that gentle, thoughtful gaze of his.

“It’s alright.” He said gently.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “You were strong.” He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah…it was hard.”

“I know it was.” you replied, shifting closer. “I know this isn't something you wanted to do. You've always liked having her near. But I really am proud of you too, Spence.”

His eyes softened even more. Without saying anything, he leaned in and kissed you, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips.

You smiled. “I love you too.”

You don’t pull away right away, just stayed close, breathing each other in, your foreheads nearly touching as you watched one another in the quiet.

After a moment, Spencer spoke again. “Once she’s more comfortable in her own room… maybe we can start thinking about another one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another what?” You asked, though you already knew.

“Another baby.” He said, without hesitation.

Your eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and amusement flashing across your face. “I don’t think we’d survive.” You said with a light laugh.

“How so?” He asked, genuinely curious, his brow slightly raised in that way he always did when he wanted more information.

“Spence.” You said. “We’re barely managing to get Vada to sleep alone. Imagine doing this again. What if she still won’t sleep by herself? That’s two kids in our bed.”

His response was immediate. “That sounds perfect, actually. Then we’d all be together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes in a way that always made him smile.

“What?” He asked, playfully. “You want me all to yourself? That’s kind of selfish, you know.” His voice was teasing, but the way he leaned in and kissed you again, his hands moving gently along your waist, was nothing but adoring.

“Maybe.” you said, returning the kiss with a grin. “But I think you should be grateful I love you that much.”

“I am.” He said simply, sincerely. “I’m grateful for you… every single day.”

He pulled you closer, resting his head in the curve of your neck, breathing you in.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

A small, sleepy voice called out, and the two of you instantly looked toward the door. Vada stood there clutching her blanket in one hand and her bear in the other.

Spencer was already off the bed before you could say a word. He crouched to her level and gently picked her up, pressing a kiss to her temple as he carried her back to your bed.

“Just for tonight.” He whispered, glancing at you as if to make sure you didn’t mind.

You smiled and opened your arms without hesitation. Vada reached for you immediately curling into you with a little sigh of relief.

Spencer slid in behind you, wrapping his arms around the two of you. His eyes fluttered shut as he held you both close, content and whole in this small, quiet moment.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in warmth and love, until you gently pulled away.

“Alright.” You whispered with a smile. “It’s getting late, you two get some sleep. I’m going to get ready for bed.” You say as you slide out the middle of them.

Vada let out a soft whimper at the loss of your arms, but quickly scooted into Spencer’s embrace. He wrapped her up effortlessly, holding her close.

When you came back, the only source of light was from your lamp, and the both of them were under the covers, fast asleep.

You smiled to yourself, heart full, and carefully lifted the blanket to slide beneath it. As soon as you settled in, Spencer found you. His arm reached out instinctively, fingers brushing over your waist until he could pull you in, needing to feel you there.

And just like that, wrapped in the warmth of each other, the three of you were fast asleep…

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

~ tag list ~

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Come home Spencer, the kids miss you.

‘Fuck the polic-‘ A GIRL IS TRYING HER BEST OVER HERE

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

but I wanted to be Matthew’s controversially young girlfriend :(

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

"Hotch on the Line"

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x assistant!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: (inappropriate) work relationship, reader feeling embarrassed, wearing Hotch's clothes, some minor tension, teasing from Morgan

Words: 2.2k

Summary: The reader accidentally exposes their secret fling to Morgan with an inappropriate comment.

Aaron Hotchner prided himself on his ability to stay composed under pressure. He had led hostage negotiations, interrogated serial killers, and made split-second decisions that determined life or death. His control was unshakable.

Or so he thought.

Because right now—right now—his control was hanging by a thread.

It had started out as an ordinary morning. Well, as ordinary as it could be when he’d woken up with you in his bed.

You weren’t officially together, but your relationship was… complicated. You weren’t a one-night stand. You weren’t just a colleague. But neither of you had put a name to whatever this was, because there were rules—rules Hotch was usually a stickler for following.

But lately? The rules seemed to bend around you.

He sat on the edge of the bed, already half-dressed in his slacks and a white dress shirt, buttoning the cuffs. His phone vibrated on the nightstand, flashing Morgan. With a sigh, he grabbed it and answered.

“Hotchner.”

“Hey, Hotch. We might have something,” Morgan said. “Garcia pulled up financials from—”

Before Morgan could finish, the bathroom door swung open, and you strolled out, stretching your arms with a pleased hum.

“Morning, bossman,” you purred, voice thick with satisfaction as you padded barefoot across the room, wearing nothing but his dress shirt.

Hotch froze. His entire body locked up, his grip tightening around the phone.

You didn’t seem to notice his rigid posture. You just smirked, flopping onto the bed beside him, face down with a sigh. “Shame you had to get dressed already. I was really enjoying the view.”

Silence.

A dangerous silence.

Hotch turned his head just slightly, his jaw clenching as he met your gaze. His usually unreadable expression now had a very clear warning: Do not say another word.

But you, being you, completely missed it.

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, and dragged your fingers lightly over the fabric of his sleeve. “Though, if you had stayed in bed, I might have—”

Hotch’s hand shot up in a wordless command for you to stop talking.

Your smirk faltered. Then, your eyes flicked down to the phone in his hand. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, face draining of color.

And then—Morgan cracked up.

Through the speaker, his laughter was loud, unrestrained, and utterly disbelieving.

“Oh—oh, hell no,” Morgan wheezed. “No way. Am I interrupting something, Hotch?” More laughter. “Was that a woman I just heard? You? Having company? At this hour?”

Your entire body tensed in horror. “Aaron,” you whispered urgently. “I am so sorry.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, this is golden,” Morgan continued, clearly having the time of his life. “Wait—wait, don’t hang up yet—Garcia needs to hear this.”

“Morgan,” Hotch said sharply.

“Oh, come on, man! Do you know how big this is? You never—”

“Morgan."

Morgan was still laughing when he finally caught his breath.

“Man, I cannot believe this,” he said through chuckles. “Hotch, you gotta tell me—who is she? Who managed to crack the infamous stone-cold unit chief?”

Hotch’s silence was damning.

Then, in the background of the call, Morgan heard a very familiar, dramatic groan.

“Oh my God. This is so embarrassing. Just let me crawl into a hole and die.”

Morgan froze. His grin widened.

“…Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose.

Morgan could barely contain his glee. “Wait a minute—was that who I think it was?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

“Oh, this is too good.” Morgan was practically buzzing. “That was her, wasn’t it? Your assistant? The one who flirts with you relentlessly?”

Silence.

Morgan burst out laughing again. “Ohhhh, this just made my whole damn week.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Morgan.”

“No, no, no—let me just process this. You mean to tell me that the bubbly, giggly, pink-loving ball of sunshine that brings everyone coffee has you—Aaron Hotchner—wrapped around her little finger?”

Hotch clenched his jaw. “This conversation is over.”

“Oh, hell no, it’s just getting started.”

Hotch hung up.

Morgan just sat there, shaking his head in utter delight.

“This is golden."

You groaned again, dragging a pillow over your face. “I am never showing my face in the bullpen again.”

Hotch exhaled, amused despite himself. “You say that now.”

“I mean it, Aaron. The moment Morgan so much as smirks at me, I’m resigning.”

Hotch gave a small shake of his head, a smirk ghosting his lips. “We’ll see.”

---

You walked into the bullpen, dreading this moment. You kept your head down, gripping the files in your hands like a shield, moving toward your desk as discreetly as possible.

Morgan saw you immediately.

The second you stepped into his line of sight, his face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

“Ohhhh, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair.

You froze mid-step. Your entire soul left your body.

Morgan’s smirk widened. “What’s the matter, sunshine? You look a little flushed.”

Your grip tightened on the files. “I hate you.”

He laughed. “No, you don’t. But I gotta say—I never thought I’d live to see the day Hotch had a woman sneaking out of his house in his clothes.”

Emily and JJ, who had been within earshot, both snapped their heads around so fast you could swear you heard a crack.

“…I’m sorry, what?” Emily said, eyes wide.

“Hotch?” JJ repeated, blinking.

You made a strangled sound in your throat. “I quit.”

Morgan cackled, throwing his head back.

JJ turned to Emily, eyes still comically wide. “You don’t think—?”

Emily let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God. Did we just learn Hotch has a secret woman?”

You spun on your heel immediately, marching back toward the elevators. “Nope. Nope, I’m done. I quit.”

Hotch, who had just stepped out of his office, took one look at you storming off and sighed, shaking his head.

Morgan turned to him, grinning. “Man, you gotta see this from my perspective. It’s hilarious.”

Hotch fixed him with a flat stare. “Not. A. Word.”

Morgan just smirked. “Sure thing, Hotch. Whatever you say.”

As you disappeared behind the elevator doors, Hotch sighed again.

He really should have known better.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

hi gorgeous would you ever consider please writing a follow-up to the classroom one? maybe it’s towards the end of the year or it’s a while after and they ARE engaged? love u

definitely going to be a follow-up 🤭 I enjoyed writing Classroom Talk so much and I’m so glad so many people enjoyed reading it. And I LOVE YOU😙

also if anyone would want to be tagged so they get notified when it’s posted just comment and I’d love too<3

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

LOVELOVELOVELOVE

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

You’re trapped with the one person who always gets under your skin. And this time, there’s no escape—just options.

wc: 4.8k |F!Reader (Intern) x Spencer Reid (BAU) | cw: enemies-to-lovers, mutual pining, locked-room tension, flirty office chaos, bratty reader x repressed Spencer, slow-burn heat, heavy innuendo, power play lite, Gen Z banter, Hotch is so done.

A/n: This is a pick-your-ending fic — at a certain point, you’ll choose between smut or fluff, each in its own post with separate warnings and word counts. If you’re into this format, let me know! It just fits certain stories, y’know? Love and chaos—MWAH 💋

The BAU was supposed to be a serious, elite unit. You had envisioned it as a whirlwind of case files, high-stakes chases, and brooding men in bulletproof vests. What you hadn’t expected was for it to be filled with this many attractive people—or for the most infuriating one to be Spencer freaking Reid.

He was unbearable. All logic and statistics and that smug little way he corrected people, like a walking, talking Wikipedia page you wanted to shove into a filing cabinet. And, of course, he always had to insert himself at the worst possible moments.

Like now.

You were halfway up the stairs to Hotch’s office, arms full of paperwork, when Spencer materialized beside you, keeping pace effortlessly.

"You look focused," he mused, sipping from his stupid World’s Best Genius mug. The Caltech logo gleamed mockingly under the fluorescent lights.

You ignored him.

"Or frustrated," he added, tilting his head like he was observing something under a microscope. "Maybe both."

Your grip on the files tightened. "Do you ever shut up?"

"I do. Statistically speaking, though, you tend to provoke responses, so the probability of silence is low."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turned to glare at him, and exhaled sharply. "Do you hear yourself when you talk?"

Spencer blinked. "Yes. That’s how hearing works."

Your nails dug into the folder. "I hate you."

"That seems like a misdirected use of emotional energy," he replied smoothly.

You inhaled sharply, clenching your jaw so tightly it could crack. Ah, yes, self-control. A beautiful, fleeting thing. Before you could hurl something at him—your files, your shoe, your entire existence—you flipped your hair with deliberate defiance and kept walking, your heels clicking a little louder than necessary against the steps.

Truth be told, you weren’t just frustrated—you were livid. Not just because of the mountain of paperwork threatening to bury you alive, though that was bad enough. Deadlines loomed, your patience was nonexistent, and apparently, the BAU believed in torturing interns via bureaucracy. But no, the universe wasn’t content with that level of suffering. No, you had to be ovulating, too.

And your body? Oh, your body had decided to make that fact impossible to ignore. Every brush of fabric, every deep inhale around a particularly nice-smelling coworker—hell, even the way Derek Morgan smiled at people was suddenly a personal attack. And then, as if the gods of humiliation weren’t done with you, there was Spencer Reid.

Unbearably smug. Infuriatingly brilliant. And, much to your horror, the hottest of them all. It was an objective fact, but one you would sooner choke on a case file than admit.

You stomped into Hotch’s office like a woman on a mission, dropping the stack of paperwork onto his desk with a satisfying thud.

Hotch barely glanced up. "Not so easy."

You groaned. "Hotch, please."

"All intern paperwork has to be proofread and signed by a superior agent," he said, sliding the files right back toward you without even looking.

You narrowed your eyes. "You didn't even check."

Hotch finally glanced up, unimpressed. "You think I don't know when something’s unfinished? The weight is off. The stack isn’t dense enough. And if that weren’t enough, you wouldn’t have dropped it like it burned you."

You inhaled sharply, then exhaled through your nose like a bull about to charge. "I know, but every time I try, they’re too busy, and besides, Hotch, you know me—"

"Reid’s not busy," Hotch cut in. "He does paperwork the fastest. Morgan even pays him to do his, not that I officially acknowledge that particular rule-breaking."

Your soul left your body. "You cannot be serious."

"It wasn’t a question." His expression remained unreadable, but you swore there was amusement in his eyes. "Reid is your assigned agent from now on."

Your hands are clenched at your sides. "Hotch, you don’t understand. That’s cruel. That’s a human rights violation. That’s—"

"Efficient," he interrupted smoothly. "And unavoidable. Unless, of course, you’d rather I reassign you to Rossi. He loves a good mentoring opportunity, and I hear he enjoys dictation."

Your mouth snapped shut. That was how he won. Every. Single. Time. He had a way of shutting you up with a perfectly placed, completely infuriating threat that left you with no choice but to storm out with whatever dignity you had left. You inhaled, exhaled, and bit back the thousand things you wanted to say.

But, of course, Hotch wasn’t done. He leaned back slightly, fixing you with that assessing stare that made your spine straighten. "And," he added, "we talked about the skirts."

You smirked, tilting your head, letting your inner party girl out for just a second. "Yeah, yeah, you’re required to say that, but let’s be real—HR only cares if it’s disruptive, and last I checked, no one’s tripped and fallen into a scandal because of my legs."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a flat line, his patience visibly thinning. "I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

You grinned, victorious. "Good choice, bossman."

His stare didn’t waver. "Leave."

And because you valued your job (and, fine, maybe because getting the last word on Aaron Hotchner was a dangerous game), you spun on your heel and strutted out, thoroughly pleased with yourself.

God, if you didn’t have a massive, wildly inappropriate crush on Spencer, you’d bounce on Hotch in a heartbeat. Even if he was divorced. Even if he had a kid. Even if he was old enough to be your father. Domineering, dangerously competent men were simply your type, and unfortunately, you were surrounded by them.

As you made your way back to your desk, you let yourself fantasize—just a little. Maybe, in another life, you could have both. A little Eiffel Tower moment, if you will—

"Hey, you in?"

Penelope’s voice pulled you from your wildly inappropriate thoughts. You blinked, turning to her just as she plopped down in the chair beside you. "In?"

"For going out tonight. Drinks, dancing, chaos—our usual."

You hesitated, your attention snagged by movement across the bullpen. Hotch stood by Spencer’s desk, speaking in that low, measured tone of his. Spencer, ever the picture of unbothered intellect, nodded along, his fingers idly drumming against a case file. Hotch’s brow furrowed, and something about the intensity of his gaze made your stomach twist.

"Okay, now I know you’re distracted." Penelope snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you jolt. "What’s got you zoning out like a lovesick teenager?"

You tore your gaze away and cleared your throat. "Hotch just told me I have to start running my paperwork through Spencer."

Penelope’s eyes widened. "Oof. Condolences. What did you do to deserve that?"

"Apparently, Hotch thinks I’m not cutting the ropes as a newbie," you deadpanned. "But he likes me otherwise, y’know."

Penelope snorted. "Oh, sweetheart. That is the most delusional thing I’ve ever heard—and I’ve been in a fandom war."

Before you could respond, movement caught your eye. Hotch and Spencer were walking toward you, Hotch balancing a precarious stack of files in his arms. You barely had time to brace yourself before he stopped beside Penelope, giving her a pointed look.

"Garcia. Back to work."

Penelope pouted dramatically. "Ugh, you are such a buzzkill, you know that?"

"And yet, here I am, still insisting," Hotch replied dryly. He barely glanced at her. "Garcia. Work."

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest like he’d personally wounded her. "Rude. And here I was, ready to offer my radiant presence for a night of fun. But nooo, crushed by the oppressive fist of bureaucracy once again." With a theatrical sigh, she stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Fine, fine, I’m going. But if my sparkle dims, Hotchner, just know it’s on your conscience."

"And yet, somehow, the world survives," Hotch replied flatly. Then, without another word, he plopped a massive stack of files onto your lap. "You and Reid need to redo this entire stack before you leave."

"Oh, fantastic," you drawled, shifting the weight of the folders in your arms. "Because nothing gets me hotter than redoing paperwork with my favorite human encyclopedia."

"That’s between you and HR," Hotch deadpanned before turning on his heel and walking away.

You scowled after him. "I hate this place."

"And yet, you continue to show up," Spencer mused, already pulling a file from the stack in your hands. "Let’s see how much damage you’ve done this time."

"Oh, bite me," you shot back, dropping the rest of the files onto your desk with a dramatic sigh. "Before you start spewing unsolicited critiques, just know that I put my heart and soul into those."

Spencer flipped through a few pages, his lips twitching. "You used gel pens again."

"So?"

"So, it smudged everywhere."

You rolled your eyes. "Forgive me for wanting my bureaucratic misery to sparkle a little."

"And your phrasing," he continued, ignoring your defense. "This is meant to be objective. What is ‘a concerning amount of eyebrow waggling’ supposed to quantify exactly?"

"It means the guy was sketchy!"

Spencer gave you a long, suffering look. "You are the worst intern in FBI history."

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to be insufferable. "Aw, Doctor, you say that like it’s a bad thing."

Spencer just exhaled through his nose and turned back to the files, flipping a page with unnecessary force. "If we ever have to testify based on your notes, the jury’s going to think we’re making it up."

"Oh, please," you scoffed, leaning back in your chair. "Eyebrow waggling is a known intimidation tactic."

"According to whom?"

"Me. Obviously."

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about the downfall of modern law enforcement before refocusing on the paperwork. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the slow exodus of the office. First, Morgan and Emily strolled out, offering half-hearted goodbyes that suggested they were thrilled not to be stuck with this nightmare. Then JJ, then Rossi—each departure leaving the bullpen quieter, the fluorescent lights humming louder.

By 6:30, even Penelope had fled, but not before dramatically sighing, "Ugh, this is so unfair! We were supposed to have a girls' night. Or at least get you drunk enough to make some questionable decisions!"

"Oh, trust me, I am questioning every decision that led me here," you deadpanned, glaring at the endless stack of papers.

Pen just pouted. "Well, hurry up and get it done so we can still salvage the night! I have snacks, face masks, and enough gossip to fill an entire season of reality TV."

"Maybe if someone would stop talking, we could actually finish this," Spencer cut in, not even looking up from his work.

The clock ticked on, relentless and unsympathetic. 7:15. Then 7:45. Then, somehow, 8:30. The bullpen had long since emptied, the low murmur of voices replaced with nothing but the scratch of pens and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.

And, of course, the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears every time he shifted, every time he exhaled a little too sharply. The air between you crackled with something neither of you would dare acknowledge—something electric, infuriating, and impossible to ignore. Spencer was always irritating, but tonight, the sharp edges of his voice sent heat straight to your spine. His rolled-up sleeves, the furrow in his brow, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against the desk—it was too much. And he had no idea.

You shifted in your chair, pressing your thighs together, as another agonizing minute crawled by. The warmth pooling deep in your stomach was getting harder to ignore, bleeding into every impatient twitch of your fingers, every sharp inhale you tried to steady. It was making you reckless. Every movement he made—every flicker of irritation tightening his jaw, every absent tap of his fingers against the desk—sent another unwanted jolt through your system.

And you were nowhere near done.

You propped your chin in your palm, elbow sinking into the desk, twirling a pen between your fingers in a half-hearted attempt at distraction. But the numbers on the page swam uselessly in and out of focus, blurring into meaningless symbols. How were you supposed to concentrate when the biggest source of your frustration was sitting just feet away—close enough to feel, close enough to rile you up with nothing more than his presence?

Spencer’s voice was sharp, his presence sharper, and despite the fact that you supposedly couldn’t stand him, your body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. You were existing in a frustrating limbo—exhaustion pressing at your skull, attraction setting fire to your nerves. Your skin felt too hot, too tight, hypersensitive to every minute movement across the desk. You could feel the weight of his eyes even when he wasn’t looking at you. If you weren’t careful, this night was about to get a whole lot longer in more ways than one.

It took exactly one sharp exhale from across the desk for your tenuous grasp on focus to fully snap. Spencer, who had been nothing but an irritatingly efficient machine for the past two hours, finally looked up. And oh, he was irritated. The pen in his hand hit the desk with a clatter, and he leveled you with something caught between exasperation and begrudging patience.

“Are you even paying attention?”

You blinked slowly, head tilting. “Hmm?”

Spencer sighed, dragging a hand through his already slightly tousled hair. “Your lack of attention to detail has ensured that we need the regional case file, not this—a duplicate copy.” He gestured at the offending document like it had personally insulted him. “Which means, thanks to this mistake, we need the actual original file.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching your back slightly just for the principle of it all. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, his jaw tightening, but you pretended not to notice.

“And?”

“And,” Spencer said tightly, voice teetering on the edge of patience, “Garcia’s already gone for the night, so we can’t just pull it from the digital archives. That means I have to go to the file room and physically retrieve it.”

You raised an eyebrow, lazily dragging your gaze back to him. "Cool. Have fun."

His expression darkened. "The file room is in the basement."

“Sounds like a you problem.”

His jaw flexed. "The file room is on sublevel two—buried under concrete, terrible ventilation, not a single camera, and if that door shuts behind you? You're stuck until someone remembers to check."

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "So, what I’m hearing is: a perfect setting for a horror movie."

Spencer's lips pressed into a thin line. "It’s a security feature."

"It’s an oversight. The FBI, an organization that prides itself on preparedness, has a room where someone could just get stuck until an unsuspecting soul wanders down there?"

He exhaled, slow and measured. "Yes."

You grinned. "That’s insane."

Spencer, to no one’s surprise, did not grin back. "That’s protocol."

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair, stretching deliberately slow. His gaze flickered downward for the briefest second before he forcibly dragged his eyes back to your face. Oh, he noticed. And that little detail sent something devious curling inside you.

“Well, since you’re the one so concerned with protocol, go get the file."

His stare was unimpressed. "You made the mistake. You go."

You scoffed. "Oh, please. If I hadn’t made a mistake, you’d have found another reason to be insufferable. You were just waiting for an excuse."

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was holding something back. "That’s not true."

You smirked. "No? Then what was that little lecture just now? Don’t tell me you just enjoy talking down to me. That’s kind of kinky, Doctor."

His fingers flexed against the desk, a telltale sign of irritation but also something else. His voice came out quieter, a touch too taut. “The file name is ACB-714. Basement archives, second cabinet on the left."

You gave him a lazy salute. “Consider it handled."

Truthfully, you needed an excuse to step away. The way he’d spoken to you—sharp, clipped, just on the edge of losing control—had sent your brain spiraling into places you did not need to be right now. It was bad enough working alongside him when your body was already betraying you, but the fact that he sounded that good when he was frustrated was unbelievable. Unnecessary. Unfair.

And the way he looked at you? Like he was barely keeping himself in check? Like he was two seconds from saying something neither of you could take back? That was dangerous.

You pushed back from your desk, the sharp click of your heels against the tile the only indication of certainty when everything inside you was anything but. Maybe the basement’s clinical chill would help, its walls lined with forgotten case files and the ghosts of bureaucratic neglect grounding you back into something solid. Maybe the hum of the fluorescents, cold and impersonal, would smother the slow, insidious heat crawling beneath your skin—the heat fed by too many lingering glances, too many tension-laced arguments that never seemed to resolve.

The door groaned as you stepped inside, its weight swinging shut behind you with an eerie finality, unnoticed in your distraction. The file room stretched ahead, a silent graveyard of paperwork, thick with dust and the acrid bite of industrial-strength cleaner. Overhead, the fluorescents flickered erratically, their jittery glow casting restless shadows against the endless rows of filing cabinets standing like sentinels in the dim light.

Your mission was simple—retrieve one file, ACB-714, and get out. But the second you stepped into the file room, your focus was already shot to hell.

Spencer Reid was ruining your life.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic, but at the very least, he was ruining your concentration. He had rattled off instructions with that sharp, impatient cadence, his fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining himself from strangling you. The worst part? It wasn't just the irritation that got to you. It was the way he watched you, the way he always seemed locked in on you, even in exasperation.

You wanted to be annoyed. You wanted to let it roll off your back. But your body betrayed you, heat curling at the base of your spine in a way that was neither productive nor appropriate for a professional setting.

Your fingertips skimmed over the metal cabinet labels, your eyes skimming but not really seeing. Was he always like this? So insufferably exacting? So unwilling to let anything slide? It wasn’t just the way he corrected you—it was how he did it. Precise and controlled, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin and lived for it.

It was honestly impressive.

You blew out a breath, pushing your hair out of your face as you rolled your shoulders back. Focus. Find the file. Get out. But instead, you leaned lazily against a filing cabinet, barely noticing how the movement nudged the doorstop at the threshold.

The sharp click of metal shifting barely registered before it was too late.

Your stomach dropped.

The door.

Oh, you had to be kidding.

Panic didn’t hit immediately. No, it crept in slow, slinking up your spine like a cold hand tracing your vertebrae. You turned on your heel, already knowing what you’d see before you even reached for the handle.

Locked.

Of course it was fucking locked. Because why wouldn’t the government’s precious archive room operate like a goddamn haunted house? You stared at the heavy metal door, willing it to magically swing back open. It didn’t.

Your hand flew to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you exhaled. This was just perfect. You had let your brain wander off into Spencer Reid–induced nonsense, and now you were locked in an FBI basement because you couldn’t be bothered to properly secure a doorstop.

And you weren’t just trapped. You were trapped while ovulating, which meant your body was already in a state of desperate, hormone-fueled hysteria. Which meant you had spent the last fifteen minutes alternating between rolling your eyes at Spencer’s condescending attitude and staring at his hands. His long, unnecessarily pretty hands, which had absolutely no business looking that good while shuffling through case files.

Great. Now you were locked in a basement, overthinking, and horny.

You slid down against the filing cabinet with a groan, head thumping back against the metal. How long would it take for someone to notice? Would Penelope come looking for you, or would she just assume you finally gave in and quit? Maybe Spencer would realize something was off. Maybe he’d put the pieces together, retrace your steps, and...

No. No way. If anything, he’d think you were just slacking off. He’d probably roll his eyes, make some condescending remark about how you were the worst intern in FBI history, and move on with his night. Because that’s what he did—he got under your skin, poked and prodded and found every little thing that made you tick.

And the worst part? You let him.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, determined to push him out of your head.

Then, just as you started to resign yourself to a long, embarrassing night of solitude, a noise broke through the thick silence.

Footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.

Then—finally—the sound of the door handle turning.

The door swung open, and there he was, framed by the dim hallway light, looking every bit as exasperated as you knew he would. His gaze flicked over you, arms crossed, mouth already pulling into a disapproving frown.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, stepping inside with an exasperated shake of his head. "You, of all people, got yourself locked in a room that explicitly warns you not to let the door close behind you. I even told you."

You scoffed, pushing up from the floor. "Wow, Spence. So good to see you, too. Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly," he deadpanned, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on you for half a second too long. Then, with the same distracted precision he applied to everything, he grabbed the doorstop and wedged it beneath the heavy metal frame.

"There. Now, let's get—"

The sharp, metallic click of the door lock echoed through the room.

Silence.

Spencer froze.

You blinked.

Then, slowly, terribly, you turned to face each other.

"Reid," you started, voice calm in a way that meant you were absolutely about to lose it. "Did you just—"

"No," he said immediately, but his voice had gone slightly higher. "No, I didn't."

Your arms crossed, mirroring his stance. "Then what was that noise, genius?"

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, then reached for the handle, twisting it once, twice, then yanking with just enough force to confirm the worst.

Locked.

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"You," you said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Just locked us both in."

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw tightening. "Technically—"

"Oh, no. No, technically, Spencer. You just pulled a me."

His eyes narrowed. "Pulled a you? I think not."

"Oh, I think so!" You threw your arms up. "Because last I checked, I was the one who got us into this mess and you were supposed to be the responsible one!"

Spencer let out a long breath, adjusting his stance like he was physically restraining himself from escalating. "Okay, well, panicking isn’t going to fix anything."

"Who’s panicking? I’m not panicking." You were definitely panicking. Not because you were locked in—no, you could handle that. But because it meant you were stuck here. Alone. With Spencer. For God knows how long.

And you were already on edge.

Already warm, restless, caught in some ridiculous hormone-induced haze that had made your brain hyperfocus on things you had no business noticing. Like the way Spencer’s shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing the lean, tense muscles of his forearms. Or how his hair was just slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. Or the way he smelled—like old books and something subtly sharp, like cedarwood and coffee grounds.

God, you needed to get out of here.

"This is your fault," you muttered, pacing a tight circle.

"Oh, so it’s my fault you got distracted and let the door close on you?" His voice had that smug edge again, laced with something else—something almost amused, like he’d warned you this would happen and was now relishing in being right. It made you whirl on him, irritation flaring hot beneath your skin.

"Yes, actually! If you hadn't been hovering over me like some insufferable know-it-all, I wouldn't have lost my train of thought."

Spencer scoffed. "Hovering? I was doing my job. You were the one lost in your own head, probably thinking about something ridiculous like—I don’t know—lip gloss flavors or whatever occupies that overly cluttered brain of yours."

You gasped, shoving at his chest. "Oh, bite me, Doctor Condescension! Not all of us have an eidetic memory to store every single useless fact known to man. Some of us have normal human brains that get distracted when we’re trying to multitask!"

Spencer barely budged from your shove, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. "Right. Multitasking. You mean twirling your pen and zoning out?"

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, but the reality of the situation hit you again like a truck. The file room. Locked. No way out. You groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

"Okay, genius, how do we get out? Since you're so brilliant and never make mistakes?"

Spencer crossed his arms, the smugness practically radiating off of him. "We wait. Someone will come looking."

You threw up your hands. "Oh, great! Because getting caught in a locked basement with you is exactly how I wanted to end my night."

He rolled his eyes. "You act like this is some unbearable torture."

"It is!" You gestured wildly. "I could be out right now, drinking with Penelope, having a girls' night, doing literally anything else but this! But no, I’m stuck in here with you, arguing over whose fault this is when we both know it’s yours."

Spencer let out a sharp breath, tilting his head. "You’re exhausting."

"You’re infuriating!"

"You’re impossible."

"You—" You jabbed a finger into his chest. "—are the bane of my existence!"

"And yet," he said, voice dropping just enough to send something shivering down your spine, "you can’t seem to stop talking to me."

You faltered for half a second before scoffing. "Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself. If I had any other option, I wouldn’t waste my breath on you."

Spencer stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating in the small, stale room. "Funny. Because despite all your complaining, you never actually walk away."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. This was new. This was dangerous. The air shifted, tension curling like a live wire between you, and you hated that some deep, embarrassing part of you liked it. Too much.

You swallowed, forcing out a breathless laugh. "What, and let you think you’ve won? Not a chance."

Spencer studied you, his gaze flickering down to your lips so fast you might have imagined it. Then, just as quickly, he scoffed, a deliberate shift in his expression that screamed of warning more than dismissal. "See? Impossible. I told you."

Something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of this situation. Maybe it was the fact that you were ovulating, and his stupid smug face was the only thing in your line of sight. But before you could even process the words spilling from your lips, you blurted out, "God, I hate how much I like you."

The silence that followed was deafening. You barely even registered what you’d said at first, not until Spencer’s entire expression shifted—his usual composure cracking just enough to reveal something startled, something unguarded. His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching just enough for you to catch it.

And then, like a freight train hitting you at full speed, the realization crashed down.

You panicked. "I mean—not like like, obviously. Just, you know, tolerate. Barely. In a work acquaintance kind of way. Like an annoying gnat I’ve learned to ignore, except I can’t ignore you because you never shut up, and—"

Spencer surged forward and kissed you.

The force of it backed you against the filing cabinets, steel biting into your spine as his hands found your waist, gripping just hard enough to steal whatever breath you had left. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was months of pent-up frustration, sharp and heated and all-consuming.

You barely had time to process it before you were kissing him back, fingers tangling in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. Like letting go meant losing whatever the hell this was.

Spencer pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Shut up, for once."

You would’ve argued. You really would have. But then he kissed you again, and suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

PICK YOUR ENDING

➤ [Ending 1 – Smut]

➤ [Ending 2 – Fluff]

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Classroom Talk | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer drops your lunch off to your classroom filled with apparent love experts, who then question the man you’re with and tease you two for not being married yet…

A/N: idk why but I just thought of this, it’s adorable though. Not proofread too tired for that. LOL.

BYR(b4 you Reid): light teasing, Spencer getting kind of bullied by teens, and fluff :))

You were at your desk, deep in teacher mode. Grading assignments, updating the grade book, the usual rhythm of a productive day.

You glanced up and saw your students working quietly for once, either reading the latest chapter you’d assigned or scribbling their thoughts in journals. It was that rare magical moment every teacher silently prays for: peace.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

There was a knock at the door.

Every single head turned in unison. Including yours.

“Hello.” A familiar voice said, soft and polite, peeking into the room like he wasn’t about to cause utter chaos.

Spencer.

Your brilliant, shy, awkward boyfriend. Standing in your classroom.

You blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?” You asked, smiling like this was the best little surprise.

“Someone.” He said, raising a brow and holding your bag up. “Forgot their lunch at home.”

You walked over to meet him halfway, shaking your head. “Wow, I didn’t even realize.”

His hand instinctively went to your waist as he handed you your lunch, you turned to face your students, you immediately regretted it.

Half of them were staring blankly. The other half wore smug little smirks, the kind you’ve seen way too many times this year.

You sighed, already sensing the storm brewing. “Everyone, this is Spencer.” You introduced him. He gave an awkward wave and shy smile, very much regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“Hi.” Came a chorus of teenage politeness, which was immediately shattered by

“Is that your husband?” Silas blurted. Of course it was Silas.

You chuckled. “No, not my husband.”

“Fiancé?” Someone else chimed in.

“Boyfriend.” Spencer said, trying to sound casual.

“Oooh!” “Awws” “no way” erupted from every direction.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell us? We thought you were lonely!”

You blinked. “I-well- I didn’t think you needed to know about my personal life.”

“Why? We always tell you about ours.”

You stared at them. “That’s…true, unfortunately.”

“I always thought you and the basketball coach would be cute.” Someone tossed out.

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You stepped in. “Okay! That’s enough. You’re scaring him”

The class laughed, clearly delighted.

You turned back to Spencer, lowering your voice. “Thanks for this. Lunch is in fifteen, have time?”

He smiled. “For you? Always.”

You motioned to the chair near your desk, and he sat, awkward but trying. You returned to your seat, praying your students would go back to their journals.

Nope.

Olivia’s hand shot up.

“Yes? Olivia?”

“Why is your boyfriend dressed like he’s coming from a funeral?”

You choked back a laugh, Spencer blinked at you, betrayed.

“Well.” You said sweetly. “Spencer?”

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh…my job?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m with the FBI.” He said, a little more confidently. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Boring.” Someone muttered.

Your head snapped up. “Hey! Be nice. His job is actually super important.” You say going to your sweet lovely boyfriend’s defense because only you can pick on him.

“Yeah, shut up. Let him talk.” Silas said.

You raised a brow. “Appreciate the support, not the tone.”

Spencer smiled faintly. “What we do is analyze criminal behavior to help catch criminals. It’s called profiling.”

“It’s like psychology.” You added. “It’s really cool.”

“So you predict what people do? Do me!” Ethan asked.

“Uh…it doesn’t quite work like that.” Spencer replied.

Ethan sighed, immediately unimpressed.

“So you get to catch criminals?” Mia asked.

“Yeah. We do.” Spencer said, nodding.

“Cool.” Silas grinned. “Do you see crime scenes? Are they gross?”

“Very.” Spencer said.

And now they were really invested.

“What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?” Someone asked

Spencer opened his mouth.

“Nope!” You interrupted. “Do not answer that.” The class groaned. “Sorry, guys.”

“How long have you guys been together?” Mia asked.

You hesitated. “Four years. Now get back to work.”

“Four years and no ring? That’s sad.” Silas said. Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Are you guys scared of marriage or something?” Olivia teased. You and Spencer both looked equally offended.

“No.” You said crossing your arms. “We’re just…comfortable.” Spencer nodded. “We’re happy where we are. Right?” He asked, his head snapping to you for confirmation.

You smiled. “Right.”

“Well, if my boyfriend didn’t propose after four years, I’d dump him.” Mia declared. You shook your head. “When did this classroom turn into a relationship panel?”

“Yeah.” Spencer added. “How old are you guys? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

The room broke into laughter.

Finally, the bell rang. “Thank god.” You muttered, watching them pack up.

A few waved at Spencer, others giggled as they walked past. And then Olivia stopped right next to him.

“She’s a lovely woman. You should really put a ring on her finger.”

Then she was gone.

Spencer turned to you, you were already laughing.

“She’s not wrong.” You said making your way to him, grabbing his hand. “I am pretty lovely.”

“I am never stepping foot in this classroom again.” He said. “That was more stressful than interrogating a serial killer.”

“Oh, come on. I think they liked you.”

“Really? Because that comment about the basketball couch felt very personal.”

You laughed and nudged him. “You’re focused on the wrong thing.”

“What should I be focusing on?”

“Marrying me.”

He paused, then smiled. “Noted.”

You walked toward your classroom door, twisting the lock. Spencer was still by your desk, looking mildly traumatized.

“Are you okay?” You asked, trying not to laugh.

“I’ve been shot at less aggressively than I was questioned in here.” He replied, deadpan. “And I sensed one of your students wanting to fight me. I saw the glint in their eyes.”

You laughed. “Well, you held your own. I’m proud of you.”

You moved a chair next to Spencer, and took a seat, unwrapping your sandwich. He watched you for a second, then leaned in with a smile.

“So…four years no ring?” He said, repeating Silas’ line like he was testing it out loud.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you start.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. The experts have spoken. We’re on thin ice.”

“You’re right, should I just elope with the basketball coach?”

Spencer gave a dramatic gasp. “I knew it.”

You nodded. “He is tall, and charming.”

“Wow. Okay, now I am scared.”

You smiled, nudging your foot against his. “You know I don’t need a ring to feel secure with you, right?”

“I know.” He said softly, reaching out to brush your hand. “But also…I don’t not want to marry you someday.”

Your heart did a flip. You tried to play it cool, like your knees didn’t suddenly feel like jello.

“Yeah?” You asked, voice softer.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just…not because Olivia told me to. Although she is very convincing.”

“She is. Probably runs the underground student government.”

“Definitely. But I’ve thought about it before. And I want to do it the right way. You’d deserve something…meaningful. Not pressured by a bunch of freshman armed with sass and curiosity.”

You grinned. “I do love something meaningful.”

He leaned in slightly, teasing. “So…no courthouse wedding tomorrow after work?”

You thought about it. “Only if we go matching in some ridiculous couples costume.”

“That actually sounds incredible.”

You both laughed, the weight of the moment balanced by the natural ease between you. You leaned your head on his shoulder and exhaled.

“I liked seeing you here.” You murmured. “Even if they grilled you like a suspect.”

He chuckled. “Next time, I’m bringing backup. Maybe Morgan.”

“Oh please, if Morgan walked in here, half the girls would faint.”

He smiled, agreeing with you.

You then grabbed his hand. “Thank you for bringing my lunch.”

“Anytime. Next time I’ll bring a ring, just to keep them happy.”

You lifted your head. “If you propose in my classroom, I will throw a dry erase marker at you.”

“Romantic.” He whispered, his smile never leaving his face, you looked at him, and he kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you most.”

SO ADORABLE WTH

- Tag List ~

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Loved thisss🤭

𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

“𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎.

𝙸 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍.”

─────────────────

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝 (𝟷𝟾+)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: ~𝟿.𝟾𝚔 (𝟺/𝟺 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜)

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 | 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 | 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝙳𝚘𝚖!𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:

𝙳𝚛. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏-𝚜𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎—𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎. 𝚂𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚜. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝙷𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜:

𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝

𝙾𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚏. 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐)

𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔

𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 (𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚋, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕)

𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 / 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝚄𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝙸𝚅

D𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔

𝙼𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 / 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑

𝙰/𝙽:

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚢? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔-𝚕𝚒𝚝-𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚙 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢, 𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜-𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕-𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑.

𝙾𝙷, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝟺 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗.

𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

─────────────────

–𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎–

The soft rustle of paper and the quiet hum of a desk lamp were the only sounds in Spencer Reid’s study. He was still in his work clothes—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened but not taken off; glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a stack of case files. His brow was furrowed in that way he got when he was deep in thought, chewing lightly on his cheek.

He didn’t hear you at first. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He was so in his own head that you could practically feel the tension coming off him in waves. You pushed off the frame slowly, letting your steps echo just enough to make him glance up.

He smiled faintly, distracted. “Hey.”

“Still working?” you asked, walking behind his chair and brushing your fingers over his shoulders. He tensed a little under your touch—he always did when he was trying to stay focused.

“Yeah. There’s a pattern I’m missing, I know it’s in here somewhere,” he mumbled, tapping a page. “Just… give me a few more minutes.”

But you weren’t in a waiting mood.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’ve been in here for hours, Spence. Maybe your brain just needs a little… stimulation.”

He blinked, slowly turning his head toward you. His eyes darted to your mouth, and then lower—to the robe you’d let slip just slightly, revealing smooth skin and the curve of your thigh. His mouth opened, then closed. The flush on his neck betrayed him.

“I-I really should finish this first,” he stammered, trying and failing to shift away when you dragged your fingers slowly down his chest, just lightly enough to tease.

You slipped into his lap, one leg on either side, feeling the rigid tension of his body—not just mentally. His breath hitched. The case file crinkled in his hands before he dropped it to the desk, helpless.

“I promise I won’t make it easy for you,” you whispered, grinding down just enough to make him gasp. “But I’ll make it worth your while.”

Spencer swallowed hard, already aching beneath you, his hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch.

“You’re being cruel” he breathed, voice rough.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, your lips brushing his neck. “You’re the one who locked himself in here all night.”

His fingers finally found your waist, trembling just slightly. “This is highly distracting,” he muttered, and you smiled wickedly.

“Exactly.”

Spencer’s grip on your waist tightened, but he still looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. That nervous, needy energy that clung to him when he wanted something so badly but didn’t know how to ask for it—it made your pulse skip.

You leaned in closer, lips barely brushing his as you whispered, “You can touch me, you know.”

He exhaled shakily, finally letting his hands slide up your sides. His touch was tentative at first, like he was still trying to be good, still trying to focus on work even as you ground down against the bulge in his slacks. But the moment he felt how wet you were through your thin fabric, a soft groan escaped his throat.

“You’re not playing fair,” he murmured, voice low, husky.

“I’m not playing at all,” you replied, dragging your fingers up his loosened tie and gently tugging it tighter. “You’re the one still dressed like we’re still at work. It’s kind of hot, though—how desperate you look in that tie.”

His head dropped back against the chair with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed. You rocked your hips again, slow and torturous, your breath warm against his neck.

“I can’t think straight,” he muttered, voice strained.

“Good.”

You leaned back slightly, unfastening the top buttons of his shirt one by one, revealing the thin line of hair down his chest. His breath hitched with every inch of skin you uncovered. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them like he was trying not to lose control.

“Tell me what you want, Spencer,” you teased, your fingers dancing just above his waistband. “I want to hear you say it.”

His eyes opened, dark and glassy with want. He licked his lips, cheeks flushed.

“I want you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I need you to—God, I need you to touch me.”

You smiled, slow and satisfied, before slipping your hand between your bodies and pressing firmly against him through his slacks. His hips bucked up involuntarily, a choked sound falling from his lips.

“You’ve been so patient,” you murmured, kissing down his neck. “So good for me. I think you’ve earned it.”

His fingers dug into your thighs as you undid his belt with maddening slowness, keeping your eyes locked on his. Every second dragged out the tension, the ache, and the way he looked at you—completely undone, utterly at your mercy—made your own body thrum with heat.

And just as you palmed him through his boxers, he gasped, burying his face in your neck. “Please,” he whispered, breath warm against your skin. “Please, don’t stop.”

His breath was ragged, warm against your neck, and for a few heartbeats, Spencer just held you there—his body shaking under yours, the pressure of your hand on him making it almost impossible for him to think. But then something shifted.

You felt it in the way his fingers flexed on your thighs. In the way his mouth brushed your collarbone, lingering. Still hesitant. But bolder.

“You—” he started, voice cracking slightly, “you like watching me lose control, don’t you?”

You grinned. “Is it that obvious?“

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something darker behind the blush. “A little,” he murmured, his hands suddenly moving—stronger, more deliberate—sliding up under your robe to trace the curve of your hips, making you arch for him,

“Keep profiling me, Doctor Reid.”

“You like teasing me until I can’t think.” You didn’t expect the sudden roll of his hips into yours, just enough friction to make your breath catch.

He smirked—God, smirked—at the sound.

Spencer’s fingers tightened, and he leaned in, catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle bite that made your entire body light up. “But I think,” he said slowly, confidently, “you weren’t expecting me to start teasing back.”

Your heart thudded as he slipped one hand between your thighs, stroking over your heat through the thin fabric, his touch feather-light but maddening. You let out a soft whimper, and he stilled, eyes locked on yours.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and stunned, but laced with wonder, “that was because of me, wasn’t it?”

You could barely speak, but you nodded, biting your lip.

His expression shifted again—less uncertain now, more awed, but hungry. “You’re already soaked,” he whispered, slipping his fingers beneath your robe and into your underwear. “And I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your body jerked against his hand, and his confidence surged.

He leaned in close, voice thick with that new, heady boldness. “I want to make you beg the way you make me beg,” he said, one finger sliding into you, slow and deep, “I want to see what happens when I stop holding back.”

Your moan was all the encouragement he needed.

He gently pulled you forward, lips crashing into yours—no more hesitancy, just messy, hungry heat.

“Tell me,” he said, curling his fingers inside you just right, “how desperate you are for me.”

His other hand slid up your back, pulling the robe down your shoulders. You couldn’t even form words anymore, just gasps and whimpers against his mouth.

And Spencer—brilliant, beautiful Spencer—smiled like he’d just solved the most perfect equation.

You were the one who came in to tease him. To unravel him. But now, it was your body trembling, your breathing uneven as Spencer kept his hand moving with devastating precision, fingers deep inside you, his thumb brushing circles that had your thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

And he was watching you.

Not in the usual curious, analytical way he might study something in a book. No—this was different. His eyes were dark and focused, fascinated by every reaction he pulled from you, like each whimper and stuttered breath was proof of something he’d never realized he had the power to do.

“You’re not saying much anymore,” he murmured, voice low and rough, a hint of playful smugness creeping in. “What happened to all that teasing?”

You tried to answer, but he curled his fingers again and your head dropped forward with a moan against his shoulder.

“Oh,” he said, grinning now, the sound of your surrender making his cock twitch beneath you, still trapped behind the zipper of his slacks. “That’s what happened.”

His lips brushed your jaw, slow and warm. “I’ve read a lot of things about how the brain responds to touch… but I think I like this kind of research better.”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it turned into a gasp when he pulled back and looked at you again—his curls messy, his tie now askew from your earlier tugging, his fingers still inside you, slow and deliberate.

“You feel so good,” he said, his tone almost reverent now, like he was saying it to himself as much as to you. “And you’re letting me do this. Letting me have you like this.”

“I’m not letting you,” you managed to breathe out. “I want you.”

That did something to him.

He leaned in and kissed you again—this time deep, slow, a claiming kiss that made your spine arch and your fingers dig into his shoulders. Then he broke it off, eyes locked on yours, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I want to take my time with you,” he said, voice raspier now, lower. “I want to hear every sound you make. I want you so desperate for me you can’t think about anything else.”

You were already there.

“Then get me out of this robe,” you whispered against his mouth, “and stop pretending you’re not dying to be inside me.”

He exhaled shakily, forehead resting against yours. “I am,” he confessed, the need in his voice so raw it made you throb all over again. “But not yet.”

His fingers slipped out of you, leaving you aching. You whined at the loss, but he was already shifting, slowly standing with you still straddling his lap. You held onto him as he carried you—awkwardly at first, because he was still fully clothed and flushed and overwhelmed—He set you down on the couch, hands finally working the robe off your shoulders, eyes lingering on every inch of skin he revealed like he was trying to memorize it.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, brushing his lips down your throat. “I want to take my time.”

And then, with a voice laced with both awe and heat, he added, “I’ve never wanted someone this much.”

He dropped to his knees between your legs.

“And I’m not going to waste it.”

His hands were steady now.

That nervous energy had melted into something slower, more controlled—intentional—as Spencer knelt between your thighs, looking up at you like he was about to commit some kind of sacred act. And maybe he was. He tucked his hair behind his ears before his fingers grazed up your inner thighs, slow and feather-light, like he needed to touch every inch of you with care before he could even think about more.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly, almost smiling as he pressed a kiss just above your knee. “Is that for me?”

You nodded, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

He kissed higher. And again. Each press of his mouth was gentle, reverent, his hands keeping your legs open as he took his time exploring you with lips and tongue, like he had all night.

“You taste…” he groaned softly against your skin, “God, you taste so good.”

You gasped as his tongue finally found your clit, slow circles that made your thighs quiver around his head. He moaned when he felt you buck against his mouth, holding your hips down with those long, clever fingers. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me have you.”

And you did. You gave in, let your head fall back against the cushions, hips rolling helplessly as he devoured you—not fast, not messy. Just precise. Focused. Like every flick of his tongue, every suction of his lips, was part of some perfect pattern he was solving in real time.

But the longer he tasted you, the more you fell apart—your moans getting louder, your hands twisting in his hair—and something shifted again.

He groaned, dragging his tongue through your folds one more time before pulling back, mouth wet, eyes dark and wild. “Fuck,” he whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You fall apart so fast. Is this what you wanted? Coming in here, trying to make me desperate?”

You could barely answer. He smirked.

“You like making me beg,” he said, crawling back up over you, voice dropping. “But look at you now. Already dripping for me. Practically shaking.”

He reached down and unzipped his pants, finally freeing himself, thick and hard and aching for you.

“And you’re still not satisfied, huh?”

His hand gripped your thigh, fingers biting in just enough to make you squirm. He lined himself up, sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance with just the tip.

“Tell me how much you need me,” he said, the sweet softness from earlier laced now with something darker. “Beg for it, sweetheart.”

You whimpered. “Spence, please—please, I need you inside me.”

That did it.

With a sharp inhale, he pushed in—deep and slow at first, both of you groaning at the stretch, the heat, the absolute need. He filled you completely, holding himself there, panting against your neck.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so—God—you were made for me.”

Then he started to move.

The rhythm built fast—deep, hard thrusts that made the couch creak under you, his hands gripping your hips to pull you back onto him with every stroke. The sweet, shy boy from earlier was long gone. This was Spencer fully undone, raw and driven by nothing but the way your body clung to his, the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

“Look at you,” he paused smirking, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. “So needy.”

Each thrust knocked the breath out of you, your nails raking down his back as he picked up the pace, burying himself over and over until you couldn’t think—until all that was left was him.

And just when you thought you were right on the edge, he wrapped a hand around your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you in place, to make your eyes lock with his.

“I’m not stopping,” he said, voice wrecked. “Not until you’re shaking under me. Not until you scream my name.”

Your body was already trembling, clinging to him as he pounded into you with a rhythm that felt just on the edge of reckless. Every thrust dragged across the perfect spot inside you, and the slick sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, obscene and raw and so goddamn good.

Spencer’s hand tightened around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold you in place, to make your whole body buzz with tension. His other hand had slid down to your thigh, lifting it higher to change the angle, and when he thrust again, deeper—

You cried out, arching under him.

“That’s it,” he breathed, eyes locked on your face. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear every sound you make when I ruin you.”

Gone was the shy genius you knew. This was Spencer stripped of all restraint, desperate and cocky and addicted to the way you were falling apart underneath him.

“You came in here thinking you could tease me into submission,” he grunted, fucking into you harder now.

“But you didn’t expect me to fuck you stupid, did you?”

You moaned—loud, unfiltered, so close you could taste it. And he knew. He felt it in how tight you clenched around him, how your hips rolled, how you were right on the edge.

“I can feel it,” he rasped, burying his face in your neck. “You’re about to come all over my cock, aren’t you? So wet, so desperate—you need it.”

You nodded frantically, barely able to speak.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you again—flushed, glassy-eyed, undone. His thumb found your clit again and rubbed tight circles, synced with every thrust.

“Then give it to me,” he whispered, voice thick and wrecked. “Come for me. Now.”

It hit like lightning—your body convulsing, back arching as the orgasm ripped through you. You sobbed out his name, clinging to him like you might float away, waves of pleasure crashing over you as he kept fucking you through it, relentless and deep.

“Fuck,” Spencer groaned, stuttering inside you. “You—you feel so good—”

His rhythm faltered, then his hips slammed into yours one last time and he came hard, spilling into you with a strangled moan against your shoulder. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, every muscle in his frame taut and trembling as he rode it out, buried deep inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You were both panting, sweat-slicked and dazed, clinging to each other in the aftermath. His body collapsed slowly over yours, careful not to crush you, but unwilling to let go.

Eventually, he kissed your shoulder, still breathless. “I… don’t think I’ve ever lost control like that before.”

You laughed softly, fingers threading into his curls. “Good. You needed it.”

He chuckled, low and a little shaky. “You’re dangerous.”

You smiled, tilting his face up to kiss him slow. “And you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be, Doctor Reid.”

His eyes darkened again, but his voice was soft now. “I’m so glad you’re staying with me tonight.”

He kissed you again—slow and deep—and whispered against your lips,

“Because I’m not done with you yet.”