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moodymarie · 5 months ago

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hiya! i had a cute request if you’re interested in writing it. spencer reid x reader where they finished a case and go back to a hotel to sleep and reader goes to spencer’s room (friends with feelings?) asking if she can sleep with him cause they case damaged her mental state. and it’s just cute and cuddly how they figure out how to sleep and such. maybe they can even sleep through the alarm or maybe emily finds reader missing and goes to spencer to ask if he’s seen her only to see the two of them together.

entangled — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of reader having a rough time with a case ( no explicit mention of the details of the case though ) a/n: hiii !! such a cute idea - i love writing sleepy spencer !! hope you like this <3 also lets just pretend emily got into the room with magic cuz i couldnt figure out how she'd get into the room 😭

You hesitated before knocking, your knuckles barely making a sound against the wooden door. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your shoe nervously against the carpet.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing Spencer standing there in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly tousled from sleep. His hazel eyes softened with confusion.

"Hi," you greeted weakly, offering a tired smile.

"Hi," he echoed, his brows furrowing. "Are you okay?"

You couldn't blame him for asking. After all, it was two in the morning, and you'd shown up unannounced at his hotel room after an exhausting day working on the case. You swallowed hard, suddenly second-guessing yourself.

"I—" You faltered, unable to find the right words. Because no, you weren’t okay. That’s exactly why you were here.

Spencer didn’t wait for you to finish. Instead, he stepped aside, silently inviting you in.

"Come in," he said gently.

You stepped inside, as your gaze drifted across the neatly arranged space—the open book on the nightstand, his clothes folded with meticulous precision on the chair. The sight of such organization brought a small, fleeting smile to your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, his long fingers resting lightly against his knees. He gestured for you to sit beside him, and you did, your knees brushing his as you settled in.

You let out a slow breath. "I just... can't sleep," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer studied you for a moment, and you knew—he knew. He had noticed throughout the day how the case had weighed on you.He had also noticed the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked softly, his voice free of pressure, just an open offer.

You shook your head. “Not right now.”

He nodded, understanding as always.

You hesitated before biting your lip, your knee pressing just slightly harder against his. The warmth of the touch sent a thrill through both of you, hearts drumming faster in unison.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” you murmured, your voice unsure, almost timid.

Spencer tilted his head, his expression soft but curious. “Anything.”

Another silence. You exhaled slowly, gathering the courage to say it.

“Can I sleep here? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

The words felt fragile as they left your lips, almost afraid of being rejected. You kept your gaze down, suddenly fascinated by the wrinkle in the hotel comforter, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He nudged your knee again, firmer this time, silently coaxing you to look at him. And when you finally did, he was already nodding.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Of course you can.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Spencer, meanwhile, was doing his best to suppress the way his pulse had kicked up at your request.

He stood up, and instinctively, you did too. Neither of you knew what to do next.

“So, uh… I can just sleep on the floor. That’s no problem,” Spencer offered, scratching the back of his neck.

His voice was uncharacteristically uncertain, and you didn’t miss the way a faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. But then again, who could blame him? The girl he was in love with was standing in his hotel room, asking to stay the night.

“No, no,” you shook your head quickly. “Spence, I didn’t come here to take over your bed and make you sleep on the floor.” You gave him a small smile, hoping it would ease his nerves—yours too. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

Your voice was softer this time, more vulnerable, and as you said it, your gaze drifted toward the bed.

And that’s when it really hit you—what you were asking for. To sleep in the same bed as Spencer. The same Spencer you had been in love with for what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted, equal parts nervous and thrilled.

“Oh—oh, yeah. Right,” Spencer stammered, nodding rapidly. His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I-I mean, so we can—uh—yeah, that makes sense.” His words tripped over each other, and you swore he somehow got even redder.

You bit your lip to hide your smile, but a quiet chuckle still slipped out. It was strangely endearing—seeing the usually composed, genius-level profiler completely unravel just at the thought of sharing a bed with you.

Trying to keep yourself from overthinking, you stepped toward the bed, moving to the left side.

You pushed back the covers, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you the entire time. He hadn’t moved yet, just stood there, frozen, like his brain was short-circuiting.

“Spencer?” You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“Hm?” He blinked rapidly, snapping out of his daze.

“You getting in, or…?”

“Oh! Yes! Right,” he said quickly before practically tripping over his own feet to join you. The bed dipped slightly under his weight.

“I hope it’s okay if I keep a small light on,” he hesitated, his voice softer now. “But if you’d rather have it off, I can—”

You turned your head toward him before he could finish, smiling at the way he was so concerned about your comfort. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “I actually think I’d prefer a light right now.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, nodding slightly. “Okay.”

He glanced at you, just for a second, before quickly looking away again. The warmth on his neck deepened, the blush creeping to his ears now. He reached over and switched off the harsh overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

You shifted slightly, turning your head toward him, and Spencer, still lying on his back, hesitated before tilting his head just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding,” you murmured, voice small, genuine.

His brows pulled together slightly as he found the courage to fully turn onto his side, facing you completely.

“You’re never intruding,” he said, and the certainty in his voice made your stomach flip.

His eyes traced the way you absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The small, simple movement felt oddly intimate, and before he could even think about it, his own hand twitched as if he wanted to do the same.

Instead, he clenched his fingers into the sheets, trying to steady his heartbeat.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. Close enough to see the way his eyelashes flickered against his cheeks, close enough to count the freckles on his nose, close enough that if you moved even slightly forward, you—

You pushed the thought away.

“It was a rough case,” you suddenly mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer's hazel eyes scanned your face with concern. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but was carefully choosing his words.

“Yes, it was,” he agreed, his voice soft but laced with worry.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again, this time more certain.

“I hope you know that you did a great job,” he said, his words gentle. A small, nervous smile flickered on his lips.

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at his reassurance.

“Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, letting your eyes meet his.

And before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze.

Spencer froze for half a second, his breath catching in his throat. The warmth of your fingers against his sent a shiver up his spine.

And maybe it was the way your fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, or maybe it was the way you kept biting your lip—something he had long since learned you did when you were nervous—but suddenly, Spencer found himself feeling just a little bit braver.

So when you started to pull your hand back, instinctively retreating, he didn’t let go.

Instead, he gently tightened his grip, his fingers threading through yours, locking them together like they were always meant to fit this way.

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his again.

“I’m glad you came here,” he whispered, his fingers tracing over your hand in slow, delicate patterns. His gaze flickered downward, watching the way your fingers remained tangled together.

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice just as soft.

You hadn’t even realized you had scooted closer—not until the space between you was barely there.

But then Spencer moved.

With a shy kind of confidence, he turned onto his back and gently pulled you toward him.Your head landed against his chest, and for a split second, your breath stalled.

But then you relaxed.

The warmth of him seeped into you. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your cheek. And even as you adjusted, your fingers never let go of each other.

Spencer swallowed hard, doing his best to seem normal, like his heart wasn’t practically slamming against his ribs at the fact that you were here, curled up against him, trusting him enough to be this close.

His free hand hovered for a moment, uncertain, before he slowly—hesitantly—let it settle at your back.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice slightly muffled against his shirt.

Spencer let out a small, breathy chuckle. “So are you.”

You tilted your head just slightly, peering up at him. “Is this okay?”

Spencer looked down at you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “Yeah,” he murmured, like there was never a doubt. “This is more than okay.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you settled back down, letting your eyes flutter shut. Spencer’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly.

Both of you ended up falling asleep smiling. And maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, neither of you felt the weight of loneliness pressing down.

Either way, neither of you stirred when Spencer’s alarm went off the next morning.

The alarm buzzed faintly before silencing itself, unnoticed by either of you—too wrapped up in sleep and in each other.

At some point in the night, you had shifted, your body now draped over Spencer’s, your face tucked against his neck. His arm was wound securely around your waist, holding you close as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Neither of you heard the knocking.

When Emily hadn’t been able to find you anywhere else, she had hoped—guessed—that you might be with Spencer. Maybe going over case notes, maybe just talking. But when she knocked again and got no response, her brows furrowed.

“Reid?” she called, twisting the handle.

The moment she stepped inside, she froze.

Her eyes landed on the sight before her—Spencer, tangled up with you in bed, your body curled against his like you belonged there, his arm tight around you, his face buried somewhere in your hair.

Emily blinked. Then blinked again.

A slow smirk spread across her face.

“Well,” she murmured to herself. “Would you look at that.”

Not wanting to wake either of you (and also definitely wanting to use this as future blackmail), she carefully backed out of the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

As she walked down the hall, she pulled out her phone.

Emily: Guess who I just found cuddled up in bed like a couple of love-struck teenagers?

A second later, her phone buzzed.

JJ: NO. WAY.

Derek: Finally.

With a satisfied grin, Emily slipped her phone back into her pocket.

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moodymarie · 7 months ago

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Next to You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: While spending the night in a hotel for a case, a terrifying nightmare shakes you awake. But someones there to comfort you.

WC: 2k

Tags: One bed trope BUT WITH A TWIST TEE HEE, HUGE hurt/comfort moment, some touch starved babies, friends to lovers A/N: the relieving feeling of finally finishing a fic!!! This was fun to write, enjoy nerds ;) beta read by the lovely @whats-yesterday00

Your lungs were starting to burn from running so fast. The heavy steps speeding up from behind made your chest tighten. You flinched at the sound of shots fired in your direction but didn’t stop running.

The SUV’s finally came into view. As you closed the distance, the rest of your team rushed out. As they reached for their holsters, you heard more gunshots. But not from them.

Half the team was down once you reached them. It didn’t make any sense. You were so far ahead of the unsub. There’s no way he could’ve gotten 3 clear shots to your team. You fell to the snow on the ground, your warm breath turning into a fog in the air as you panted. The sight in front of you ripped your insides to shreds.

As your heart rate sped up, eyes shot open. You were met with the almost pitch black ambiance of the hotel room. You could feel your heart beating throughout your whole body and could practically hear it in your ears.

You slowly sat up as the tightness in your chest returned. Tears started to fall down your cheeks.

You didn’t get nightmares often. Before your current job, it rarely ever happened. They became more frequent the more you worked at the BAU. Tonight was one of those nights that your worst fears tainted your dreams.

Of course tonight it had to happen. When you were away on a case miles away from home and sharing a hotel room. Sharing a room with Spencer.

You didn’t have any objections to sharing a room with him, but the nerves from your feelings for him never went away. You’d fallen asleep sitting next to him on the jet before, but this was for a whole night- and for possibly multiple nights. The only thing that eased some of your anxiety was that he had his own bed far from you. If you were even remotely close to him you’d have to resist not reaching for him.

And now you had a nightmare with him in the same room.

The idea of waking him up made you feel prematurely guilty. The fear of crying infront of him made you mortified. You wiped at your tears and tried to hold back from crying. You kept glancing at the other bed to make sure Spencer didn’t wake up.

Your breath became heavier as little gasps threatened to fall out so you clasped your hands over your mouth. The tears blurred your vision and your head went dizzy as you tried to control your breath. Then, out of your control, a choked sob escaped your lips.

It alerted Spencer's attention almost immediately. Half awake, he stirred in bed and called out your name to confirm if you were awake.

This only made you feel worse. You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Didn’t move an inch and didn’t even breathe. But still, small whimpers left your mouth as you resisted from hyperventilating.

Spencer, now fully awake, shot up as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room looking for you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, full of concern.

The second he heard you sniffle. he sprang out of his bed and rushed to yours. He sat down beside you and carefully placed a hand on your back. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

You sniffled again and met his eyes. You could just barely see them thanks to the small amount of light peeking in through the window. “I- I-” you could barely get out in between gasped breaths.

He immediately wrapped his arms around you and placed your head on his chest. The embrace made you finally fall apart. You sobbed into his chest and let the tears stream down your face. You clung to him like your life depended on it. In return, he held you as close as he was physically able to. His one arm gently held your head against him while the other slowly caressed your back. The action made you turn to jelly in his arms.

Once your breathing slowed down and your heart rate calmed, you separated from Spencer. He carefully pushed your hair behind your ears and held your face in his hands.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he whispered.

You sniffled once more, “Not really.”

He nodded, “why don’t you try to go back to sleep, okay?”

You nodded back to answer.

“If you need me just say the word.” He started to get up from your bed, but before he could leave, you interrupted.

“Spence, could you uh,” you stumbled on your words.

He sat back down. Looking at you with the most caring eyes while he lets you take your time.

You ignored the warning signals going off in your brain. The warnings that told you this was a step too far. The anxiety that told you this action will lead you growing too close to him and hurting your unrequited feelings.

“Could you stay? Please,” you pleaded in a quiet voice.

“Of course.”

The weight on your shoulders started to lift. You resumed your spot under the covers as Spencer walked around to the other side of the bed and followed your actions. He left enough room between the two of you so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his presence or be uncomfortable.

As if you could ever be uncomfortable around him.

As he whispered goodnight, you carefully reached over to his side under the covers. Your hand found his. He instinctively took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

As the minutes rolled bye, you came no closer to falling asleep. It feels like you’ve spent the past half hour tossing and turning. Every time you closed your eyes, the images from your nightmare flashed before you.

At some point, you moved enough to wake up the man next to you.

Spencer called out your name, “you alright?”

“I’m sorry for waking you up again,” you apologized, deflecting his answer.

He turned around to face you. “I don’t mind. What’s up?”

“I can’t sleep. Too scared.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked again. He knew hearing that question in a state of stress could sometimes be found annoying. But more importantly, he knew it was a key way of relieving that stress.

After a moment of silence from you, he rescinded the question.

“You don’t have to if you don’t-“

“You died.”

Your voice sounded quiet and fragile. “And it was my fault.”

His eyes and voice were full of worry as he spoke your name.

“I know it’s not real. I know it never happened but… I’ve never felt so scared.” Your eyes threaded to spill with tears and you desperately tried blinking them away.

Spencer reached for your upper arm and rubbed his thumb against your skin. He saw you start to relax at the contact.

Your breath shook as you tried to inhale. “I don’t know how I can go to sleep after that.”

He’s quiet for a moment considering his approach to comfort you. He saw how well you responded to physical touch earlier in the night. When he comforted you with an embrace your stress reduced significantly.

“I have an idea. Come here,” he moved the blanket to allow you space next to him.

You nervously inched closer to him.

“Put your head on my shoulder.” You hesitated before complying and settling at his side. Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist and he himself hesitated before pulling you closer. His hand rested on your back.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“It’s more than okay,” you muttered back.

He took that as a sign to repeat his previous actions from earlier and run his hand up and down your back. This time much slower and gentler. The action made you melt in his arms. You reacted to the gesture by burying your face into his neck.

“Thank you.. for this,” you mumbled. He could feel your breath against his skin.

“I’d do anything to make sure you feel safe,” he held onto you like you provided the air he breathed. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered, just barely audible.

The only reason you could hear him was because he was so close. His words sent shivers down your spine and butterflies in your stomach.

“I always feel safe around you, Spence.”

The walls you had carefully built up when he asked you to lay next to him were starting to come down. The moment became too sweet and sensual to ignore. Every one of his touches was driving you to the brink of insanity. Your neck and ears grew in temperature as the feelings overwhelmed you. Your heart rate started to pick up at a racing speed.

Unfortunately, Spencer noticed. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, why?” you answered much too quickly.

“Your heart's beating really fast.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “I’m fine, there’s no reason.”

He saw through you like glass. “Of course there’s a reason.” Spencer loosened his grip and shifted his weight to get a better look at you. His hand moved to the small of your back.

“Is it the nightmare? Is it still bothering you?” he asked, his voice quiet and kind.

You mumbled a timid, “no.”

He examined your features, watching you get lost in your own head. “What are you thinking?”

You looked up into his eyes. Your thoughts were swirling with too much to even give him a semblance of what was going on. Everything from his touch, his smell, his irises looking straight into your soul.

While riding on the intoxicating wave of his care, you let a confession slip out.

“I think I want to kiss you right now.”

Spencer's eyes widened and although you couldn't see it, his cheeks flushed with red.

“Oh,” was all he could make out, at a loss for words.

His pause caused your anxiety to spike. You immediately regret your actions. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You started to retract from him and turn away. But before you could flee from his hold, he grabbed your upper arm, pulling you back towards him. In an instant, Spencer's lips crashed into yours.

The initial shock had your lips frozen, before they started to melt against his. As he felt you relax, he poured more passion into you. The kiss tasted like desperation. Like you both were holding in a hunger that had driven you to starvation.

His hands couldn’t find a place to rest. They were traveling up and down your figure, from your waist, back, hips, neck, and face. Your hands settled at the side of his face and the back of his neck while your fingers played with the ends of his hair. Spencer sighed into your mouth and pulled you closer, if that was even possible.

As the kiss continued, Spencer's hand traveled down to your thigh. You instinctively wrapped your leg around him. But in a moment of nervousness, his movements glitched and lips slowed. His hand gently resumed its pawing at your thigh as he softened in your hold.

Time felt like it stood still. You breathed each other in like it was the first time you felt fresh air.

The only thing concerning you or him was taking a literal breath of air and releasing from the kiss.

You both pulled away gasping for breath and started to fall down from the high. As heavy exhales leave you, Spencer pressed small delicate kisses against your cheeks and the corners of your lips. His hold on your leg loosened and his fingers slowly traveled up and down your thigh.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before,” you admit, sheepishly smiling.

He smiled back at you, “me neither.”

“Can we talk more about this in the morning?” you asked. “There’s so much I want to tell you, but I'm exhausted.” After the passion had washed away, you were reminded how much sleep you lost throughout the night.

“Absolutely,” he said with a fond and relieved look. “Come on, we should get some rest.”

You both settled into a more comfortable position to fall asleep. There was an unconscious understanding between you two and that there was no way you were separating.

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moodymarie · 7 months ago

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Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

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moodymarie · 7 months ago

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sorry if you feel objectified - spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

reader spills to the ladies of the bau... which is fine until spencer hears

requested by: @floraisunwell

genre: fluff (vv silly) wc: 405 warnings: established relationship, mentioned sex, awkwardness, teasing, talk of objectification

Maybe it was a tad inappropriate to be discussing last night's escapades with your boyfriend—and coworker—at work but was it really that surprising? I mean, the team only just find out about you two and you don't have many friends here in DC. It's not like the ladies of the BAU were going to let you skimp on the details, anyways.

So, you tell them everything.

"He did what?!" Penelope screeches. You have to hold a finger to her lips to remind her that you're in the kitchenette and not behind closed doors.

Holding back far too loud giggles, you whisper-yell, "shut up!" After a moment of waiting for her to calm down, you continue the story, "over the couch..."

Emily's mouth opens before she asks quietly, baffled, "over? Like...?"

"I'm not describing our sex positions!" you giggle. Then, with feigned nonchalance, you add, "he looked good doing it, though." And, of course, that's the moment Spencer walks into the BAU with a confused, furrowed brow and red everything. A not-so-amusing, mumbled, "busted," comes from JJ.

Holding up her mug as an act of congratulation, Emily grins, "we've heard great things."

If it's even possible, his face gets even more red. You can only imagine the things he's picturing in his head right now. "W—What have you heard?"

"Nothing! Uh, they heard nothing. Coffee?" you suggest nervously.

You couldn't possibly be even a little shocked that Penelope had told Morgan. Unfortunately for Spencer, that means he's now a victim of his teasing.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Morgan smiles, "how do you feel about being objectified the person you're sleeping with?"

"It's not objectifying," Spencer mutters boredly, pressing a key on his computer's keyboard.

As if he already knew what he was going to say, Morgan hums before responding with, "I don't know, some of the things she said seemed pretty... explicit."

At that, he flushes, most likely recalling last night perfectly, thanks to his eidetic memory. That's when you butt in, not having it with the conversation. "Morgan," you warn.

His hands fly up in surrender and you glare at him. "Clearly you've never heard girl-talk before because that was nothing," you smile innocently. Morgan's eyebrows raise as he backs away towards his desk.

Spencer pops his head up and looks at you over the divider between your desks, brows furrowed and lips parted in confusion. Probably mortification, too.

"That conversation was nothing?"

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moodymarie · 7 months ago

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hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

sickness, comfort, spencer panicking slightly, ‘i love you’

just a short one to get me out of a slump, it’s cutesy, classic sick comfort fic. v short.

“Honey, you know how many germs I have right now, you really don’t have to be here.” You batted your eyelashes up at him from your deteriorating state on the couch.

Spencer ignored the nickname, or simply didn’t register it in his worry, “The longer you’re sick the more time the virus has to reproduce and evade your dying immune system. I have to learn to deal with it in order for you to get better.” Spencer spieled, pacing in front of you while wringing his hands.

“Spence, I can take care of myself.” You pleaded, more concerned about his comfort than yours.

“But I want to take care of you. I just have to pretend like you’re not sick when you really are. Badly sick. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like pretending?” Head tilted, you tightened the blanket around your shoulders.

“I don’t like you being sick. I can deal with germs. I investigate dead bodies most of the time, I’ll be fine. You won’t be.”

You smiled, “Wow. Way to kill my immune system’s confidence.”

“Sorry, I’m trying to pep talk you and myself.” He stopped pacing and looked directly at you, regarding your figure with much concern.

“I know. You’re doing well. I already feel better.” You nodded to encourage him. Things like this was new to him, caring for someone he knew would reciprocate, so you didn’t want him to become insecure about it.

“That’s impossible. You’re still,” he places his hand on your forehead and you sniffle, “burning up.”

“Are you saying I’m hot?”

“Temperature wise, yes. And if you’re trying to insinuate me finding you attractive than yes, that too. I just don’t like the word ‘hot’ to describe you.”

“Why?” Your voice is audibly snotty, it makes you cringe.

“Because you’re not a temperature, you’re a beautiful woman. Who is sick, and needs honey tea.” He places a finger on his lips in thought and nods at his own idea.

“Spence?”

His eyes dart up at the sudden use of his name, “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His anxious motions halted and his ears reddened, he looked down with a tiny smile that hurt your heart with cuteness aggression. You sneezed very loudly, your leg jerking along with it.

“I love you too. Now, I’m making you tea and some noodles. You sit there and look beautiful.”

taglist - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

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moodymarie · 7 months ago

Text

worries — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you get hurt while catching an unsub and spencer is worried content warnings: multiple mentions of being held at gunpoint , cut on the cheek bleeding, an ambulance arriving

Your chest heaved as you leaned against the cool brick wall outside the building, trying to catch your breath. The world around you felt muffled, like everything had been wrapped in cotton. The distant hum of sirens, and the occasional crackle of a police radio faded in and out, none of it penetrating the haze in your mind.

Your hands trembled as you wiped them down your thighs, but the movement did little to stop the shaking.

It had been barely five minutes since the unsub had been standing in front of you, gun raised and finger on the trigger. Five minutes since you’d stared death in the face.

If it hadn’t been for Emily—her quick thinking, her precise aim—you wouldn’t be standing here now. The thought sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through your body, your heart racing all over again. You pressed your back harder against the wall, hoping the solid surface would ground you, give you something tangible to hold onto.

A few minutes passed, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stood rooted to the spot. The distant wail of approaching sirens grew louder, signaling the arrival of the ambulance.

The sound of a door creaking open caught your attention, and you turned to see Emily stepping out of the house. The moment her eyes landed on you, her expression softened.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low but filled with genuine concern. She placed a steadying hand on your back.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was true. “Yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

Emily’s sharp eyes scanned your face, and then she frowned, her brows knitting together. “You’re bleeding,” she said, gesturing to your cheek.

Your hand instinctively flew up to your face, fingers brushing against a stinging sensation you hadn’t noticed until now. When you pulled your hand back, your fingertips were smeared with blood.

“I didn’t even realize…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as you tried to recall when or how you’d gotten the cut. The events of the past hour blurred together in a chaotic whirlwind, making it impossible to pinpoint.

“It looks deep,” Emily said, her tone firm but laced with concern. “You should get that checked out.”

“I’m okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your attempt to downplay the injury. “Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “And I’m the queen of England.”

Before you could protest, she gently but firmly took hold of your arm, guiding you toward the ambulance that had just pulled up. “Come on,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

“Emily, it’s just a scratch,” you tried, but she shot you a pointed look that silenced any further objections.

As you reached the paramedics, Emily waved one of them over. “She’s got a deep cut on her cheek,” she explained, her hand still resting on your arm as if she thought you might bolt at any second.

The paramedic nodded, motioning for you to sit on the edge of the ambulance. You relented, sighing as you felt the cool touch of antiseptic on your skin.

Emily stood nearby, her arms crossed as she watched the paramedic work.

“Thanks, Emily,” you said softly, glancing up at her once the bleeding had been stopped and the cut bandaged.

As you sat on the edge of the ambulance, watching the paramedic clean up their supplies, another car pulled into the scene.

The dark sedan came to a halt, and you immediately recognized Rossi stepping out.

Emily was the first to approach him, gesturing toward the house as she gave a rundown of the situation.

Rossi nodded, his expression serious but calm, while Spencer stood just a step behind them, listening intently. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed every word.

Then, out of nowhere, Spencer’s head snapped up, his gaze darting straight to the ambulance. His eyes locked on you, and something in his expression shifted.

Concern etched itself into every line of his face as he suddenly stepped away from the conversation, cutting off whatever Rossi had been saying mid-sentence.

You watched him approach, his pace quickening with every step, and you instinctively stood up, even though your legs still felt a little shaky.

“Spence, I’m okay,” you started, raising your hands as if to stop him. But the words barely left your mouth before he was standing in front of you, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to reassure himself you were really there.

“Emily told me…” he began, his voice low and slightly unsteady. He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides as he visibly tried to collect himself. “Emily told me you were held at gunpoint.”

The worry in his tone hit you like a wave, and you felt a pang of guilt for being the source of his distress. “Spencer, I’m fine,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “It was scary, yeah, but I’m okay. Emily—Emily saved me.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was wrestling with some invisible force.

Then, without warning, Spencer leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug.

The gesture caught you completely off guard. Spencer wasn’t usually one for physical contact, let alone spontaneous hugs.

And yet here he was, holding you tightly, his face buried in your hair as he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

You froze for a second, startled by the unexpected intimacy, before the warmth of his embrace began to sink in. Slowly, you lifted your arms, wrapping them around him as you hugged him back.

His grip didn’t loosen right away—if anything, it tightened slightly, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go too soon. His breath was warm against your hair, and you could feel the faint tremble in his hands as they pressed against your back.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” He trailed off, not finishing the thought, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say that could possibly ease his worry. Instead, you tightened your hold, resting your cheek against his chest as you whispered, “I’m here, Spence. I’m okay.”

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. His face was flushed, his usual awkwardness beginning to creep back in, but he didn’t let go entirely. “Sorry,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

You shook your head, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Don't be sorry,” you said softly. “That was… nice.”

Spencer let out a quiet, relieved laugh, finally stepping back but keeping his gaze locked on you.

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the danger you’d just faced.

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moodymarie · 8 months ago

Text

thank you’s - s.r

in which; sunshine!bau!reader is demeaned by an officer on a case and season2!spencer sticks up for her.

content: fem!reader, reader described as having ‘girly’ flair, sexism, mention of blood/bloodstain, mainly fluff, protective spencer, and i think that’s it but lmk.

a/n: i just rawdog it and write on tumblr as a draft so i have 0 clue how many words there are. also, thank you all so much for the love on my first fic, i adore you all. these are my babies now and i hope you love them.

Warm sunlight warms the skin on your back while you’re crouched down at the latest crime scene, examining a bloodstain on the concrete floor. Despite it being November, it’s still considerably warm in Texas, a big contrast to Virginia weather for sure.

Despite official policies about dress code and such, you’re still a fun person, so you like to add your own girly flair to the professional attire you sport almost every single day. It doesn’t harm anybody, it doesn’t break any rules, and it’s cute.

However, pair the cute flair you add to your clothes with your enthusiastic, optimistic, ‘happy go lucky’ personality, and the fact that you’re a woman, and it causes people to make their own assumptions - typically sexist ones.

After doing bloodstain analysis on the red splatter that coats part of the parking lot’s floor, you go to stand up from your crouching position. Mid motion, you spot a small note on the floor, tucked under the wheel of a car. Crime scene analysis requires everything and anything to be processed, and the unsub has yet to make contact with authorities, so you make the decision that it’s worth looking at before motioning for Spencer to come over after seeing him somewhat idle.

He begins to make his way over from the other end of the parking lot as you stay crouching, waiting for him to come over because you don’t have gloves on. What you don’t see after you turn back around is an officer, an average sized male with blonde hair who appears to be slightly older than you, approaching you at the very same time.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, workin’ for the FBI? You sure yer pretty little brain can handle allathat, darlin’?” A man’s voice; a thick, Texan drawl, coated with a somewhat flirty tone, yet at the very same time, it’s seeping with disdain - ambivalence.

Unfortunately, you’re used to that tone of voice and can recognise it all too well. It’s not going to be the first time you hear it, and it certainly won’t be the last, no matter how progressive times are or how you express yourself.

Standing up, spinning on your heels, ready to give the - officer? that’s poor - a rehearsed response to ensure your own safety, yet keep a boundary, you see Spencer stood behind the average sized, blonde haired man that you don’t recognise. He’s giving the officer one of his looks, his face saying everything, as usual, despite the officer not being able to see it.

Spencer’s fully aware his face is saying everything without it coming out of his lips, he’s completely baffled at how someone could say something so demeaning to anybody, much less you. You’re probably the sweetest person he’s ever met, always so supportive and enthusiastic. He feels protective of you. He doesn’t even realise he does until the words are out.

“She’s perfectly capable of doing her job, if not more so than other male agents, not that it concerns you whatsoever. And I’m perfectly capable of reporting a sexist comment to your supervisor.”

Spencer’s tone is defensive, no, protective, and you can feel heat rushing to your cheeks. It’s the bare minimum - sticking up for someone to a discriminatory comment - and you know that. It’s more so that Spencer hates confrontation, but he’s doing it, and it’s for you. Thank God for the Texas weather masking your fluster as warmth.

With the threat of his supervisor being involved, the officer offers a mumbled apology before walking away, almost as if his ‘tail’ is tucked between his legs, like a scolded puppy. A soft laugh elicits from your lips at the sight. Once the sexist officer has gone, Spencer’s eyes find you, his expression changing to one of concern.

“Hey, you okay? That was demeaning,” the brunette offers, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck, a habit he has, typically more often around you.

“‘M okay. Used to it, unfortunately. Thank you, though, Spence. That was sweet; I know how much you hate confrontation,” you say, giving him a soft smile as you do.

It’s Spencer’s turn to blush now, you calling his actions sweet and that soft smile - god, that smile - flushing his cheeks a light pink while his hand still rubs at the back of his neck.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me. Anyway, you called me over here. What did you find?”

With his question, you’re quickly reminded of why you did call him over, before the sexist comment and mini confrontation that’d ensued with the officer’s presence, but there’s something you want to do first.

“I don’t need to thank you, but I want to,” you reassure him before stepping forward, moving closer to him, leaning up on your tiptoes, turning your head to face Spencer’s cheek, and slowly placing a chaste kiss to his already pink cheek.

Spencer’s eyes widen before they close, realising what you’re doing and wanting to savour the feeling of your lips on his skin. Unfortunately for him, the brief contact is gone just as quickly as it had started. He opens his eyes again and moves his right hand from the back of his neck to touch his cheek, realising what he did in front of you, and acting as if he was wiping away your lip gloss stain.

“Oh, uh.. thanks. Anyway, the, uhm, you called me over to see…?”

Silently, secretly, he wills the feeling of your lips on his skin to never leave his memory, not even when he’s old and grey, and maybe, just maybe, he wishes that you’ll be by his side when he is.

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moodymarie · 8 months ago

Text

Firsts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: You and Spencer navigate through your firsts throughout your life as childhood friends.

WC: 6k

Warnings: death, grief, use of drugs to cope with grief, uhhhh i guess that's it

A/N: HELLO!!! It's been so so long and I'm sorry I took forever to update — uni's kicking my ass but now I'll try to write a bit more during holidays season. I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 Feedbacks are highly appreciated!

| masterlist

"Do you think we'll stay friends?"

"I'm sure we'll stay friends."

For a genius, your best friend, Spencer Reid, never seemed to notice some of his speech patterns — he would echo you sometimes, which you honestly found adorably funny, and he also had a tendency for rambling, even if it wasn't that appropriate at times. When you two were alone, you didn't mind; in fact, you encouraged him and let him talk to you all the way. When there was someone else, like either of your parents or a teacher (these were your regular companions), you would try to tap him on the arm subtly so he would know when to stop. Although it broke your heart, he said himself once that he appreciated when you helped him look more normal.

Right now, things are everything but normal. Spencer had graduated high school at the age of 12 while you were still in seventh grade and he was leaving to study at Caltech. You didn't dare to compare yourself to him, but you would definitely miss him around, since he was the first person you saw everyday (besides your parents, of course) and the one who walked you to school and then went on the way to his. Right now, you are sitting on the floor of your front porch, while Spencer is laying his head on your lap and you have your hands on his hair. You always said to him that he's got nice hair, no matter how he styled or decided to cut it. He blushed every single time.

"You know… I'm gonna miss you, Spencer."

"I'm gonna miss you. But you'll still be in my life."

"Will I?"

"I'm leaving, but I'll try my best to keep in touch. We can call each other. I'll spare a couple hours of my week so you can talk to me." A small grin stretched on his lips when he mentioned talking to you. A crease made its way between your brows when you thought you'd only talk to him weekly.

Trying to play it cool, you asked, just to be sure, just to check if the pang in your heart felt less intense, less hurtful. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will."

Despite having him in your lap, you couldn't see his eyes, for they were closed in delight from your gentle touch. You saw him smile softly and you could see just how relaxed he seemed with this big change — honestly, if you were him, you'd be terrified. Quickly trying to get rid of your sad and fearful thoughts, as you ran your hands through his hair, you poorly fought the urge to chuckle when you thought about braiding his hair. He felt the air that left your lungs hit his face when you did.

Curious, as he always had been, he inquired, "What is it?"

"You'd look good with braids."

"I'm not letting you braid my hair," even if his tone was one of mock offense, a chuckle made its way out of him.

"I didn't ask to."

You saw as he bit back a grin. Little did you know, but he's is heaven, here in your presence. In dire need of some place safe to just be, without the expectations and the big things that are expected from him and to happen to him. As you unknowingly soothed his thoughts with your gentle touch, he thought about how strange it is having someone touch him and not being utterly opposed to the idea. He also thought about how, for one time in his life, he didn't know something, which was the feeling spreading on his chest. Nevertheless, there was a ghost of a small, shy smile on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

He was happy.

—

As you made your way home from your sixteenth birthday dinner, something felt odd. Looking out the window, the city lights seemed to run from how fast your dad is driving. In the backseat, all alone, you tried to figure out what made you feel so empty all night long. As the car went over a bump, you instinctively looked to the side, and then everything made sense. Spencer wasn't there. Usually, after whatever family celebration you'd go to, he would be there (because you'd insist on taking him with you), by your side in the backseat of your dad's car, laughing at whatever funny thing had happened during the event. He was your company to every single thing you did, and you had been missing him quite more often as the contact between you two became more and more scarce.

Turning to look out the window again, your mom saw the frown on your face and sighed quietly, knowing precisely why you weren't chatting like you normally did. The specific pair of ears that you wanted to be listened by were not here. And she didn't blame you one bit.

As you got home, your frown was quickly replaced by a hopeful feeling on your chest and in your features when you found a voicemail addressed to you.

Hey! I hope you get home before midnight so that you won't think, not even for a minute, that I have forgotten about you. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! I'm really stressed right now because there are too many things happening at the same time and I'm here all by myself, so... I guess you know, better than myself, how I feel. You… You know me so well. It is nice to be known by you. Anyway... Um... I'd like to wish you a happy birthday and, ah, I also would like you to know that I wish I could have been with you today. I'm really sorry because I know how much you love your birthdays. I'm sending you a gift, but I'm not sure if it will arrive on time. I miss you. I miss you and whatever Taylor Swift song you were always humming when we were walking back from school.

Anyway, er... I miss you—hah—I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much I miss you. And how much I miss our time together. Uh, happy birthday!

You didn't know when, but you had teared up at some point listening to him. You didn't know whether the cause was hearing his voice again or because he remembered you or because he told you he missed your time together or that he remembered the silly songs you'd sing when you were walking back home together. Before going to bed, you let your bedside table lamp on, as you always did before so Spencer knew, from the house beside yours, that you were up or you didn't care if he called you in the middle of the night. Either way...

You were happy.

—

Underneath the Christmas tree, the glow of the warm white fairy lights you and your mom had picked out was almost blinding. Yet, you and Spencer couldn't care less. You were both too infatuated by the blinding brightness that punished your eyes to care about having problems later. Closing your eyes, you smiled to yourself, happy to be doing something so ordinary, so dumb, with your best friend. Behind your eyelids, the light was not as relentless and it granted some relief from the current sight, which sort of looked like a kaleidoscope of... white. You heard when Spencer turned his head to look at you, but you missed his soft grin.

"It was overwhelming me," you explained.

"I know." He replied, still looking at you.

Your profile, under the yellowish glow, looked almost ethereal. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, everything was forever ingrained into his memory. By now, Spencer could map out every single freckle on your face — especially the particular one on your lower lip. He sighed at the sheer thought of your lips. You were now seventeen and so was Spencer. Puberty had been way gentler on you than it was on him and he noticed with a blush that you were growing up, just as he was. You were a little taller, for sure, and you had put on some weight in all the right places, not to mention your style that matched your personality. As for him, he had that voice pitch swing that he hated greatly, still wore thick glasses and overall went with the nerdy stereotype that everyone picked on him for… while you looked like you were glowing.

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. You were so close that it almost hurt. Inches separated Spencer from what he thought would be the best feeling of his life. From the person that had him lying awake for hours, tossing and turning on his bed until the sun began to rise. "I can't wait to give you your gift. I think you'll love it!"

He grinned. "I'll be happy with anything." From you, he meant to say, but he didn't finish.

You closed your eyes again, a grin of your own on your face. He wondered... What if he got closer? What if he kissed you? What if you pulled away? What if you didn't pull away? What if you cut him off?

Almost unconsciously, he inched closer and closer to the point your breaths mingled together. You didn't pull away, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned in, getting ever closer to him than you ever had been before. The fairy lights made you look even prettier than before. You looked like a dream.

"I was thinking..."

"About what?" He asked. Despite his gaze being lost in you, he was acutely aware of the words coming out of your mouth.

God, your mouth.

"It's stupid..." You muttered, looking away from his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me." It's not stupid if it's you.

"Okay... okay." You breathed in. "Me and the girls were talking about first kisses. And I felt so, so embarrassed because I haven't had mine yet."

Spencer felt dizzy. Even if he wasn't the best at social cues, if he was reading this right, you wanted him to kiss you too. He exhaled softly, trying to clear his thoughts. His voice was weak when he asked, "And?"

"Have you had yours yet? I know we talk about everything and all that, but... have you?"

He chuckled at your question. How could he, the scrawny little nerdy boy have had his kiss and you hadn't? "You're joking right?"

"I'm not! I'm genuinely curious."

He didn't know, but your heart was in your throat, too scared of a positive answer.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet."

Somehow, that did nothing to calm your racing heart. Inching even closer, you muttered, "we could have it together."

If Spencer didn't pass out with your words, he was sure he would be unshakable for the rest of his life. Whatever life threw at him, it wouldn't matter as much as this moment of sheer strength and self-control, because he didn't pull you in immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I'd be fine with kissing you. You're my best friend. I—I know you won't judge me and you know I won't judge you either. And—and... even if things are... embarrassing... i—it will still be a good memory in the… future." As your soft voice reached his ears, he felt like he was in heaven.

Your arguments for kissing him made him wonder if you had spent that much time considering it as he did. "Okay, you've got a few points. I'm—I'm not... opposed to the idea."

Your heart burned. You both inched closer and closer, a hair width separating your lips. As your eyes fluttered closed and you placed one of your hands on the back of his neck, both hesitantly and surely, Spencer mimicked you and pressed his lips to yours with the lightest pressure as his hand found your waist tentatively. Your lips felt so soft and sweet. He knew he would feel you for days — and hoped you'd feel him for days, too.

Encouraged by him, you pressed your lips a bit harder against him. He gasped softly and you took the opportunity to capture his lower lip between yours and kiss it gently. Spencer could feel his heartbeat drumming on his ears and he tightened his hold on your waist the tiniest bit. Internally, he thought he died and went to heaven and that's how he was welcomed there. Your lips fit together so nicely and he felt his heart burning for you and he knew back then that he would do anything you asked him to in a heartbeat.

You pulled back to lick your lips and fitted them into his again. He sighed, again, moving to your accord as he tried focusing on how good it felt to be kissed by you rather than how you could regret it later. Distancing yourself, your eyes slowly fluttered open, finding his dazed ones already looking back at you. You grinned at him. Another secret between the two of you; but this time, it wasn't an embarrassing one.

He smiled back.

Later that day, Spencer sat on his bed, touching his lips, feeling the tingle yours had left behind. Smiling like an idiot, he wrote that date on the wood of his nightstand, black marker holding the evidence that tonight had actually happened, if he were to ever forget. If anyone asked, well, he would have to come up with something to hide the fact that he was relentlessly in love with you, but he would replay the best memory of his life in the back of his mind as his mouth stuttered out a little white lie.

He was so confused. And screwed. And so utterly happy.

—

At Caltech, at the ripe age of eighteen, on a working day, as usual, Spencer typed aggressively on his keyboard, writing an academic paper on a topic that had come to his mind during one of his classes and later inspired fully by a conversation with this one professor. Looking at the time on his computer screen, he cursed. It was already time he was supposed to be on his way to class, which was unlike him. There was a reason, though.

Last night, he had gotten home late. He had lost track of time talking to a girl whose name was Alex. They were both at the university library, and they hit it off immediately talking about Literature and then more mundane things — he had found out that she was a high schooler having classes with grad students, just like himself a few years back. Getting home late, his entire schedule for the day ahead had been ruined, so everything felt odd as he tried to navigate through his last obligations. He had gone to bed later than usual and overslept for some reason unknown to him.

As he got up abruptly, he knocked his knee on the desk, which was now getting very small for the size he had grown into. Shutting his eyes and suppressing a whine, he breathed in. As he opened his eyes, his line of sight caught glance of one of the two only photos he had hung up on his wall. The first was him and his mother, Diana. The second was you and him.

It was short after your fifteenth birthday, and he finally had had the time to go visit. You had greeted him with a very warm hug. That very same day, you had dragged him to your bedroom, which now didn't have the pink walls and the posters of the bands you liked so much anymore. Now, the walls were a cool tone of sage green and your walls were cleaner, the posters being replaced by photos of you and your friends from school. He had felt a tinge of jealousy, noticing just how much he was missing out on your life. Despite the lingering feeling, he tried to not let it get to him.

You thanked him so much for the gift he had given you, one of those polaroid cameras. He had spent so much time saving money to get you that present. The excited, happy tone in your voice during the phone call you had made to thank him made him feel like it had been worth it to spend that much.

"Hey, here she is! I named her Marie. From Marie Curie, of course." You explained, holding your camera carefully as you both entered your bedroom

"You named 'her' Marie?"

"She has a special place on my heart."

He chuckled. "You're so material, sometimes."

"You gave it to me!"

"I gave it to you." He whispered, a hint of a smile dancing around his features.

You smiled. "Come on, let's take a picture. It's her first. I waited a whole month so you'd be here to take this photo with me. It's only fair you're the first person to be photographed with me by Marie."

"Oh... okay..."

Holding the camera with both of your hands, you held it out so that it would capture the two of you. "Smile." You said, and, without checking his pose, you pressed the button, a big grin on your face, for the photo, of course, but also from being so madly happy that you were with him again. Spencer didn't know what do to, frozen on the spot because you were so, so close. He just looked at you, dumbstruck gaze on him as he watched you smile so beautifully at the camera.

His heart was doing somersaults.

After the flash in your face, you blinked rapidly, chuckling to yourself. "Oooh. That's uncomfortable, heh." You open your eyes and the first thing you see are his beautiful hazel ones, looking straight at you, as if he didn't even blink upon the bothering aftermath of the light on your faces. You nearly had to gulp under the intensity of his gaze. Then, you quickly regained consciousness and started fanning the small piece so that the picture would appear faster.

The result was the one now stuck to his wall: you, with the biggest smile on your face and he, lovestruck, dumb, lost gaze as he looked at you.

Sigh.

Spencer quickly shook his head, not meaning to be later and even more stressed than he already was. He missed you, though. And he let himself relish in that feeling of longing for a minute. Glancing at the photo, he couldn't help but think you were already eighteen. And that he had loved you from the first time he saw you — when he was twelve.

He sat on his bed, having removed the photo from the wall. As he held it delicately between his fingers, he thought of you. He always did. In spite of being late, in spite of everything telling him he had to go through his days, he felt something tugging at his heartstrings, a longing feeling that he should be somewhere else, something that told him something, so he knew.

It was time to go.

—

Back in his hometown, even the air felt different, despite exuding an aroma that reminded him of his younger days. It had been some time since he had visited, and the distance between you and him only grew further. Driving past your house — the state of California had finally issued his license —, he saw a somewhat big crowd of people, all dressed in black.

He felt like the noise around him didn't fully reach his brain. Like he was under water.

Robotically stepping out of his car, he approached the house cautiously. Almost as instantly as your mom welcomed him, he saw you across the room, dressed in black. Bloodshot eyes found him instantly, and a flicker of relief passed your expression — unable to muster up a smile, but oh so willing to show him that you were grateful for his presence. You felt frozen to the spot and had been standing in that corner for hours. A man placed his hand on your shoulder and that's when you looked away from Spencer. He noticed it, of course, and was obliged to acknowledge the blonde man by your side. You didn't smile at him either.

Spencer approached, somewhat relieved that you were okay, but so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation. Almost unwilling to believe whatever bad thing had happened, because he had been so happy with you in that house.

Once he was within your earshot, you greeted weakly, "Hi."

"Hi."

Silence.

"Can we talk?"

Something about the look in your eyes told him that you desperately wanted, no, needed, craved it from him, his presence. With a subtle nod, you excused yourself from the man and lead him to the backyard. Sitting on the same bench you did when it was too late and you talked about the stars together, you reveal softly as you stare into the distance, "Dad's gone."

Spencer felt like he had been punched and all the air had left his lungs after your confirmation of something he was suspecting already. Finally, he blurted out, sitting down by yourself, "W—what?"

"He didn't wake up."

"He didn't wake up?"

"No... Last night, Spencer..." You begun, your voice thick with emotion, "he said that everything was alright." You frowned, tears streaming down your face, "That he... loves... loved me and mom... and that... that had been his role on Earth."

He stood quiet, waiting for the rest of what you had to say, still shaken by the news. Your broken voice and distant gaze were enough to skyrocket the pain he felt. Spencer absolutely adored your dad, and he was one of the few that Spencer confided in wholeheartedly when things got too rough for him to bear by himself. Even though your dad was the quiet type, Spencer would go as far as saying that he was somehow his dad as well.

With your silence, he had a little time to see past the pain. Analyzing your figure, he knew. He knew you had to leave. If you decided to stay, you'd be rooted to the spot and you wouldn't be able to grow any further, forever stuck into the never ending, relentless force of grief. Spencer knew that because, besides knowing you better than anyone else, he had left in hopes to escape the person he thought he was doomed to become. Your voice brought him out of his reverie. "I laughed. I thought he was joking."

"Maybe he was joking."

"Maybe he knew he was leaving."

Silence.

You look up at him. Asking for answers. For something. For comfort.

Sitting down beside you, he held your shaking shoulders as you let tears fall freely and you lost your breath and you choked on your own saliva. An ugly, guttural, desolate crying. Spencer held you through it all — he was ready to scream at anyone on the garden if they had the nerve to go there, but, actually, in that moment, you didn't care that somebody could see or hear you. The effect of the pills your mother had given you had started to wear off and you felt things way more intensely than when she first broke the news.

Dad's gone, was all that you could hear her voice say as Spencer turned his body to fully embrace you, placing your head on his shoulder and sobbing your pain as an effort to quell the ache of your loss.

It took every single ounce of self-control for Spencer not to break down with you, because in that moment, he preferred to swallow his own pain so that he could be your safe space instead. As your sobs slowly subsided, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make the pain that invaded your whole body go away.

"I think..." you started, but never finished.

Silence.

"I think you should move away."

You looked at him, baffled, puzzled, hopeful.

"What?" You whispered softly.

"I think staying won't do you any good. And you know I'm right." His gaze never faltered.

You took a deep breath. "M-my mom... Spencer... she doesn't have anyone else. I-I can't do that... to her..." You gulped. The meer thought of leaving felt exhilarating, but you had to stay. You were rooted.

"Your brothers are always around." He replied.

"Not anymore. Much has changed since… since you... left."

"I didn't leave." He said, defensively.

"I didn't accuse you. At least I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Would you consider it? Leaving, I mean?" Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Come with me.

"I would... I don't know, Spencer." Your voice was broken. "Too... too much is going on. I can't just... go."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's dad. And now mom. And that stupid college... I don't know where I fit." You fit next to me, he wanted to scream at you, but he realized it wasn't fair of him to demand anything from you at that moment. "I don't know what path to take without my dad here to guide me." A wet chuckle made its way out of you. He hugged you again.

On a sudden wave of boldness, he stated, "If you stay, this will be your life. If you go, you'll have somewhere to come back to if things go wrong. I—I… I know, um, that I sound very insensitive right now, but that's the truth. Why do you think I went away?"

"I can't." And your tears began again, even harder this time.

He sighed, holding you against his chest once again. Despite the unbearable pain of not being able to help, to persuade you, he decided to respect your decision.

“My father's in a casket. I have got no plans.” You muttered softly. His heart broke for you all over again.

“You've got me. And I've got you.”

Looking up at him, your eyes glimmered with hope. Desperate to believe him, desperate to leave. With him, if he'd have you.

But that wasn't how it worked.

You buried your face on his chest again, willing the tears to stop, to have some control over yourself again.

He held you through it all. He was there for you.

Spencer's stay didn't last long, even though it was filled with an unspoken, desperate beg for you to come with him, even if he didn't quite know how things would work once you accepted. After some thinking, he realized he was asking too much of you for the sake of trying to protect you from what he knew was going to happen. Losing his own father, albeit for a different reason, had changed him permanently and he was scared that you, losing yours, would turn into a different person too. The mere thought of losing you to grief was too much to handle, even if he understood that his pleas were unfair to you, not to mention absurd.

Spencer's brain was turned into a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them desperate to find a way out of this situation, to find a way out to get you out of that place — both physically and mentally. As he stood by your side during your dad's burial, he let you squeeze his hand as if that would somehow make the pain less intense for you. It didn't, but it felt nice to have someone to carry the weight with you.

—

Spencer had joined the FBI at the age of 23, when you were graduating from college. The difference was staggering and it made you laugh the same as it had when he was going to college and you were going to seventh grade. It had been years since you had last met in person, after all, Diana was the main reason he'd go to Vegas, and he didn't go there much because he was often too busy with his studies and his career. Once, he had confided in you, saying that he secretly wished that it would be enough of a good excuse to avoid seeing his mother in a facility and saving them both from the pain. Tonight, though, that would change. You were visiting him in Virginia.

A little nervous, you knocked on his door. Once he answered, you took in his appearance and your heart swelled at the sight. In your eyes, he'd always looked the prettiest, but now… It's like something had shifted: Spencer was all that you saw. And you didn't want to look at anything else anymore.

“Hi,” you greeted in a weak voice. Perhaps the intensity of your smile stole away your will to speak properly.

“You're here.” Spencer muttered, eyes filled with many emotions, but that you decided to read as relief.

“I am.”

“God, it's been so long,” he says, closing the gap between you and him, wrapping his arms around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder, not so subtly trying to smell your perfume. And failing to hide the overdrive when he noticed it was the same from all those years ago, from when you had first kissed.

Pulling away slightly, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and took in his shiny eyes, the ones that you adored so much and now met yours with a new perspective on everything. Once entering his apartment, you found that the place screamed his name, from the scattered books and the endless piles all over his living room. His TV had a documentary in a foreign language on, and you smiled to yourself. Spencer had never changed and, at his core, was still the boy you were once close friends with.

Spencer filled you in on the things you missed. You knew they were mostly about his job because he wasn't one to step out of his comfort zone — not that you'd judge him for it. “I miss having you around, tapping my arm so I know when to stop,” he revealed softly as you two shared a tub of ice cream.

Forget germs, forget pathogens, forget viruses, forget everything. She is here.

You giggled. It set his heart on fire. “Ah, Spencer… You know I only did it when other people were around. Other people are just other people. You're you. And rambling is part of who you are. Don't let that disappear.”

He smiled. You were still you.

“In fact, I have something to tell you.”

His heartbeat fastened, thinking of every possible scenario, reliving every single one of your experiences in the back of his mind. “You… you have something to tell me?” He echoed. He was still him.

Chuckling softly, “I'm glad you're still you, Spencer. I still say your name when people ask me who's my best friend. It's an excuse to relive our favorite stories as I tell them all about you.”

Spencer was left speechless, bashfully looking away from you as he resumed to talk about his days at the FBI. He told you all about his team, the people and what they found on a daily basis. “Do you think it's weird that I study what I do study?”

“No, Spence. You've always had a curious mind. Why do you ask?” You inquired back.

“I don't know… sometimes I think that people find me weird.”

“You're not,” you said, simply. “Your interests are very diverse, and anyone who talks to you will find that out. Being a profiler is not weird.”

He grinned. Your words or arguments about his insecurities throughout your friendship weren't always the most complex, but he always felt better by talking to you. He was never ashamed, never too scared of admitting something or voicing his needs. You made him feel like it was okay to speak, to want, to be. Whatever his limitations were and whatever words he left unspoken, they were never your fault. You'd never frowned at him, not once.

As the night progressed, he filled you in on what he had been doing for fun, mentioning his current readings — one of them on his nightstand. Giddily, you went over to his bedroom to find the novel that he was talking about, so that you could hear him talk about it and recite, by heart, quotes that illustrated his points and interpretation from the book. Upon entering his bedroom, you smiled to yourself. So Spencer. The sand-colored walls, the neat and clean floor, his slightly wrinkled bedsheets, a pile of laundry on top of his bed, a few scattered items on his nightstand — which, by the way, was the same in his mother's house. You had always found it amazingly pretty, the light wood and the black paint that covered the iron of the drawer pulls.

As you reached the piece of furniture and removed the book, you found something scribbled right under where the object had been lying. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him not to ruin the perfect nightstand, but as you turned on the lamp to try and find out what was written there, the writing in black ink made you shiver. You fell silent. It was the date of your first kiss.

Time stopped. Why was that date written there? And why did the possibilities both scared and thrilled you so damn much? You felt someone behind you. “So, you found the book or what?” The question made its way out of his lips in a teasing tone. But, as you turned around softly, the book still clutched tightly in your hands, your eyes questioned him back. Not accusingly, only… curiously.

When he realized what you had discovered, the air left his lungs and he tried desperately to come up with an excuse. It turns out that he hadn't been asked by many people about the meaning of that date — and it's not like he had many visitors, anyway. “I… You… You… Did you… see it?” You managed to nod, weakly.

“What does it mean?” You asked, eyes never leaving his.

Looking away, he replied, “I was scared to forget.”

“Forget?” You inquired, shifting your weight.

“About it…. That night, I mean. about… us.” You gazed at him understandingly once he answered.

“About us?” Funnily enough, now you were the one parroting him. It would have made you chuckle if the situation wasn't that serious.

He breathes out, “Yeah, us.”

A beat of silence. You take a step towards him, and his breath hitches. “Have you forgotten?”

He searches your face. Upon finding nothing but support, he reveals, “There's not a single day I don't remember that moment.” You gulp and he takes a step closer, which makes your grip on the book tighten even more. You closed your eyes — a silent invitation, but it makes him falter once he doesn't have your eyes to navigate him through what he's supposed to do.

I'm glad you're still you, Spencer.

Encouraged by the memory of your words from moments ago and the presence of you, he closes the distance between you, once and for all. There's nothing that could hold him back from loving you once your lips touch and press together in a kiss that makes the book fall to your feet as your hands find their place on the back of his neck.

On any other day, Spencer Reid would be pissed upon seeing someone drop a book, let alone a considerably heavy one, on his feet — that's absurd. That moment, though, he couldn't care less as he squeezed your waist, as if trying to convince himself that you were there, that it was real, and that he finally got to do what he has always wanted.

Spencer and you had been through many firsts during the time you've known each other; some good firsts and some pretty bad firsts. But, there was a quote, from ‘Doctor Who’, that you always reminded him and yourself whenever things got too tough:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."

As long as he had you to soften the bad things and had your company during the bad things that made the good ones unimportant, Spencer figured that life would be a pile of more good than bad things.

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moodymarie · 8 months ago

Text

Used to It

Summary: you defend Spencer when an officer interrupts him Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader Genre: fluff [oneshot] Warning(s): none A/N: this is part of the teddy-ber event created by me

The precinct buzzed with the usual chaos — phones ringing, officers moving briskly, and the murmur of voices discussing the latest case. You stood beside Spencer Reid, the two of you going over the evidence that had been laid out across a table.

Spencer was explaining a theory, his voice quick but laced with excitement. You loved watching him in these moments, when his passion for solving puzzles took over and he became so animated. He gestured toward the files, threading together connections no one else had noticed.

“And if we consider the unsub’s choice of victims,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “It’s possible he’s working off some kind of symbolic-”

“What’s your point, genius?” an officer interrupted abruptly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The moment felt like it shattered in front of you. Spencer froze mid-sentence, the enthusiasm draining from his face as quickly as it had appeared. His shoulders hunched slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

You saw red.

“Excuse me” you said sharply, stepping forward. Your voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “He was making a point, one that might help us catch the person you’re supposed to be stopping. So, unless you have something more helpful to add, maybe let him finish”

The officer blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. He muttered something under his breath and walked away, but not before shooting Spencer an annoyed look.

You turned back to Spencer, your anger still simmering. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t match the gesture. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he refused to meet your eyes.

“Spencer-”

“You didn’t have to do that” he said softly, cutting you off.

“Of course, I did” you replied, frowning. “He had no right to talk to you like that”

Spencer finally looked up, and the sadness in his eyes made your heart ache. “It happens all the time,” he said with a small shrug. “I’m… Used to it”

You stared at him, stunned. “That doesn’t make it okay”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I appreciate what you did. I do. But you don’t have to fight my battles for me. It’s not worth it”

“Not worth it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Spencer, you deserve respect just as much as anyone else here. More, even, because you’re brilliant and you’re kind, and you’re the one figuring out half of what we know about this case. If someone can’t see that, it’s their problem—not yours”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, to your relief, his lips curved into a more genuine smile. It was small, almost hesitant, but it was there.

“Thank you” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, your voice softening, “I just… I hate seeing you treated like that”

Spencer nodded, his gaze warm despite the lingering shadows. “I know”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the precinct fading into the background. Then Spencer straightened, his usual determination returning to his expression.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone lightening, “As I was saying, the unsub’s choice of victims suggests a pattern based on…”

You smiled as he launched back into his explanation, the earlier incident already slipping from his mind. But you knew you wouldn’t forget it — not because of the officer’s rudeness, but because of the way Spencer had tried to brush it off as normal.

You made a silent promise to yourself. You’d always have his back, no matter how used to it he thought he was.

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moodymarie · 8 months ago

Text

RESTLESS. 18+

pairing. spencer reid x fem!reader summary. you’re struggling to fall asleep and you accidentally awake spencer in the process. an escalation of mindless touches becomes an attempt to tire you out word count. 1305 warnings. 18+ readers only. mdni!! pre-prison reid was in mind but you’re welcome to imagine another era. titty holding, fingering, pinv, soft sleepy sex, possible somnophilia (but not really bc both end up falling asleep at end) & cockwarming. enjoy x

It’s late, the time on your phone displaying a number far later than you'd like. You’ve been struggling to get to sleep for the last few hours, endless tossing and turning in hopes of drifting off proving to be nothing but fidgeting.

And so, you place your phone back onto the nightstand after the umpteenth time of checking it, the sound audible through Spencer’s sleep, jolting him awake. You twist to look back at him behind you, his eyes alert — still sleepy— as he looks over you, making sure you’re the first thing he checks on.

“Sorry, I woke you up.”

He inhales deeply and reaches for you under the covers, slipping a hand under your bedtime top and up to one of your breasts — his hold mindless as he cups it. “It’s all right,” he says, voice tired and thick, still asleep. “Have you slept?” he asks, nuzzling his forehead into the back of your neck.

“No,” you reply, speaking softly as not to disturb the rhythm of his sleep more than you have.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” he apologises through his half asleep state, muttering into your skin. “I can stay up with you,” Spencer offers, pressing a kiss into shoulder.

“No, no. It’s okay,” you say, stroking over his arm through your t-shirt. “Get back to sleep, love. It’s late.”

His breathing changes behind you, the pattern more controlled now, like he’s waking up. “I can’t if I know you can’t,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, pressing a light kiss to where he just spoke.

“I feel bad keeping you awake.”

“Don’t.”

You snicker, the sound subtly entertained. “Oh right, yeah, okay,” you reply, tone sarcastic from his twinge of unintentional callousness.

You adjust your position, rolling onto your back to look at him — the moon casting a soft sheen of light on the side of your faces: illuminating his soft features and messy curls. He’s resting on his fist, elbow bent beside your head as he looks over you, expression growing more conscious.

“You know what I meant,” he smiles faintly, eyes closing as he shakes his head, amused.

With his hand still clasped under one of your tits, you join him, sliding under your top to hold onto his fingers — keeping him to you. He follows your eyeline and mimicks the gaze set on your chest, each of you watching the soft caress under the fabric. Your eyes flicker up to him slightly above you and he follows, now peering down at you nestled beside his upper arm.

Like a mirror, he copies your movements, glancing down to your lips like you did him mere moments before. Each of your glances like a silent question, wordlessly asking if the same thought was on the other’s mind. And it was.

You itch upwards slightly, neck raising and head lifting to get closer to him — pressing your lips to his. You linger for a brief moment, using the short pause to figure out whether his mind was in the same place as yours. He slips his hand away from under your breast, the act making you think otherwise. But instead he places it under your jaw, his hold almost needy — his fingers crawling across into the hairs at the back of your head.

He returns the kiss, his one holding far more zeal than your anticipatory one, like he’s wanting to progress things — wordlessly communicating it with you. And with his palm clasped at the side of your throat, you’re slipping into the back of it and peeling him from you, leading him someplace else.

You guide him down your stomach and down the front of your underwear, pushing your hands under the waistband and to your cunt. You inhale sharply into his mouth, the brisk, faint contact of his fingers over your clit enough to elicit such a reaction.

Spencer takes your sound as a cue and does it again to gain that same response, only now there’s more of a whine to it — the sound telling him it’s not the time for teasing or games. He straightens his two middle fingers, the pads of each grazing over the mound, more intent behind his touch than the time before.

You place your hand that was between your legs to the side of his face, holding him close as he deepens the kiss. Your small, muffled moans murmur against him with every circle over your clit — the gentle swirls of his fingers warming you up little by little.

He ventures downwards, fingers spreading between your pussy’s lips to feel more of you. On instinct you part your legs, allowing him more space to continue his faint toying. Lending him more access to you.

He tests the waters and dips the tip of his finger into you, pushing in up to the first knuckle. And when he’s met with near no resistance, he’s delving in further, sinking his middle finger inside you completely. The feeling is far from full — it’s enough to notice, but not enough to satiate the need.

“Another,” you murmur into his mouth, nails grazing back into the sides of his hair. You latch onto his curls carefully, the act an urging attempt to redirect him. “Put another one in,” you whisper a faint plea through closed eyes. “Please,” you add, minding your manners.

He does as asked and slips his ring finger in too, slotting it beside his other to begin a very gentle rocking, scooping even. He parts from your lips and attaches to just under your jaw, pressing a litter of kisses to where his hand was all those moments before.

And as he attends to you without a question, you’re sliding your hand between your side and his front, reaching for the bulge protruding into you. You place it over his cock to begin an irregular palming, the feel of his cock growing hard against your touch makes you clench — the action noticeable around Spencer’s fingers.

He works a small trail of kisses to just under your ear before speaking, lips lingering just under the lobe. “On your side,” he murmurs, soft sleepy words laced with a sense of urgency.

You turn over like you were before this all started, and feel him immediately adjust behind you, feeling him scooch down the bed and ruffle with the fabric.

He grabs a hold of himself, pulling his dick out over the top over the plaid waistband and guides himself towards you under the covers. And as you feel the head of his cock skim against the cheek of your ass, you lift your leg — allowing him space. You reach through your thighs to help him, help him into you.

You guide him into you from behind, feeding him inside slowly. And when you feel that faint, little sting, each of you quietly gasp — the noise like that of relief as your heads hit the pillow.

He rocks into you experimentally, pushing the rest of himself into you with a faint wind of the hips. Spencer stills, holding the full length of his cock in place as he wraps an arm around tightly you, keeping you close.

Your eyes grow heavy upon the filling and surrounding feel of him, the warmth of him against your back and the drowsy, languid breathing of him in your ear becomes white noise to you. The combination of it all finally catching up with you and pushing you into that somnolent state.

You feel his arm grow heavy against you, the grip he has on you loosening. You can only imagine he was feeling a similar sense of contentment at you. And so, you eventually join him in slumber, curled up in his comfort and cock snugly slotted in you from behind, ready for the best few hours of sleep.

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moodymarie · 8 months ago

Note

sanne, did i think i'd be thrown back into my criminal minds obsession in 2024? no but i fear you may have convinced me. anyway! going to the bau christmas party with spencer and getting caught under the mistletoe. morgan's cheering you on and everyone's staring so you settle things with a quick peck on the cheek and try and get through the rest of the party without thinking too hard about how nice that felt. the party's winding down and he's walking you out only the two of you get caught under the mistletoe again.

not really a request or anything, just a thought that won't let me go.

xoxo @sunnie-angel

it's past christmas but wtev this idea was too good 🙏💕 spencer x fem!reader

****

"Hey," you say, gently bumping Spencer's shoulder. "Found you."

He looks up, confused. "I wasn't hiding."

"I know. Just needed a break, right?"

The great thing about Spencer is that you both understand the need to take a moment when you're overstimulated. And something you two have in common is that parties can overwhelm you.

"Yeah," he says, seemingly relieved that he doesn't have to defend himself. "Just needed a break."

"I can go if you'd like. I won't tell anyone you're camped out here."

He shakes his head. "No, that's alright. You're nice to be around. I don't, uh..." He's searching for the right words. You're sure he'll find them. Spencer always does. "I don't feel like I have to put on a show with you."

"You don't," you say. "The others would understand too, though."

He shrugs. You leave it at that.

Spencer's tucked himself in a chair in Rossi's giant den. In his lap is a book titled in German. You bend down to read the cover. He tilts it for you to see.

"Brüder Grimm," you say. "Of course you know German."

Spencer hums noncommittally, ever modest. "Not well. I've been trying to get better. Reading children's books is a good way to learn, actually. The simple verb tenses make for a decent first step."

You lean against the arm of the adjacent sofa. "Spencer, you astound me."

He smiles, bright and sweet. "Thanks."

Agh. That smile cuts right through you. When are you ever going to shake this crush?

"Eggnog?" you ask, nodding at his mug.

"Oh, no, this is cider. I'm not good with alcohol, and I've seen how much rum goes into Rossi's eggnog." Spencer presses his lips together. "I'm trying not to make any decisions I'll regret tonight."

You laugh. "A good choice."

"Yeah."

"Well, I can get you a refill," you say.

Spencer stands. You follow him.

"That's okay. I'll go with you. I wanted another one of JJ's brownies. Have you had them?"

"No, I haven't."

"You have to try one," he says seriously. "She used science to make them perfect. And they are perfect."

"Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?"

Spencer laughs quietly, his head ducking close to yours. It makes your heart thunder in your chest.

"If the CDC let me, I'd vouch for them on national news."

You're headed to the kitchen, side by side, when Derek suddenly turns the corner and knocks into Spencer, causing him to bump you. You reach out a hand to steady Spencer.

"Sorry," he says to you, before irritably turning to Derek. "Morgan, what—"

"Sorry, pretty boy," Derek says with a glittering grin, clearly tipsy. "Totally my fault. I spill anything on you?"

"Not this time," Spencer says, and there's clearly a story behind that.

Derek just laughs. "You disappeared on us." He looks at you. "But it seems like you found him."

"I was in the den reading," Spencer cuts in, effectively stopping that train of thought.

Derek almost seems disappointed. "Oh." Then his eyes drift behind you, and the gleam returns. "Oh-ho-ho, what have we here?"

He points above your heads, and there, taped to the wall sconce, is a sprig of mistletoe.

Your stomach swoops. Spencer looks at you, eyes wide. As if you have any more of an idea on how to handle this.

Derek, meanwhile, is slinking up to you both like a panther. "You know what that means."

You roll your eyes. "Grow up. Where does it say that kissing under the mistletoe is compulsory?"

"Ah, so you're chicken," he says. "Garcia!"

And there's Penelope, equally if not more tipsy, rounding the corner, followed by Emily. Penelope sees Spencer and waves, then blows a kiss at you.

"Hi, guys!" she says, a touch too loud.

"Sweetheart, you see that? Rules are rules, right?" Derek says, pointing at the mistletoe.

Penelope takes a second to understand, and then she lights up. "Oh, definitely! Slip her some tongue, Reid!"

"Garcia!" Spencer says, scandalized. He turns to you, ears pink. "I wouldn't—"

"I know," you say, equally mortified by what is happening. Are you that transparent?

"Come on," Emily says, goading, the traitor. She smiles at you knowingly. "Give him some sugar. He'll be a changed man."

You glare at her. "As I was saying, mistletoe means nothing. Spencer doesn't even celebrate Christmas."

"Religiously, no, but the origins of Christmas festivities aren't rooted in Christianity—"

"Doesn't matter! You're just making excuses. Reid's blushing, and you're fidgeting," Derek says happily. Jackass.

"I'm not blushing," Spencer says indignantly, and you're too panicked to check.

"Yeah, sure. C'mon, just do it, Reid. In the spirit of the season," Derek says.

"It's just a kiss!" Penelope says too loud.

Impulsively, you turn your head and lean in. Whatever, right? You can be adults and kiss the coworker who you have a ginormous crush on all in the name of a ridiculous holiday tradition. That's what adults do.

You're aiming for Spencer's cheek. But he must see you in his periphery and turn on instinct.

You miss.

Your audience cheers. You kiss Spencer's mouth for about three seconds before you realize your mistake and you reel back, apology on your lips.

"I'm so—"

"Alright, that's what I'm talking about!" Derek says, whooping. "My man!"

"My woman!" Penelope adds, giving you a thumbs up. Emily just smiles that smug smile.

You sigh exasperatedly. "Alright, show's over. Give it a rest."

Derek obeys, arrogant as hell. They all leave you be. You turn to Spencer again and pull him into the den, desperate to apologize away from prying ears. You're hot with embarrassment and the reality that four profilers just watched you kiss the man who you've been trying to hide your crush on for ages.

"Spencer, really, I'm so sorry. I meant to kiss your cheek."

He nods, pressing his lips together. "Yeah, I figured that about a second in. It's okay."

"Are you sure? If I made you uncomfortable..."

"You didn't. Honestly. There's no one else I'd rather be peer pressured into kissing under the mistletoe," he says matter-of-factly.

You laugh, relieved. Spencer smiles.

"Okay, fair enough," you say. "Thanks for being a good sport."

He shrugs. "Usually, that's the best way to stop Morgan's antics. Still want that brownie?"

"Yes," you say, both happy and not that Spencer's able to move past it so quickly. You follow him into the kitchen.

Because now you know. You know the shape of Spencer's lips and how they fit against your shape. You know and you can't forget.

The rest of the night, you're nervous. You try to put your head back into the party. The team starts a game of charades and you play, but you can't stop stealing looks at Spencer. He's never looking in your direction, though, and an icy feeling overtakes you, a chill you can't shake.

The party's winding down when ugly fate rears its head and you can't shut your dumb mouth.

Spencer's at the top of the stairs and you're two steps below him. He's gotten his coat from the bedroom and you're headed to get yours.

And there, on the banister, is a sprig of mistletoe.

You realize too late that Spencer must've seen it (Spencer sees everything) and chose not to mention it. You don't make the connection until after you speak.

"Suppose we're due for another kiss, huh?" you say, smiling.

Spencer glances at it with a pinch in his brow. "Oh. Um—"

"Sorry." You shake your head. "That was a—a stupid joke! Ha. Forget it."

You start to turn away, this giant house suddenly feeling too small. Spencer catches your wrist.

It's barely an obstacle. You could easily pull away. You don't. How can you?

"I don't want to kiss you under the mistletoe," Spencer says, and the words sink like a rock in your stomach. You've never known Spencer to be cruel. You can't believe he's trying to hurt you, even now.

"Yeah." You pull your wrist out of his grip. "O-okay. I got it, Spencer."

"No, wait!"

Spencer's hand goes to your arm this time, and why is he doing this? He bends slightly, too tall when he's two steps away.

"Can you come to the top of the stairs? Please? I don't want you to fall," he says.

You stay on the stairs, back to him. His hand is still on your arm. "You don't want to kiss me."

"I only want to kiss you if you want to kiss me," he says. "Not because of a silly holiday ritual."

You look at Spencer. He gives you that sweet, cow-eyed look, nervous and pleading at once.

You take his hand and walk up the stairs, leading him away. You go down the dim hallway, where there's no mistletoe, no eggnog, nothing to blame. It's just you and Spencer and something you both want.

"Okay?" you ask, afraid he might still run. It's hard to turn back from a kiss you want.

Spencer locks your fingers with his, holds your cheek, and kisses you for more than three seconds.

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