inksreid

[inksreid]

Adored this .. super cute .

congrats on your 2k 💕💕💕

please can I request "Bodyguard" by Beyoncé for Hotch x Reader? With Hotch as the Bodyguard 👀

thanks, love your work!!

summary. hotch is your hot bodyguard and flirting with him helps making the situation better

words count. 1 559

song. bodyguard by beyonce

a/n. i treated this story a little differently because thinking about it i realized i wanted to make a whole series of reader x bodyguard!hotch so tell me what you think about this series idea!! thank you for your request sweetie you're so sweet i hope you love it (and maybe it's the beginning of a long story)🩷

2K CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

You never imagined that your dream could turn into your greatest nightmare. 

Or that the career that you work so hard to build could become the castle you’re stuck in.

Four albums, three world tours, two Grammys, and one stalker.

Was it the way people would remember your career?

It started a few months ago. You didn’t take the first letter seriously. You had received weird messages from fans before. Wedding proposals, nude pictures—some were very creative. So, someone saying they had thought about how they would decorate your apartment after they came into your life wasn’t that frightening.

But when you got pictures from that very same apartment, you realized something was wrong.

You moved, and the investigation started. But they still haven’t found the man behind this. That asshole even had the audacity to mock you and the officer by sending pictures from your concert and giving them information about his plan.

At least there was one good thing in all this hell.

The man standing on your balcony. 

One day you woke up, and Aaron Hotchner was there. Standing in your living room. With his dark suit, his dark tie, and his dark hair. The only source of light being his white shirt and the very brief smile he gave you when you flirted with him.

“If I knew being in danger would give me this beautiful gift, I would have done this before,” you told him after spending a long minute to analyze him. You were impressed—and attracted—by the way he stayed silent the whole time. Letting you devour him with your eyes like he was some sweet treat. 

It was until you made a step closer to him that he closed the gap and offered his hand. “Aaron Hotcher, miss. You can call me Hotch.”

You accepted his hand. His grip was firm, but his touch was soft. Making you wonder if he put on hand cream before meeting you or if he was straight from a romance book. “I’d rather call you Aaron” or many other things.

The collaboration worked well.

You spoke a lot. He listened, always. Or so you loved to think, since he barely replied but seemed to remember everything you said. You heard him on the phone giving information to his superior. Important ones, like what happened at the last Met Gala with some wannabe pop star, asking them to put you far away from that person. Or less important, like how you used to have ice cream every Friday when you were younger as a treat for the weekend. And making this habit a thing again, to your surprise.

You got used to his presence.

If it weren’t for the awful situation, you wished he never had to leave.

But tonight was another charity gala you were attending. You were invited to sing, and little did the rest of the world know that you were one of the biggest donors.

You left your room in a fancy dress from yet another brand that wanted to have you as their ambassador.

Did you look good? Oh yes, you did. You knew you did.

But so did the Hotch, waiting for you. His suit was as black as the other ones. But the undone tie around his neck gave you the naughtiest thought. Oh, the idea of riding that man and holding him by the tie. Or get your hands tied with it.

At least Hotch's presence helped you stay safe both physically and mentally.

When you joined him outside, his expression was hard. His lips were closed in a thin line, and if his eyes were a weapon, your whole neighborhood would be dead already.

He heard you come out. He had learned every habit of yours. You would open the door with your right hand and hold it for three seconds before going outside or changing rooms. How you were always looking for eye contact before speaking—too used to not being heard by the people around you. Or how you were very tactile. Something he couldn’t escape.

So he wasn’t surprised when he saw you walk next to him, your back against the balcony to face him.

He learned how to compose himself, not to show any kind of feelings or emotions. Particularly not in front of his clients.

But with you, it was so difficult to stay calm. Not when you kept giving him looks he couldn’t forget. Especially those that stayed in his mind even in his bed at night.

“You’ve received a new one.” 

That was all he said.

And so Hotch wasn’t surprised when your only answer to the new information was your touch. You grabbed the tie under your fingers—the subtle sound of your nails against the tissue gave him the slightest shiver that was easy to ignore. And you did it silently.

Hotch has been looking at you a lot these past months. And he was again watching every single one of your movements. From the way your experienced hands did the tie so easily to the way you bite your lips while doing so. 

“Mr. Leclerc won’t be your date tonight,” he added once you finished, taking a much-needed cigarette from his pocket. Maybe a part of him didn’t want to disturb you. Because if you barely ever talked about the situation, he knew you were as indifferent as you pretended to be.

You scoffed. “Great, so I’ll go by myself?” 

You didn’t even appreciate that Leclerc guy that much. He was nice, he was pretty, and he was a nice date for the event, fine. He was mostly an excuse to not show up alone and be a target for your stalker. 

You were met by a silence and a piercing look from Hotch. Looking directly into your eyes. 

And you knew. Hotch’s job was to not be by yourself at any moment, sure. But there was more than that. You knew that this man would never let you go without a date.

“Are you my date tonight, Aaron?”

It was subtle. The way his eyebrows arched, not in a surprised way but more in a “you get it” look. His eyes scanned your whole body again before looking away. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t a date. He hadn’t been for years now. He wasn’t so sure he knew how to be one anymore. 

You stole the cigarette from his fingers, and he let you do it. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as you slowly brought it to your mouth. Putting it between your lips. Closing them around the tube to leave the perfect lipstick stains on it. Before putting it back between his fingers, like nothing happened.

“The perfect accessory for my favorite date.” You winked before going back inside. You didn’t see him roll his eyes. Nor the way he looked at the cigarette before putting it in his mouth, his lips right on the stains yours left.

Just like every gesture you had with him, it wasn’t questioned the whole night.

Not when you finally left your place with Hotch by your side. Not in the elevator, with your bodies so close you could smell his cologne—something you might be addicted to. Not in the car, when he drove the whole ride with his sleeve rolled up on his muscular arms. Not when you made a comment about them. “Maybe that stalker is in love with you and stays around just to see you and your arms.”

But maybe how he rolled his eyes at you again was his answer.

As much as you loved to laugh about it, having Hotch around was reassuring. 

He barely touched you the whole night but stayed close enough at your back that if you took the smallest step, you would have hit his chest. So close that a single movement of his arms would have been enough to put you against him in a protective way.

He stayed with you in your dressing room while you got ready for your performance.

“The stage is clean, and your dancers have been checked. Once you’re done, you’ll leave immediately from the left side of the stage, and I’ll be there.” He explained, checking the cameras on his phone.

You walked in front of him, but he didn’t look up. “You’ll be watching me?”

He pinched his lips together before his eyes slowly travelled from his phone to your mouth and eyes. “I’m always watching you.” 

You both knew he meant it as his job. Hotch had to watch over you. He was paid for that—and he had to watch worse things for his job. 

But the truth was, he never wanted to keep his eyes off you.

So yes, he did watch your performance. Making sure nobody would emerge on stage. Or that nothing unexpected happened. Sure, he did that.

But also he appreciated the way your body moved. The way you looked was so different when you sang. 

That was when he always remembered that your little everyday performance around him was a play. Because you never looked as happy as you were on stage. 

And he would do anything it takes to make sure you’ll be able to be this happy every single day for the rest of your life.

Even if it meant leaving your side one day.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[inksreid]

This was adorable 🥰 love it 🥰 angel ….

ARREST ME BUT MAKE IT SEXY2 / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer rescues a very annoying agent

PAIRING: agent!reader x spencer reid / w/c: 1.4k / fluff

a/n: shoutout to @cheriesbucky for being the absolute ANGEL who suggested this

The basement was dim, damp, and reeked of mold and motor oil. The ropes around your wrists were tight but not impossible—you’d been trained for worse. Still, that didn’t mean you weren’t pissed.

“What is it with unsubs and bad lighting?” you muttered, shifting in the old wooden chair you were tied to. “What, the budget didn’t cover lightbulbs?”

Across the room, your kidnapper paced. He wasn’t particularly bright, though he thought he was. That was always the worst kind—delusional with a God complex and a knife.

“I thought you fed types were supposed to be smart,” he sneered, stopping just a few feet from you.

You raised a brow. “I am. You, however, kidnapped a federal agent in the middle of a BAU investigation. Not really a Mensa moment.”

He didn’t like that. Predictably, he stormed over and gripped the collar of your button-down shirt, yanking it hard enough to pop two buttons free. His hand hovered, threatening, over your chest.

You blinked once. “Oh wow, you’re so original. What’s next, a villain monologue? Maybe some unnecessary backstory about your mommy issues?”

The unsub froze.

Then scowled.

Then stepped back with a growl. “You don’t know anything.”

You smiled sweetly. “Honey, I know you have abandonment issues, a need for control, and a probable inferiority complex stemming from a middle-child dynamic. Also, you smell like Axe body spray and microwaveable regret.”

Another button popped off.

You gasped. “Sir, if you ruin this shirt, you’re paying for it. This is government issued polyester. You have no idea how itchy this is.”

The door upstairs creaked open.

You went silent.

Heavy boot steps followed.

And then—

“FBI!” Morgan’s voice rang out.

The unsub spun, panicked. You smirked.

“You’re in so much trouble,” you sing-songed.

The door burst open a second later, and suddenly the room was swarmed. Morgan tackled the unsub to the ground in one fluid motion. Hotch shouted for backup. Emily kicked the knife away. And then—then—Spencer.

He moved straight to you, eyes scanning your face, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. His hands shook as he began untying your wrists.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

You gave him a tired smile. “Other than the fact that I’m missing three buttons and I’m pretty sure this chair gave me a splinter in a very personal place? Peachy.”

He let out a soft huff of laughter, his fingers brushing over your skin a little longer than necessary as he helped you stand.

You wobbled slightly. He caught you instantly.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hand steady on your waist.

“Oh, Doctor Reid,” you said, blinking up at him dramatically. “Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?”

The tips of his ears turned pink.

“Stop flirting,” Emily called as she cuffed the unsub.

“I’m barely flirting,” you replied, leaning a little more into Spencer just to be a menace. “Let the woman have her trauma bonding.”

Hotch sighed from somewhere near the doorway. “Let’s get her out of here before she drives us all insane.”

Spencer’s arm stayed around you even as he walked you out. The sunlight hit your face, and you winced, then immediately leaned into him again. Maybe you didn’t need the support, but you sure as hell weren’t going to waste the moment.

“So,” you said softly, “you missed me?”

He chuckled. “You were gone for three hours.”

You smiled. “Admit it. That was the worst three hours of your life.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just tightened his hold a little, letting it speak for him.

Yeah. You were definitely going to milk this for all it was worth. Especially when he insisted you stay with him that night.

Spencer’s apartment was… exactly what you expected. Books lined every wall. Some were stacked in leaning towers like paper skyscrapers. A chessboard sat mid-game near the window. The place was warm, in that “lives alone but makes tea for two” kind of way.

You flopped onto his couch with zero hesitation, legs kicking up as you groaned dramatically. “If I never see rope again, it’ll be too soon.”

Spencer hovered awkwardly by the door, keys still in hand, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you now that he had you.

“Are you… okay?” he asked finally, stepping closer.

You looked over your shoulder at him, feigning offense. “Reid. I was kidnapped, threatened, manhandled—and you’re asking if I’m okay? After you made me sleep on this crime-against-furniture of a couch instead of your bed?”

His eyes went wide. “Wait—I didn’t make you sleep here. You didn’t even ask to—”

You burst into a laugh. “Relax, Doctor. I’m teasing. Unless you’re offering.”

His ears turned pink again. You were starting to consider it a competitive sport.

“You should eat something,” he said quickly, trying to change the subject. “I have, um… crackers?”

You raised a brow. “Crackers? Wow, what a luxurious meal. Do you woo all your guests like this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

You smiled and sat up. “I’ll allow it. But only because you have very charming bookshelves.”

He gestured toward the kitchen. “Seriously, though. Want tea?”

You nodded, stretching. “As long as I don’t have to brew it myself. I’ve been through enough.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and for a moment, you let yourself actually relax. The adrenaline was gone. The aches were settling in. And beneath it all was that heavy, quiet awareness: you could’ve died today.

Spencer returned a few minutes later with two mismatched mugs. He handed you one and sat beside you—not too close, but not far, either. He smelled like books and peppermint and something just… safe.

You sipped. “Mint chamomile? What a romantic.”

He smiled softly, eyes flicking toward yours. “You’re handling this well.”

You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “You say that like you expected me to fall apart.”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I just mean… most people would still be shaken up. But you’re still making jokes.”

You set the mug down and leaned in a little. “Wanna know a secret?”

He sighed and gave an expression that read, “hit me, what is it this time.”

You lowered your voice. “I make jokes when I’m terrified.”

His brow furrowed, just a little. “So… you were scared?”

You paused, then nodded. “Of course I was. But I knew you guys would come for me. Knew you would.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“You didn’t exactly hide your interest in the interrogation room, genius,” you teased. “And I might’ve been unconscious when you found me, but I remember your voice. First thing I heard when I came to. Sounded really… relieved.”

A flush crept up his neck. “I was.”

Something shifted then—just a little. The air between you slowed, softened. He looked at you like you were a riddle he was afraid to solve. You looked back like you wanted to be figured out.

“Spencer,” you said softly, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Are you always this gentle with people?” Your voice was quieter now. Less performative. “Or is it just me?”

His breath caught.

Then, just as quietly, he said, “It’s not just you.”

A beat.

“But it’s different with you.”

Your heart did a slow, dangerous turn.

Before either of you could say more, a roll of thunder cracked outside. Rain began tapping the windows like fingers on glass.

You sighed dramatically. “Well, now you have to let me stay the night. What kind of profiler kicks a traumatized woman out into a thunderstorm?”

He laughed under his breath. “You can stay as long as you want.”

You smiled. “Dangerous words, Reid. I might never leave.”

And for the first time since the kidnapping, something in your chest unclenched. Not just because you were safe, but because… maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

[inksreid]

Ok can he please bring me a bouquet of 💐 flowers please!!

Had to share …

[inksreid]

Wait a minute he’s so adorable <3 eeek Pinterest I love you ….. these photos are adorable

[inksreid]

“FIRST LESSON PRINCESS” | S.REID | SUMMARY—

“ Meanwhile First Spencer had to convinced you to let him give you driving lessons…..

Pairing: Oc.s. Princess!fem!reader X Spencer Reid / WC 2.6k / Fluff comfort , Spencer helps reader build confidence in herself about driving she didn’t think she had . “They bound over it . He teaches reader to drive . His little princess driver is mentioned no use of your name .

A/notes , I had this in my head for the whole day so I decided to write it I hope you enjoy it .. @dearlenore this is the one I was telling you about earlier.

Your reblogs likes are comments are appreciated

The gun range was where you went to clear your head, to steady the noise in your mind with something sharp and controlled. You had told Spencer it was silly how much he kept pushing the subject—why couldn’t he just drop it? You weren’t comfortable driving. It was as simple as that. But maybe he thought that with the right teacher, you’d change your mind.

The thought lingered as you lined up another shot. The sharp crack of the bullet echoed, but it didn’t drown out the familiar presence behind you.

Of course, he had found you. He always did.

"Great," you muttered, adjusting your aim before firing again.

Spencer didn’t speak at first, just let the moment settle between you. He was good at that, knowing when to let the silence do the work.

"Please, Reid. Don’t," you finally said, lowering the gun slightly.

"Don’t what?" His voice was even, but there was something behind it—something patient and knowing.

"You know what," you shot back, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I don’t want to talk about it."

"You don’t have to," he said, stepping closer. "Just listen."

You sighed, setting the gun down. "Reid—"

"You’re not scared of shooting, but you’re scared of driving," he said gently. "You’re in control here. You can be in control there, too."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not the same."

"It’s exactly the same," he countered. "Both require focus, control, and practice. The only difference is you’ve never been taught."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the gun range. Your usual glow, the bubbly energy you carried like second nature, felt dimmed. Spencer had a way of seeing past it, of knowing when you weren’t just avoiding something—when you were afraid.

"I don’t want to learn," you admitted, softer this time.

"You don’t want to, or you don’t think you can?"

You looked away. "Both."

He didn’t argue. He just let that hang in the air before he said, "Let me teach you."

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. "Reid, no—"

"You trust me, right?"

That stopped you. You turned to face him fully, his expression steady and sure.

"Of course, I do."

"Then let me help."

It was unfair how convincing he could be, how he made it sound so simple. But maybe, just maybe, with him—it could be.

You exhaled, gripping the edge of the table. "Fine. One lesson. That’s it."

Spencer just smiled, and for the first time, the idea was still little terrifying but how could you protest , in this moment, let’s go get coffee he adds , “ trust me he says , every thing will be okay I promise you .

You let him take you for coffee—not because you wanted to, but because Spencer Reid was persistent in that quiet, unshakable way of his. And for some reason, he had decided that getting you to talk about driving was worth the effort.

The café was warm, filled with the rich scent of roasted coffee and vanilla. You wrapped your hands around your cup, letting the heat seep into your palms, something—anything—to keep your focus off Spencer sitting across from you.

"So," he started, voice steady, careful. "The first step is just getting comfortable behind the wheel."

You sighed, staring into the swirl of cream in your coffee. "Reid—"

"Just hear me out." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "You don’t have to do anything yet. Just sit in the driver’s seat, get a feel for it. No pressure."

You shook your head. "You make it sound so easy."

"It can be," he said, tilting his head in that thoughtful way of his. "Or at least, it doesn’t have to be as terrifying as you think."

Your fingers tightened around the cup. "I don’t know, Reid. I just—" You exhaled sharply. "I don’t like the idea of being responsible for something that could go wrong so fast."

He nodded, not dismissing you, not brushing it off. Just listening.

"It’s about control," he said. "And you have more of it than you think."

You finally looked up at him, searching his face. He wasn’t pushing, not really. Just offering. And somehow, that made it harder to say no.

“Let’s go,” Spencer said, holding out his hand.

You raised a brow. “Reid—”

“Trust me,” he added, eyes locked on yours like that was supposed to be enough. And damn it, maybe it was.

With a sigh, you let him lead you outside. The second you spotted his car, you stopped short.

“Your personal car, Reid? No way.”

“I trust you,” he said simply, like that settled it. Then he opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in. “Come on.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, weight shifted to one side, you gave him a look.

He sighed. “I had them swap my car while we were in the coffee shop.”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“I figured it’d be easier for you to feel comfortable,” he added, climbing into the driver’s seat like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You exhaled through your nose, glancing at the car again. It wasn’t his usual SUV. Less intimidating, more manageable.

Damn him for thinking ahead.

“Fine,” you muttered, sliding in and folding your arms.

He shot you a knowing look. “Now what?” you asked.

“Patience,” he said, amusement tugging at his lips.

You sighed, staring straight ahead.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, all confidence and certainty. “Once you realize you’re in control. Just like at the gun range.”

He takes you to a quiet gravel lot, the kind of place no one really drives on—somewhere out of the way, no pressure, no expectations. Just the first step.

Spencer pulls into a cleared-out section and parks, then turns to you.

“Alright,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Switch seats.”

You blink at him. “No, Reid. Not yet.”

“Yes,” he says, already opening his door. “Come on.”

You don’t move. “Reid—”

“You’re just going to sit in the driver’s seat,” he says, matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “That’s all. I just want to see you in the seat.”

You narrow your eyes, but he’s already out of the car, walking around to your side. When he opens the door, holding it like he’s giving you a choice but knowing you’ll give in, you let out a sharp sigh.

"Just to sit," you say, eyeing him warily.

"Just to sit," Spencer echoes, nodding like it’s a promise. Like he’s not pushing you toward anything more.

You hesitate for another second, then exhale sharply and step around the car. He watches, patient as ever, as you slide into the driver’s seat.

The moment you’re in, hands resting awkwardly in your lap, something shifts. The weight of it, the unfamiliarity. You grip the edge of the seat like it might keep you steady.

Spencer crouches slightly, leaning against the open door. "See? Not so bad."

You swallow, staring straight ahead. "It’s just a seat."

"Exactly." His voice is calm, reassuring. "And now you’re one step closer."

You shoot him a look. "This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?"

He smiles, just a little. "Maybe."

“Okay, can you adjust the seat?” Spencer asks, his tone gentle but firm. “To your liking.”

You hesitate, fingers twitching at your sides. “Reid—”

He places a hand on your arm, just enough to keep you grounded. “It’s just adjusting your seat, okay?” he says, his voice calm, reassuring.

You nod, still unsure, and lean forward to adjust it—higher, a little closer, just enough to feel like you could reach everything.

“Okay,” he says, watching you. “How does that feel?”

You shift slightly, trying to find comfort in the unfamiliar. “It feels… strange.”

Spencer smiles softly. “New things usually do.”

“Okay, look at me,” Spencer says, his voice steady, patient.

You meet his gaze, and he continues, “The rearview mirror is your friend. You’ll want to glance at it every once in a while, just to make sure everything’s good behind you. Understand?”

You nod, but he’s not done yet. “I’m going to let you adjust that, okay?” he adds, looking at you expectantly.

You hesitate, glancing at the mirror before meeting his eyes again. “Please, Spence…” you trail off, fingers twitching at the edge of the mirror. “It’s okay, I promise.”

You adjust the rearview mirror, your fingers brushing over the edges as you glance into it. Spencer watches you closely, noticing the way your posture relaxes just a little. The tension in your shoulders eases.

He smiles, his voice soft but knowing. “I can see you loosening up.”

You glance at him, eyes flickering.

He doesn’t let you off the hook. “You’re liking this, aren’t you?”

You look away, but he’s already got that look on his face—the one that says he knows you better than you think. “You can’t tell me you’re not.”

“Now,” he says, but you cut him off before he can continue.

“Why are you doing this, Reid?” The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice quieter than you meant. “Why are you helping me?”

You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the words tumbling out before you can reign them in. “I’m sorry, I just... I need to know,” you add, the vulnerability creeping into your tone even though you try to push it away. You look at him, searching his eyes for something—an answer, maybe. Anything. I just want an to know and please ,

“Don’t give me the whole ‘everyone needs to experience driving’ thing,” you say, frustration edging your words.

“Don’t give me that ‘it’s the adult thing to do’ speech either.” You look at him, determined. “I want to know why you, Spencer Reid, are helping me.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just holds your gaze, like he’s thinking it through. Then, he leans in a little closer, closing the space between you.

“Because I want to,” he says, his voice quiet but sure.

There’s a pause. His eyes soften, almost like he’s asking you to hear something more. “Why can’t you accept my help?” he asks, his words carrying more than just a simple offer.

“Put your hands on the steering wheel,” he says softly, almost like he’s trying to be patient.

You glance over at him, something shifting in your chest. “I can feel it, you know?” you say, your voice a little sharper than you meant. “You’re into me. Whether you want to admit it or not, I can tell.”

He doesn’t flinch, just meets your eyes with that steady, quiet intensity. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, his tone still calm, but there’s a warmth to it now. “Please, just put your hands on the steering wheel,” he repeats, his voice gentle but firm, like he’s asking you to trust him.

You place your hands on the steering wheel, your fingers slightly trembling. “Okay,” you say, trying to steady yourself.

Spencer glances at you, a teasing edge to his voice. “You know which one’s the brake, right?”

You nod, your grip tightening. “Yeah, I got it.”

“This is drive,” he says, pointing to the gear shift. “And this is park. Right now, we’re in park.” He glances at you again, his smile gentle. “We haven’t even turned it on yet.”

You glance at the dashboard. “So that’s the next step?”

He nods, his voice patient. “Are you ready for that?”

You take a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Spencer watches you for a beat longer, his eyes soft but still focused. “You still haven’t answered me,” you say, you’re voice tone quieter now, more deliberate.

You turn to him, a flicker of determination crossing your face. “I know you’re into me, Spence,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

He shifts slightly, his gaze steady but something flickering in his eyes. “We can’t have distractions right now,” he says, his voice steady, though the way he says it betrays a hint of something softer underneath.

"Okay," you say, a little more firmly this time. "So, I'll start the car if you tell me. Otherwise, Dr. Reid, we're done for today."

You let the words hang between you, feeling the weight of them.

He doesn’t immediately respond, just watches you, his gaze softening. “I just want to help you,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “Why can’t you accept that?”

You shift, leaning slightly forward, keeping your eyes locked on his. “So, you’re scared to admit you have feelings for me?” The question slips out before you can stop it, leaving a quiet tension in the space between you.

You decide to start the engine, your foot pressing gently on the brake.

Spencer is quiet for a moment, his surprise clear. “I thought you wouldn’t start it if I didn’t answer,” he says, his voice softer than usual.

You glance at him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “You already had,” you reply. “Your body language gave it away. I’ve been noticing the signs for a while now.”

He meets your gaze, a little taken aback. “I just wanted you to admit it,” you add, your voice quieter now, but still firm. “But it’s fine. I’m in control, right?” You lean back slightly, almost daring him to respond.

"Right," he says, his voice slightly unsteady, as if the change in you had caught him off guard. He watches you, his expression softening, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

It’s not just the way you’re handling the car or the lesson—there’s something else in your confidence, something that pulls him in deeper than he expected. If he hadn’t noticed it before, he definitely does now. And he can’t deny it.

"Are you scared now, Spence?" you ask, a teasing edge in your voice, but there's an undercurrent of something else, something that feels more vulnerable than you'd like to admit.

"No," he replies, his tone steady, though there's a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes.

You shift the car into drive, slowly easing your foot off the brake. Your gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, then to the outside mirrors, checking the alignment. They're even, you think, and it gives you a little more confidence.

You drive forward, the engine humming softly beneath you. Spencer doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, the silence stretching comfortably between you. Finally, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "You got this," he says, his voice low, like he’s not just talking about the car, but about something more.

You smile, the tension easing as the drive feels less daunting than you expected. "This isn’t as bad as I thought," you admit, the hint of a laugh in your voice.

Spencer glances at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What’s that smile for?" he asks, his tone teasing. "You’re liking it, aren’t you?"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "First, you admit you have feelings for me, then I’ll tell you."

Spencer’s expression softens, but he doesn’t say anything, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. You giggle, the sound light and carefree, but there’s a quiet understanding between you both now, something unspoken that hangs in the air.

"Okay," Spencer says, his voice steady, but there's a hint of pride in his eyes. "Remember where the coffee shop is? About five minutes back there?"

You nod, a little nervous, but you can feel your confidence building.

"Ready for the big test?" he asks, his tone light, though you can tell he’s watching you closely.

"I’m not sure about that, Spence," you reply, feeling the weight of the moment.

"Remember, you're in control," he says gently, his gaze soft. "It’ll be okay. Just take us back to the coffee shop."

You take a deep breath, focusing as you find a spot to turn around and head back. Spencer watches you, a quiet pride in his expression. As you stop at the stop sign, he gives you a nod. "You’re doing great," he says, his voice warm with encouragement.

You finally see the town in the distance. "Okay," you think to yourself, "they’re just driving. Like you , but this is your first time It’s your first real lesson, not just a casual drive.

The light turns green, and you pull forward, turning left as you spot the coffee shop ahead. You find a parking spot and ease the car into it, your heart racing a little.

"Great job," Spencer says, a genuine smile on his face. "For your first lesson, how does it feel to be in control?"

You shift the car into park, your hands still slightly shaking as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Okay," you say, letting out a breath. "That was terrifying, but in a good way," you add, a small laugh escaping your lips.

"Spence, thank you," you continue, your voice softer now, more sincere. "I never thought I could actually do it," you admit, glancing at him. "But you... you believed in me."

He looks at you, his expression gentle but unreadable, and you feel your heart race for a different reason now. "You pushed me," you say, almost pleading, "Please tell me... please, just admit it to me."

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What do I get out of this?" he repeats, his voice low and teasing. "What do I get? I got to see you come out of your shell. I got to see you open up to me, trust me to teach you to drive."

He pauses for a moment, his gaze steady as he watches you. "I got to see you loosen up, see the expression on your face when you finally got the hang of it. When you felt in control, like you do at the gun range."

Your breath catches, his words hitting you harder than expected. "So, you want me to admit I have feelings for you?" he says, his voice quieter now, more earnest. He leans in just slightly, and for a brief second, everything feels more real between you two. "Fine," he continues, his voice softer. "I do."

"Spence," you say, your voice softer now, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I knew it... I knew you had feelings for me this whole time."

You pause, the words coming out before you can stop them. "I have feelings for you too," you admit, a quiet honesty in your voice. "I just never thought I'd make it this far with driving... with you out there, pushing me."

Before you can say anything else, he opens his door and unbuckles his seatbelt. "What are you doing?" you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

"Stay there," he says, but his tone is light, almost teasing.

You giggle. "Okay," you reply, watching him as he gets out of the car and walks around to your side. The moment his hand touches the door handle, your heart skips a beat.

"Spence?" you say, but before you can finish, he pulls open the driver’s side door. Without a word, he reaches in, gently pulls you out of the car, and spins you into his arms.

You laugh, your cheeks flushing. "What is this?" you ask, breathless, unable to hold back your giggles.

His smile is warm, his eyes twinkling with something you can't quite name. "Just enjoying the moment," he says softly, the distance between you shrinking until it feels like everything else has faded away, your heart skips , thank you for believing in me you whisper, he pulls you in for another hug .. anytime he says , he grabs your hand lets go get bite to eat he says to celebrate your first lesson my little driver princess.. you smile holding on to his arm ..

[inksreid]

You’re so welcome bestie <3 ..

Sending you flowers to get well soon have a wonderful Sunday bestie .

Tysm angel 🥹❤️ you’re too sweet!!

[inksreid]

Sassy Reid … I need him ..

[inksreid]

Lady’s — hmm Matthew gray gubler … my sweet love … he so pure .. he deserves everything life has to offer.. I adore him so much . He’s my idol.. I’m just daydreaming…

[inksreid]

How I miss this masterpiece I will never know I adore this beautiful piece

チョコミント　よりも　あ･な･た♡ / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer attends an idol convention

PAIRING: idol!reader x spencer reid / w/c: 3.0k / fluff

a/n: sorry I’m obsessed w AI-SCREAM atm & I needed this for my own peace of mind

SPENCER REID WAS well acquainted with the art of feeling out of place. He had navigated gruesome crime scenes, endured deafening parties, and even found himself in underground gambling rings—where, ironically, he blended in slightly better. But none of those experiences had prepared him for this.

The convention hall was an assault on his senses. A sea of pink, flashing lights, and shrill excitement filled the air. The smell was particularly difficult to ignore—a strange cocktail of sweat, perfume, and artificial sweetness that made his stomach turn. And then there was the sound.

The space vibrated with energy, a constant hum of chattering fans, blaring music, and the rhythmic clatter of merchandise being exchanged. Banners and posters lined every available surface, each one dedicated to a different idol group. But even amid the overwhelming variety, Spencer couldn’t help but notice that one light stick dominated the crowd.

It was striking—a heart-shaped centerpiece, layered in pink hues and encased in a clear sphere. A delicate bow wrapped around its upper base, with the power button nestled in the center, pulsing a soft blush of light. Thankfully, it wasn’t brighter, or Spencer might’ve succumbed to sensory overload right then and there.

Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, he sighed as Penelope Garcia all but dragged him through the throng of fans. His nerves were already frayed, and the relentless pop music blasting from every direction was only exacerbating the situation.

“Remind me why I’m here again?” he asked, raising his voice over the noise.

Penelope gasped dramatically, her expression one of exaggerated betrayal. “Spencer! We went over this! You’re here because I love you very much, and you need to experience joy, glitter, and the finer things in life!” She huffed. “And because I need someone to stop me from spending my entire paycheck on La-Vie merch.”

Spencer blinked. “Right. Let’s, uh… not do that.”

“Don’t shame me!” she declared, before tightening her grip on his wrist and pulling him forward. “Come on, my reluctant little genius, you’re gonna have an awesome time with me today!”

Spencer highly doubted that. But he complied anyway.

It wasn’t that he had anything against pop music. He simply preferred Beethoven over bubblegum beats, quiet libraries over concerts, and coffee over whatever unnaturally colored drinks were being sold at the concession stands. He could appreciate the cultural impact of the industry, the intricate choreography, and the psychological phenomenon behind mass fandom behavior. But he had never seen the appeal firsthand.

Until now.

Because then, amidst the chaos, he saw you.

You stood on a small stage, effortlessly poised as you signed autographs, your smile radiant under the harsh convention lights. And in that moment, Spencer understood something he hadn’t before.

You weren’t just any idol.

You were the idol.

Even someone as uninformed as he was recognized you. You were part of one of the biggest groups in the world, a phenomenon that had reshaped the industry. He had seen your face on billboards, heard your name in casual conversations, and had even witnessed Penelope crying over your performances more times than he could count.

But none of that prepared him for seeing you in person.

Because you weren’t just beautiful—you were otherworldly. Even in a convention teeming with celebrities, screaming fans, and flashing lights, the entire place seemed to revolve around you.

“Ho-ly mother of sparkles,” Penelope breathed beside him, clutching his arm in a vice grip. “It’s her. I need to sit down. Spencer, help. I’m fainting.”

“You seem fine to me,” he observed, tilting his head slightly as he examined the angle of her posture.

“Barely,” she hissed. Her eyes darted between you and her own reflection in her phone screen. “Oh my God, do you think she can sense my presence? Do I look okay? No, don’t answer that—I know I look fabulous, but like, do I look approachable? Do you think she knows I’m her biggest fan? Should I scream? No, too much. I should be cool. Should I—”

Spencer sighed, already bracing himself for whatever came next.

“I can’t believe this,” Penelope whispered for the third time in the last five minutes, fanning herself dramatically. “Spencer. Spencer. We are about to meet Y/N. This is history. Do you understand? History.”

Spencer adjusted his bag strap and nodded absentmindedly. He did, in fact, not understand. But he did understand that Penelope was on the verge of combusting, and any attempt to dissuade her would be futile.

“Realisticslly speaking, you have a limited window of time before you’re asked to move along,” he reminded her, glancing at the setup ahead. Fans were stepping up, getting their autographs or pictures, exchanging a few words, and then moving on. It was efficient, structured—probably designed to maximize the number of people you could meet without exhausting yourself.

Penelope waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I know, but maybe if I exude enough love, she’ll feel it and grant us an extra moment of her divine presence.”

Spencer sighed. “That’s not how it works.”

But Penelope wasn’t listening anymore. The line moved forward, and suddenly, you were in front of them.

Up close, you were even more dazzling than Spencer had anticipated. Your presence was warm, magnetic in a way that made even a man as analytical as he was struggle to find the right words.

And then, you smiled.

“Hi!” you chirped, your voice bright and full of genuine excitement, as if you weren’t hours into meeting an endless stream of fans. “What’s your name?”

Penelope made a strangled noise. “I—me? Oh my gosh, um—Penelope. My name is Penelope.”

“Penelope,” you repeated, as if testing it out. Then you grinned. “That’s such a pretty name! I love it.”

Penelope squeaked.

Spencer, for his part, merely observed, fascinated by the effect you had on people. It wasn’t just surface-level charm—it was something sincere, something that made people feel seen.

“And you?” you asked, turning to him.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said automatically.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Doctor?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, uh—I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, along with several additional degrees in—”

“Oh my gosh.” You gasped, leaning forward slightly. “You’re, like, an actual genius.” You turned to your members who were looking at him as well.

Spencer blinked. “Well, technically, a genius is classified by an IQ above 140, though intelligence is difficult to quantify completely—”

“I think it’s pretty quantifiable in your case,” you teased, eyes twinkling. “So, what brings you here, Doctor Genius? Are you a fan?”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated. He wasn’t a fan, per se. He wasn’t opposed to your music, but the world of idols was something he had only ever observed from the outside. He wasn’t sure what the right response was.

Luckily, Penelope was quick to intervene. “I dragged him here,” she confessed, clasping her hands together. “He doesn’t knowww he’s a fan yet, but don’t worry, I’m working on it.”

You laughed—a sound that, Spencer noted, was genuinely joyful, not the rehearsed kind of politeness he assumed someone in your position had to perfect.

“Well, I think you should give us a chance,” you said, tilting your head at Spencer. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like me more than you expect.”

Something about the way you said it, with an easy confidence that wasn’t cocky but inviting, made Spencer consider it more seriously than he normally would have.

“You?” One of your members whose name tag in front read ‘Sienna’ gasped. “Yeah! What if he likes me more?” Lina teased, placing her chin on your shoulder. “As if! Don’t listen to them, I’m your favorite.”

You reached out for his hand and held it defensively, sticking out your tongue to your members. He knew the playful banter was probably something done often. Yet his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

He was about to respond when another one of your members—he recognized her from the posters but couldn’t recall her name nor read her name tag—leaned over, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“Are we going over time?” she asked, amused.

You turned to her with a playful pout. “Are you keeping track?”

The girl smirked. “No, but the managers are.”

Spencer noticed then that, unlike the fans before and after them, you weren’t rushing the conversation. There was no subtle body language urging them to move along, no polite closing remarks signaling the end of their time.

Instead, you turned back to them, eyes warm. “Well, I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”

Penelope made another strangled noise, and Spencer wondered if he should check her pulse.

“Not at all,” he said, surprising himself.

Your smile widened. “Good.”

One of your other members, Daniella, a taller girl with sharp eyes and a mischievous smile, leaned forward. “Wait, Doctor Genius—do you really have that many degrees?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I started college when I was young, so I had time to accumulate a few.”

Your group collectively let out a sound of amazement, and another member gasped. “Twelve? What was I doing at twelve? Oh, right—getting scolded for sneaking snacks into dance practice.”

Spencer, despite himself, felt his lips twitch. “That does sound significantly more age-appropriate.”

You giggled, nudging your teammate. “See? We should have been studying instead of getting in trouble.”

Lina groaned. “Please don’t bring up the snack scandal again.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Snack scandal?”

Your group immediately erupted into overlapping stories, each member chiming in to tell their version of what was, apparently, a rather dramatic incident involving a forbidden stash of sweets and a very angry dance instructor.

Spencer listened intently, intrigued by the way you and your group interacted. There was an ease between you, a clear bond that went beyond just being coworkers.

Penelope, meanwhile, looked like she had ascended to another plane of existence.

“This is the best day of my life,” she whispered.

You beamed at her. “I’m so glad you guys stopped by. I feel like I’ve been talking at people all day, but you two are actually talking to me.”

Spencer frowned slightly at that. “Isn’t that… common?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I love my fans, but a lot of interactions are quick, or they’re too nervous to say much. It’s nice to have an actual conversation.”

Your members nodded in agreement, one of them sighing. “Yeah, it’s refreshing when someone actually treats us like people and not—”

“Like idols?” Spencer supplied.

Your eyes flicked to him, something unspoken passing behind them. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Like that.”

Penelope, who had been too starstruck to pick up on the subtle shift in mood, gasped. “Oh, oh! Do you guys want to take a picture? I mean, you don’t have to—I know there’s a line, but if you want—”

Your face brightened. “I’d love to!”

Penelope let out a noise that Spencer could only classify as pure joy, quickly fumbling for her phone.

You leaned in close, and Spencer suddenly found himself surrounded by all of you as your members enthusiastically joined in. He barely had time to process before Penelope snapped the picture.

You looked at it and giggled. “This is such a good one! You should send it to us—we’ll repost it.”

Penelope made another strangled sound, and Spencer prepared himself to perform CPR if necessary.

One of your managers cleared their throat, signaling that they really had gone over time.

You sighed. “I guess we should wrap up, huh?”

Spencer nodded, and for a reason he couldn’t quite name, he felt… reluctant.

Penelope, still clutching her phone like it held the meaning of life, took a deep breath. “This was amazing. Thank you for talking to us. You’re even more incredible in person.”

You smiled. “So are you. Both of you.”

Spencer didn’t have time to process the warmth in his chest before you turned to him.

“And Doctor Genius?” you teased, tilting your head. “I expect you to check out at least one of our songs. Just one. Think of it as a challenge.”

Spencer hesitated, then—perhaps influenced by the sincerity in your gaze—nodded. “I… suppose I can do that.”

Your grin was triumphant. “Good.”

As they finally moved away from the table, Penelope clutched Spencer’s arm.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Did that just happen?”

Spencer exhaled, rubbing his temple.

“Yes, Penelope. It did.”

The convention had been overwhelming, but you’d kept your perfect smile in place the entire time. You had spent years perfecting the art of being sweet, accommodating, and always giving people the benefit of the doubt. But right now, your skin felt too tight, your head too full, and you needed air.

Slipping outside, you took a deep breath, letting the cool night air calm your racing thoughts. The alley behind the convention center was quiet, save for the distant hum of cars on the main street. You exhaled slowly, placing a hand over your chest to steady yourself.

But just as you began to collect yourself, footsteps sounded behind you.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” A sharp voice cut through the night.

You turned, immediately putting on a polite, practiced smile, even as unease crawled up your spine. The man standing there was someone you recognized—a fan you had interacted with before. You had seen him at other events, always hanging back, watching more than engaging. Something about his presence had always put you slightly on edge, but you had pushed those feelings aside.

Now, standing alone in the dimly lit alley, you regretted that.

“I—I’m sorry?” you said quickly, tilting your head in a way you hoped would diffuse the tension. “Did I do something to upset you?”

His jaw clenched. “You were flirting with other guys.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I wasn’t flirting,” you said, holding up your hands slightly, your tone as gentle as possible. “I was just being friendly. I appreciate all my fans. I promise, it wasn’t anything like that.”

“Liar.” His voice turned sharp, his eyes narrowing. “I see the way you look at them. The way you smiled at them. You don’t smile at me like that.”

Your pulse skyrocketed.

You had handled obsessive fans before, had dealt with overenthusiastic admirers, but this—this was different. His anger was palpable, his body language rigid with frustration.

“Please,” you said quickly, keeping your voice soft, trying to de-escalate. “I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored. I appreciate you, really. Let’s just talk about this, okay?”

He took a step closer.

Your breath hitched.

“Stop lying to me,” he hissed. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else? I’ve been supporting you since the beginning. I know you better than they do. I love you. But you just throw yourself at other guys like a—”

The door to the convention center creaked open behind you, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for the sound of someone else’s footsteps.

You turned your head, eyes landing on Spencer as he stepped outside. He had clearly been looking for you.

Your stomach twisted, panic taking over.

You had to do something.

Before you could think it through, you moved. You stepped toward Spencer, grabbing his arm and pressing yourself close to him like it was second nature.

“Hey, babe,” you said, your voice strained but carrying just enough affection to sound convincing. You could feel Spencer’s body tense in confusion for a split second before he caught on.

He shifted immediately, angling himself between you and the fan without hesitation. His hand slid protectively over yours where it clung to his sleeve.

The fan’s expression twisted with fury. “Who the hell is this?”

Spencer’s free hand moved smoothly to his pocket, retrieving his FBI badge in one swift motion. He flipped it open, holding it up just enough for the man to see.

“FBI,” he said, voice calm but edged with warning. “Just leave her be. She’s not interested.”

The man’s entire demeanor changed. His face paled, his shoulders hunching as his eyes darted between you and Spencer.

“You—” The fan clenched his fists, his expression cycling through emotions too fast to read. Then, without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed off down the alley, disappearing into the night.

You felt your knees go weak.

Spencer must have noticed because, without asking, he gently moved his hand to the small of your back, steadying you. His touch was light, reassuring, but present enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to nod even though your hands were still shaking. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. “I panicked.”

Spencer studied you, his sharp eyes scanning your face like he was cataloging every detail. “You handled that well,” he said, surprising you. “You stayed calm. You de-escalated. That was smart.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Didn’t feel very smart.”

Spencer’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

You blinked up at him. “Spencer—”

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out simply.

You glanced down, realizing he was right.

You gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling it closer as the residual fear settled into exhaustion. “Thanks,” you murmured.

Spencer nodded, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[inksreid]

Can’t get the song that’s so true outta my head by Graica Abrams

[inksreid]

My Spencer Reid master list

Spencer Reid ౨ৎ

Notes I’ll make this better soon but here’s what we got so far I’m so proud of myself

౨ৎ Cornelia street

shy/Fem!reader X Shy Awkward Spencer Reid

Summary— you been wanting to take Spencer shopping in out to eat like a date , for awhile but the thing is you have a crush on him and not sure how he will react , you want to ask for advice but your afraid Derek will tease you so you go to the girls and Derek gets his feelings hurt because you didn’t trust him with the advice…

౨ৎ isn’t she a delight

fem!diva!reader X Spencer Reid

Summary — When “SPENCER” gets himself , in a sticky situation “You end up going all diva on the Unsub, after losing it …

౨ৎ Just like that

Jealous!fem!reader X post prison S.Re

Summary— You weren’t jealous no never , you knew he deserved to be happy after everything he been through, you just wished it was with you .. you admired his girlfriend.

౨ৎ Lost track of Time

Theater!fem!reader X S.REID

Summary— While on a case , Spencer runs into you the reader while you were — rehearsing , the nutcracker to preform , your stunning beautiful, your laugh is contagious, the way you talk about the theater life Spencer gets caught up in the moment, you show him around the theater, the team finds Spencer thanks to Graica magic — they been wondering were he’s been but they should have know better ..

First lesson princess

Fluff

SUMMARY—Meanwhile First Spencer had to convinced you to let him give you driving lessons…..

[inksreid]

Not sure if I’ll keep him as my pfp .. but for now …

I adore him so much …. did you join a boy band or something…. 😭🤣💕

[inksreid]

My favorite person in the whole fictional universe…. I adore this man did I just saw that out loud .. my mind does this own thing sometimes I’m sorry wait why am I apologizing for Spencer Reid being my fav fictional character of all time huh … okay so I’m not sorry …….

He’s just I mean can you beam me ???

He’s perfect…

Nothing else to say but I love this man ..

That’s a wrap …. Him always him …

[inksreid]

Him <333

[inksreid]

You guys are amazing this makes me cry :( .. seeing that many notes … I adore each of you ..

ISN’T SHE A DELIGHT . / S.REID / SUMMARY —

When “SPENCER” gets himself , in a sticky situation “You end up going all diva on the Unsub, after losing it …

Pairing: fem!diva!reader X Spencer Reid / W.C: 2.5k / angst hurt comfort anxiety melt down … no use of your name

A/notes : basically, Fem!diva!reader —Oc , is based of Blair Waldorf with her witty and sassiness.. she’s definitely handful but not when it comes with Spencer he loves everything About her , for request she loses her mind when things go south . If I missed anything please feel free to let me know . I’m so scared for this but this took some time I wrote it like three or four times to get it how I wanted ..

I’m SO SCARED…. To post but here we go .. it’s finish I hope it lives up to your expectations please if you have any feedback please share I wanna be better write it’s fun I love doing this for you all ..

Prompt: here Dear readers, this for my Queen her self @dearlenore , I wanted to take on this challenge… you are amazing my Queen thank you for being you . Your account is beautiful your writing I adore .. if anyone else wants to take on this challenge go for it , I just had to give it a shot . Please, please be kind as I’m still figuring out things I appreciate you all especially my dear friend dearlenore who gave me the opportunity in the courage to write this for her please enjoy … 💜💜 as I sit here writing this I realized this was my second time writing something so bear with me as I navigate I hope you like it I’m scared but nervous at the same time for this .. thanks for your input insights in helping me out … I’m shy scared to post it but I wanted the challenge. The layout , inspired by my dear friend she’s amazing please give her a follow please support her . She deserves this before she has her surgery.

Divider by @anitalenia , so pretty …

It was the night before everything happened. The theater's dim lights flickered out as the credits rolled, and Spencer leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. You couldn't help but glance at him, noticing the way his eyes sparkled, not from the usual, calculated intellect but from something far more carefree. He was relaxed—completely unguarded for once. It was different, and it felt almost like an unfamiliar territory you both were treading on.

"I can't believe I actually got you to sit through a two-hour documentary," Spencer said, his voice teasing, but his eyes were full of affection, a soft warmth you rarely saw unless it was in those rare moments when it was just the two of you.

You arched a brow, pulling your coat tighter around you. "You didn’t 'get me' to do anything. I agreed to come along. Big difference."

He laughed, the sound so light it made you pause for a second. Spencer had an easy charm when he wasn’t buried under the weight of cases, and tonight, it felt like you were catching a glimpse of that version of him—one that didn’t overthink, one that could just be.

"So, I guess I owe you dinner?" Spencer asked, glancing over at you with that soft look that made your heart skip a beat.

"You definitely owe me more than dinner." You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned back in your seat. "Next time, I pick the movie."

He chuckled again, and for a moment, you both fell into an easy silence, your feet echoing on the pavement as you walked side by side. The crisp night air wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of having him by your side.

"Deal," Spencer finally agreed, his tone playful, but something deeper lingered beneath it.

You couldn’t quite place the shift in the air—the way it seemed like the world had paused just for a second, giving you both the space to breathe in something more than the usual banter. It was strange, feeling this close to him, the lines between the friendship you’d once had and the relationship you were now walking into slowly starting to blur.

Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes meeting yours. The playful mask he usually wore seemed to falter, just for a fraction of a second. "I’m really glad we did this tonight," he said, quieter than before.

His words lingered in the cool air as you continued walking, and for a split second, you almost wished the night would stretch on forever. Just the two of you, no cases, no pressure, just... this.

As you reached your apartment, you turned to Spencer, arms loosely crossed.

"I'm a bit much," you said, tilting your head. "My sassiness—it can be a lot sometimes."

Spencer shook his head without hesitation. "Not for me."

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. "Right. And I'm supposed to believe that?"

His smile was small, easy. "I’m too straightforward sometimes."

"You? Never," you teased, but the warmth in his gaze made your chest feel tight.

Spencer chuckled, then, he’s , gaze never leaving yours there was a quiet certainty, that said, "I love m being near you."— everything about you Spencer added , I can’t get enough of .

The words settled between you, heavier than you expected. You let out a small laugh, unsure. "Right," you muttered, looking down.

Before you could think too much about it, Spencer reached out, brushing his fingers under your chin, tilting your face back up to his. His touch was light, careful, but his eyes—his eyes were steady.

"No, really," he said softly. "I adore you. Ever since you started at the BAU."

Your breath caught, and for once, you were lost for words you, you didn’t know what to say , “ all you could say was “Spence”….

Spencer stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, familiar hug. His touch was steady, reassuring—something that grounded you more than you'd ever admit.

"So, tomorrow then," he murmured.

"Tomorrow," you echoed, holding on just a little tighter, just a little longer.

He pulled back slightly, his hands lingering at your waist. "Don't forget to text me," you said, flashing a teasing smile.

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Have I ever?"

You smirked. "Right."

With that, you unlocked your door, stepping inside without another thought. You didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows, watching.

Spencer turned to leave, hands tucking into his pockets, but he barely made it a few steps before something yanked him backward.

A rough grip, the sharp sting of fabric tightening around his face—a pillowcase shoved over his head. He barely had time to react before an arm locked around his chest, pinning him in place.

"Make a sound, and I shoot," a voice growled in his ear.

Spencer froze. His pulse thundered, but he didn’t fight, didn’t struggle. Slowly, he nodded.

"Good," the voice muttered before dragging him into the darkness.

As you wound down for the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer—his arms around you, the way he held you just a second longer than necessary. It left a warmth lingering on your skin, a feeling you weren’t quite ready to shake.

You grabbed your phone, typing out a message. Goodnight, Spencer. I had the best time ever. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you added, Maybe we could do coffee before work?

You hesitated. Maybe that was a bit much.

Then again, he was the one who asked you out. No, it wasn’t too much. Not after tonight.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

With that settled, you got in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the buzz of the evening. Afterward, you got ready for bed, set your alarm, and slipped under the covers, your mind still caught on the thought of tomorrow.

Your last thought before drifting off was Spencer—coffee, tomorrow, something to look forward to.

You never noticed that his reply never came.

It was the next morning the , alarm had gone off had waken you up , you hit the alarm button few times before it stoped . As you got up , you put on your designer robe and slippers in got out of bed as you stretched, you glanced at your phone first thing hmm , no message from Spence maybe he’s not awake yet ,you thought ..

Pacing around your apartment, you searched for your shoes, your keys—anything to keep your hands busy. Something felt off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

With a sigh, you pulled open the blinds. The sky was dull and gray, the kind of overcast that made the whole day feel heavier.

“Oh Great Depressing you though”… .. You checked your phone again. Still nothing.

Frowning, you tried calling him. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.

Spencer always checked in. Even a quick text. But it had been hour now, and the silence was starting to get under your skin.— you try to call him , straight to voice mail, okay you thought it’s nothing maybe his phone died last night .

Okay, here’s the deal—deep breath in, deep breath out. Get dressed. Get ready. Don’t overreact. It’s just another day. A perfectly normal, casual day at the BAU.

Casual days were your favorite. A chance to look effortlessly stylish while everyone else showed up looking like they just rolled out of bed. You sifted through your closet, fingers grazing over fabrics until you found it—the perfect pleated skirt. Classic, polished, undeniably you. You paired it with a designer top that hugged you just right, slipping it on with a satisfied smirk.

Then, the finishing touch. Your favorite headband. You could almost hear Spencer’s voice in your head, that amused little lilt whenever he’d tease you about them. You know headbands don’t actually serve a functional purpose, right? But despite his commentary, you’d caught him smiling once—just a little—when you wore this one.

Sliding on your tights, you moved with practiced ease, each motion deliberate, like an artist perfecting a masterpiece. When you finally stepped in front of the mirror, you tilted your head, adjusting a stray strand of hair.

“Not just decent. perfection……

With one final touch, you spritzed on your favorite Dior perfume, the familiar scent settling around you like a signature. Satisfied, you grabbed your bag and keys, ready to head out—until a flash of sleek black fur darted across your legs.

"See you later, Onyx," you murmured, bending down to give your cat a quick scratch behind the ears. He purred, tail flicking before trotting off like he owned the place. Typical.

With that, you straightened up, took one last glance in the mirror, and stepped out the door.

You decide to walk today. The air has a crisp breeze, just enough to wake you up but not enough to be miserable. Even with the gloomy sky stretching above, there’s something refreshing about it.

As you walk, you pull out your phone and try Spencer one more time to see if he wants to grab coffee. It rings. And rings. Still no answer. Typical. You sigh, slipping it back into your bag.

The second you step into the coffee shop, the rich scent of espresso and warm pastries wraps around you. It smells amazing. The line isn’t too long—thankfully—so you move forward, already thinking about what to order

When you reach the counter, the barista greets you with a bright, “Good morning! What can I get for you?”

You glance at the menu for a few moments, tapping your nails against the counter before flashing a small smile. “Instead of my usual, I think I’ll try something different. Can I get a white mocha latte?” Then, after a beat, you add, “With an espresso shot.”

“Coming right up,” the barista says, already getting to work.

Your phone rings. “It’s Spencer. Finally. Good morning, sleepyhead,” you say.

“Well, well, who do we have here?”

“Who the hell is this?” you say. “And why do you have Dr. Spencer Reid’s phone?”

“So you see, sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap.

Meanwhile, Spencer is eyeing the unsub talking to you on the phone, glaring at the unsub for calling you sweetheart.

“Leave her out of this!” Spencer calls out.

“Spence?” you say.

“Hey, pretty boy, shut it,” the unsub says.

“Look, last night you all didn’t realize I was following you too. You know he’s an FBI agent, right?” I mean , Dr you say.

“Right, of course, sweetheart,” the unsub says. “I told you not to call me that. Look, I need leverage. Get me five grand by midnight tonight. I’ll be calling soon...”

The phone went dead.

You rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving your coffee behind. You ran straight to the BAU office, heart racing.

You found JJ walking in. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“No, gather everyone now,” you said, urgency in your voice.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Get Emily. I need Rossi, Derek, and Hotch. Now.”

She stopped you, brows furrowing. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” you said, barely holding it together. “We need the team. Now.”

JJ’s eyes went wide. “Okay, they’re in the office.”

You rushed to the elevator, muttering under your breath, “Come on.”

The doors opened, and JJ was still following close behind. “Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”

You stopped, taking a deep breath. “Spencer… He’s— I can’t say it until I’m with everyone.”

JJ’s expression changed, worry creeping into her voice.

You pushed open the bullpen doors, seeing Rossi and Derek in the middle of a conversation. “Hey, guys, it’s important,” you said, voice sharp with panic. “Spencer—he’s been kidnapped.”

Derek looked at you, confused. “Right.”

“Look around,” you shouted. “Do you see him here?”

Derek’s face tightened. “He’s running late, right?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “The unsub called me a few minutes ago, asking for money to keep Spencer alive.”

You pulled out your phone, showing Derek the caller’s number.

“If this is a prank—” Derek started.

“It’s not a prank,” you snapped, glaring at him.

Your phone rings again. By now, everyone is around you, the tension thick in the air. You hit the speakerphone button, voice tight.

“Spence?” you call out, hoping to hear him.

“I’m here,” he replies, his voice shaky but steady.

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. “So, sweetheart,” the unsub says, his voice dripping with mockery, “you tell the other agents about my deal to keep pretty boy alive?”

You glare at the phone. Gracie’s trying to trace the call in the background.

“You still there, sweetheart?” the unsub continues. “Look, I’ve told you once before not to call me that.”

“I get it, but this game is fun, right?”

“Fun?” you scoff. “You call this fun? Messing with people’s lives?”

“LOOK HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” you yell, your temper snapping. “I WILL KILL YOU.”

“Who’s the crazy lady?” the unsub asks Spencer.

“The one you’ve been talking to the whole time,” Spencer says, sounding almost amused. “Oh , that’s my girlfriend. Isn’t she a delight?”

“Get me five grand,” the unsub demands. “Then we’ll talk. After that, the line goes dead, leaving you fuming, fists clenched at your sides.

Anything, Garcia?" you asked, your voice sharp with impatience.

"Yes," she replied. "The old library, the one that was abandoned a year ago. That's where the cell phone is coming from."

"Let’s go," Hotch calls out, already heading toward the door.

He turns to you, his voice commanding. "Stay back with Garcia."

You cross your arms and glare at him. "No. I’m coming with."

Hotch gives you a look, but you don’t back down. Spencer was all you had, aside from the team

"Fine," Hotch says, begrudgingly. "But you follow my lead."

"Fine," you respond, voice clipped, but the fire in your eyes says it all. You're not letting this go.

Once at the old library, you all made your way through, checking every room until you found the one.

“I told you to follow my lead,” Hotch said, but you shot him a look.

“It’s Spencer,” you replied, voice sharp.

Without missing a beat, you took the lead.

You saw the unsub pacing back and forth. You glanced at Hotch, then spotted Spencer—tied to a chair. You gasped.

“Who’s here?” the unsub asked, his voice cold.

He started moving toward you. “FBI!” Hotch shouted. “Put your hands behind your back.”

“He said put your hands behind your back,” you repeated, more forceful.

“Okay, sweetheart,” the unsub sneered.

You dragged him to the ground, glaring. “I said, don’t call me that.”

You cuffed him quickly, handed him off to Hotch, who looked frustrated but didn’t say anything. You didn’t care.

You rushed to Spencer.

“Spence, I was worried about you.”

You untied him, and he smiled up at you.

“What?” you said, confused by his grin.

“Good to know I’m in good hands,” he said, his voice light but warm.

Before you could respond, Spencer pulled you in, tight.

“Spence,” you gasped.

The team stood there, watching you two, but Spencer didn’t let go.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice softer now.

Sam’s—Tags ᝰ.ᐟ @dearlenore @cheriesbucky @anthropsych @lover-rep-fanfic @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id

[inksreid]

Lost Track of time / S.REID / SUMMARY—

While on a case , Spencer runs into you the reader while you were — rehearsing , the nutcracker to preform , your stunning beautiful, your laugh is contagious, the way you talk about the theater life Spencer gets caught up in the moment, you show him around the theater, the team finds Spencer thanks to Graica magic — they been wondering were he’s been but they should have know better ..

Pairing : Theater!fem!reader X S.REID / WC: 1.5K / Fluff

This was so fun todo , I loved writing this Every minute of this .

As for request @dearlenore : I adore your request keep them coming beautiful queen ..

A/notes Vote here : for next reader = request are open as well one more thing if you enjoyed this please don’t hesitate to re blog this or comment please your comments are appreciated feedback is welcome please be kind .. I was picturingbefore Spencer Reid was post prison Reid but feel free to picture whatever Spencer Reid you like .

Los Angeles greeted the team with gray skies and cold rain, the kind that soaked into your bones and made the city feel heavier. The case was a rough one—messy, unsettling, the kind that stuck with you even when you tried to shake it off. The team had already met with the LAPD, shared clipped introductions, and gotten straight to work.

Spencer needed air. The precinct walls were too tight, the case too tangled. His notes were a mess, pages damp from the rain, ink smudging under his fingertips. He flipped through them again, jaw tightening. The pieces weren’t clicking, and he hated that.

"What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Derek’s voice pulled him back, but Spencer didn’t look up. "Nothing," he muttered. "I just... I can’t seem to get to the bottom of this."

So he did what he always did when his thoughts got too loud—he walked. The rain pattered softly against his shoulders as he moved through the city, mind spinning, searching for something to ground him.

Then he saw it.

A theater, grand and timeless, its marquee glowing in the dim afternoon light. Something about it made him pause. Maybe it was the way the golden doors stood slightly open, like an unspoken invitation. Or maybe it was the sound of music drifting through the air, light and full of something that felt... alive.

He stepped inside without thinking.

And then there you was You ..

On stage, mid-rehearsal, dressed in soft pastels that shimmered under the lights. You moved like the music lived inside you, every step effortless, every turn full of quiet confidence. Then you laughed—bright, real, the kind of sound that felt like it belonged in a different world than the one Spencer had just come from.

For a moment, he forgot about the case. Forgot about the rain, the smudged notes, the weight pressing against his ribs.

And then you turned, caught his gaze from across the theater, and smiled.

Spencer Reid had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. But nothing quite like this , You were the most beautiful thing in he had to know you .

As you finished changing, slipping into your comfortable hoodie, you couldn’t shake the thought of him—the man in the audience with the curious eyes and messy curls. Spencer. You hoped he was still here. You wanted to introduce yourself, maybe see if that spark of intrigue went both ways.

A soft knock on your dressing room door made your heart skip.

“Hi, I’m—” You caught yourself, realizing you hadn’t even opened the door yet.

“It’s Spencer,” came his quiet voice from the other side.

You smiled to yourself. “Just a minute,” you called out, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands before finally opening the door.

Spencer stood there, hands in his pockets, like he wasn’t sure if he should be here—but he was. His eyes flickered over you, and for a moment, he looked almost mesmerized.

“That was amazing,” he said, voice full of something genuine.

You laughed softly. “Thanks. But the real show’s not until tonight.”

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly.

“Maybe you could come,” you added, leaning against the doorframe.

“I would love to…” His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t used to admitting things like that so easily.

You tilted your head. “You been to many plays?”

“A few,” he said. “But never one where I met the star backstage.”

You giggled. “I’ve been doing this long enough.”

“The Nutcracker is one of my favorites,” you added, watching his reaction.

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his brain already pulling up facts before he even realized it. “Tchaikovsky didn’t think it would be successful at first. He worried the music was too simple.”

You smirked. “You’re not just here to watch, huh? You come with trivia, too?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected to be called out on it, then gave a small smirk of his own. “It’s a habit.”

“Well,” you pushed off the doorframe, smiling, “if you come tonight, I’ll make sure it’s a performance worth remembering.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze lingering. “I don’t doubt that.”

“I can show you around the theater,” you offered with a warm smile.

Spencer’s lips curled slightly. “I’d love that.”

As you led him toward the stage, you glanced around the grand space, your voice soft with nostalgia. “This theater is part of my family. My father used to own it, so I grew up around all kinds of plays.”

Spencer listened intently, his hands tucked into his pockets as he took everything in.

“I love it,” you continued, your voice full of quiet passion. “There’s just something about it—it moves me.”

Spencer held onto your words, watching the way your eyes lit up as you spoke.

“The people here are my family,” you added, running your fingers along the velvet curtains. “We have a lot of fun. I love acting in plays—I find it fascinating. I love leaving people wanting more.”

As you spoke, you guided him through the theater, showing him every hidden corner, every place that held a memory. He listened, fully present, caught up in your world.

Then, suddenly, the doors open.

You turned to see a group of people walking in—your stomach dropped.

Had you done something wrong?

“I—did I do something wrong?” you asked, glancing between Spencer and the newcomers.

“No,” Spencer reassured you quickly. “It’s just… we’re here on a case.”

Your brows furrowed. “A case?”

Spencer hesitated. “Oh—uh, I’m with the FBI. I probably should’ve mentioned that.” He gave a small, sheepish smile. “I was just… enjoying hearing you talk.”

The team approached. JJ and Emily had their arms folded, while Hotch’s expression was unreadable.

“Is your phone on silent, Dr. Reid?” Hotch asked, his tone sharp.

Your eyes flickered to Spencer. “Doctor?”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Uh—Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Derek smirked. “Did you forget about the case?”

Spencer barely had time to answer before JJ cut in. “We’ve been calling you! Where were you?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, glancing at you before looking back at his team. “I heard music, and it caught my attention… I lost track of time.”

You hesitated, then reached into your bag, pulling out a small stack of tickets. “Will you all come to the show tonight?” You handed them each a ticket, then met Spencer’s gaze, a silent question in your eyes.

Spencer glanced at Hotch, who sighed before nodding. “If we can make it in time.”

“We’d love to,” JJ added with a smile.

Spencer turned back to you, guilt flickering across his face. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. You’ve got to go.”

But as he followed his team out of the theater, he found himself already hoping he’d make it back in time.

What time’s the play, lover boy?” Derek teased, smirking.

“Seven,” Spencer answered without hesitation.

The team glanced at the time—5:35 PM.

“Well, good thing we caught the unsub in time, right?” Derek added.

Spencer shifted slightly under their looks. “I’m sorry, guys. That wasn’t like me.”

“It’s okay, Spence,” Hotch said, his tone even.

“Next time, answer your phone,” Garcia added with a wink.

Derek clapped his hands together. “Why don’t we grab a bite to eat, then head back to the theater?”

Spencer hesitated for half a second before asking, “Can we invite her?”

Derek grinned. “Go for it.”

Spencer didn’t waste a second—he turned and jogged back toward the theater.

“Come to dinner with us!” he called out, spotting you just as you were about to disappear backstage.

You paused, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes,” Spencer said, a little breathless. “We’ll be back in time, I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about the case?”

“It’s already done,” he assured you. “They were just giving me grief.” He shifted, almost sheepish. “I did step out because I needed fresh air. I couldn’t think.”

You studied him for a moment before smiling. “Okay.”

Grabbing your bag, you walked out with Spencer, joining the team for dinner.

“I know an italian place not too far from here,” Rossi said, glancing back at you.

“Wait until you try some of the best Italian food you’ve ever had,” Garcia added, practically buzzing with excitement.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Rossi makes some of the best delicious Italian food , Garica says ..

Rossi smirked. “ I — mean , she’s not wrong he added , I do.”

Is that an invitation you added ?

Of course any time “ Rossi added , anytime your in or area stop by he smiled . 

You smiled, then turned to Spencer. “This your family?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

By the time you arrived, the restaurant was nothing short of elegant—warm lighting, white tablecloths, the scent of garlic and fresh basil filling the air.

“Table for eight,” you told the host with a warm smile.

“Of course,” they replied. “Right this way.”

You all ordered, ate, and chatted. The conversation flowed easily, and you couldn’t believe how amazing everyone was. You laughed, feeling lighter than you had all day.

You sat next to Spencer, who seemed lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you more than once. He couldn’t stop thinking about you—the way your laugh filled the air, the way it sounded like music to him, like the Nutcracker. It was as if it had its own rhythm, just like you.

When the meal was over, you all made your way back to the theater.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said, glancing at everyone . “Especially you, Spencer. This was a night I’ll never forget.”

He smiled, his expression soft. “I’m glad.”

“I hope you’ll stay and see the show,” you added, disappearing into the theater to get ready.

As you walked off, Derek cut through Spencer’s thoughts, loud and teasing. “Let’s go grab our seats, lover boy.”

“Right,” Spencer muttered, blinking as he snapped back to reality.

The team found their seats, settling in as the lights dimmed. Spencer, however, couldn’t take his eyes off you. JJ, noticing the shift in his focus, glanced over at him a few times, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I haven’t seen him like this in a while," she said quietly to Derek, her voice barely a whisper over the rustling.

Derek smirked. "He’s got it bad."

JJ shot him a look, half-amused, half-scolding. She nudged his arm ..

"Ouch," Derek muttered, rubbing his arm theatrically.

Then, the music swelled, and you appeared on stage. Spencer’s gaze was fixed, unwavering—his attention solely on you. Every step you took, every graceful movement, seemed to pull him deeper into the performance.

The Nutcracker began, but to Spencer, it wasn’t just the play unfolding—it was you. The way you moved with such effortless elegance, the way the music seemed to rise and fall with your every step. Each time you twirled or leapt, his heart followed, caught in the rhythm of your performance.

The world outside the theater seemed to fade away for him, it was just you, the music, and the magic you brought to life.

As the play came to an end, the team stood up to applaud, but Spencer was already moving, making his way down the aisle toward your dressing room.

“Where’s he going?” Rossi asked, glancing at the others, still clapping.

“Backstage,” Hotch replied, his eyes following Spencer’s determined steps.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t see the way he was captivated by her all night?”

Hotch gave a small nod. “Yeah, he’s got it bad.”

Derek grinned, holding his arm nervously. “He’s so jumpy. I’m gonna get nudged, aren’t I?”

JJ chuckled softly but didn’t nudge him. She just gave him a look .

Spencer reached your dressing room, and his voice filled with admiration. “That was amazing,” he said, his words more than just praise. “You completely blew this place away.”

You tried not to meet his eyes, but your heart fluttered. “I forgot I showed you around earlier,” you said, the words coming out a little too quickly, a little too soft.

Spencer stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Well, you’re leaving…”

“Going back home?” You said your voice little shaky,

“Right you said quickly . “Spence, thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time. It was really lovely to meet you. I’ll never forget it.”

You tried to move away, to give yourself some space to breathe, but Spencer didn’t let you go that easily. He stepped in closer, his voice low but clear.

“Do I get a say in this?” he asked, his eyes catching yours, sincere and soft.

You stopped, your heart racing. “Spence, we barely know each other.”

His smile was warm, almost a little teasing. “Let’s change that.”

You smiled back, your heart beating faster. “Okay.”

Spencer took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Is it okay to pull you in now for a kiss?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t need to think. “Of course.”

And with that, Spencer leaned in, and everything else faded away.— “ the kiss was everything, after the kiss Spencer handed you his card , call me text me anytime he says .

Sam’s tags : @dearlenore @cheriesbucky @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id

[inksreid]

Here’s a few to choose for Spencer signature next reader ..

Idea IB @dearlenore

Shy!BAU!younger!reader … X SREID

To young S.REID

Fluff/hurt/comfort

Reader is Rossi niece who just joined as a new BAU intern , and you as reader have been crushing on Spencer for the longest time… but your very shy and Rossi your uncle thinks your to young for Spencer even though Spencer is a great guy and perfect fit for you . In this scenario you’re like 25ish and Spencer is in his 30s … you’re very smart bright intelligent just like your uncle. I kinda been working on this one still in the works

Scared!fem!reader X S.REID

Angst/hurt/comfort

Reader gets in her own head , Spencer really hasn’t been the same since he got out of prison, reader thinks Spencer will snap at any giving moment, but you as reader really care for Spencer and wanna be there for him and so does the team . Haven’t started

Theater!fem!reader X S.REID

While on a case , Spencer runs into you the reader , your stunning beautiful, your laugh is contagious, the way you talk about the theater life Spencer gets caught up in the moment, you show him around the theater.. haven’t started