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reiderwriter · 1 day ago

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◇ The Fake Relationship ◇

Part two of The Romantic Comedy

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Summary: Realizing you've put your foot in your mouth, you desperately try to backtrack as Spencer desperately tries to help.

Warnings: fluff, future chapters will be 18+ though, reader is an erotica romance author, and is already thinking somewhat impurely about hands

A/N: This one was very trope-y and a bit cliché but we're finally through the set-up so now onto the more fun chapters next week! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Masterlist

Stepping back for a moment, you realized you’d finally reached peak exhaustion.

Neither your writing job nor your role on the BAU was a particularly restful career. You’d balanced week-long cases with midnight writing time, burning the candle at both ends.

Now whatever was left of your wits after expending your last half an hour writing was desperately clutching Spencer’s shirt, haunting the man with your desperation.

The emergency lights flicked on as you came back down to reality.

“Sorry!” You squeaked out, putting as much space between you as possible. Which admittedly wasn’t a whole lot.

“No…no. Not at all. What-”

“I should go,” you shouted again, fully aware you were at least thirty seconds from passing out from sheer embarrassment. You grabbed your bag quickly, hard shut down your computer, quickly saving your first chapter, and tried to run away.

Tried being the operative word.

“What do you need me for?” Spencer stepped in front of you again, steadying you with a hand by your elbow to make sure you couldn’t fully dodge him.

“It’s nothing. It’s a stupid idea really. Not appropriate.”

Not appropriate was exactly how you would describe the thoughts that popped into your head when he was straddling you earlier, too.

“In this scenario, I think I can define what is and isn’t inappropriate. Sit down and talk me through it,” he said gently, walking you back to your seat.

“Okay,” you nodded quickly, trying to avoid the many different scenes from books popping into your head as he pulled your chair out for you and sat you down.

“Your writing was good, Y/N. It’s for your book, right?”

“Yes,” you said, almost embarrassed to respond in more than one syllable. But Spencer let the silence rest and waited for you to do or say anything else, so you had to pull your big girl pants back up and communicate. Effectively.

“Yes. I have a book due to my editor in a couple of weeks - I signed a four book deal after my first one was modestly popular online. Social media really blew it up so they wanted to lock me in for a few books,” you started, sinking back into the chair as you explained the fluke that was your writing career.

“Anyway, I’ve been here for a while now so romance isn’t exactly on the brain. I haven’t written in months and so my editor… So I need to start writing.”

Spencer sat so silently, you’d be so sure he was asleep if his eyes weren’t locked directly on yours.

You were so used to Spencer fidgeting - moving, reading, playing with a pencil between his fingers, drinking coffee - that this sudden rush of attention wasn’t immediately comfortable. “Spencer, you’re staring.”

“Sorry, sorry. Um, so you just needed to find something to write?”

You nodded and continued again.

“Yeah, I needed to find something to write about. And I don’t really want to lean into the whole serial killer romance thing.”

Spencer nodded along with you, finally nodding and moving again, and you let out a sigh as you watched him think.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll help you.”

Surprised, you looked up, once again making almost uncomfortable eye contact with Spencer Reid. You wished, too, that you had a notebook at that very moment to help you remember the exact feeling of your heart beating out of your chest.

A scene where you jumped straight into his lap and started twirling your fingers through his hair came to mind. Focusing again, you pushed it away.

“Help me with what?”

“I’ll help you write your book.”

“Oh! Oh no…” you stood and grabbed your bag again. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“Okay, great, glad we are in agreement. Now let’s never talk about this ever again.”

You stood and grabbed your bag, but a firm grip on your wrist tugged you right back down. Instead of your own chair though you found yourself in Spencer’s chair.

Or more realistically speaking, in Spencer’s lap.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I know I don’t have to help you, but I want to. It sounds interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yes.”

“You have three PhDs, and a number of other accolades, an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. Helping me write a romance novel that will be, at best, a good beach read, is interesting to you?”

Spencer seemed to consider for a moment, and then leaning in slightly, whispered his answer. “Yes.”

You would have shivered had your body had the energy for that.

“Sure, Spencer. Okay. And how exactly are you going to help me?”

He took another moment to think about his answer. You took that as your opportunity to leave, quickly jumping up again after a too comfortable moment in his arms, and quickly left the office.

For two days after you avoided even thinking about Spencer, or your book, or writing about Spencer in your book.

Two whole days. A wonderful weekend away from what was becoming a real puppy crush. You found yourself inexplicably looking up Spencer on any platform you thought he’d have a presence on (not a single social media but a number of child prodigy articles from newspapers in Nevada from a handful of years ago.)

Then you found yourself back at work, facing a stack of books and the most confrontational version of Spencer Reid you’d ever been acquainted with.

“The Love Hypothesis, The Spanish Love Deception, The Unhoneymooners, The Deal, The Kiss Quotient - did you know that fake relationships are often ranked as readers second favorite romance trope?”

“Spencer what are you- Spencer our coworkers will be here soon, put those away,” you gasped, quickly rushing to push each and every book into some nook or cranny of your desk.

“This is the FBI, Spencer, what has gotten into you?”

As you moved each book, you realised that, though they appeared to be new, there were cracks in each book's spine. There were some tabs sticking out randomly, the type you’d seen in Spencer’s paperwork before, and you found yourself almost more exasperated.

“You read them? All of them?”

“ I wanted to help,” he shrugged, taking a few out of your hands and stuffing them back in his satchel. “Besides, some of them were pretty good.”

“Okay. Okay, Spencer, since we’re both acting a little bit out of character today, I have to ask: why do you want to help me?”

Finally, the man fidgeted uncomfortably. He tugged at the collar of his shirt once, then twice and finally looked back at you.

“I want… I want to practice,” his voice was barely a whisper as the tips of his ears reddened. “There’s… there is a girl I like, and… I’m not exactly the most experienced at romance.”

You tried to stop yourself from feeling disappointed at his admission. Your sudden burst of interest in Spencer was only due to his helpfulness. It had been three days, it wasn’t enough for you to feel truly disappointed that nothing could start with him.

And he was your coworker, too, and that would be a nightmare. And you realized quickly that he was still talking, and you’d accidentally tuned him out for half a minute at the least.

“I read your books, too. The first two. They’re not exactly instructional guides I can follow, but it would be fun to get some ideas about y- about what girls like on dates. You know?”

Letting out a sigh, you sat down at your desk.

“So you want to do this?” you asked, holding up the nearest book to you.

“I want to do this.”

You nodded and thought it out for a second. You needed the help. You needed to write, and though apparently clueless about women, he was courteous and handsome, and most importantly consenting.

“Fine.”

“Fine? Really?”

“Don’t make me regret this, but yes. Let’s try it out.”

Spencer’s smile warmed your heart. It genuinely warmed your heart. Handsome men really needed to be stopped, you thought, nearly regretting your decision. But, as you had been before agreeing to many relationships with men before in the past, you were desperate.

“So we need to do the contract thing and the ground rules thing, and then-” Spencer started, flicking through one of the books for quotes and places to start.

“Vetoed and vetoed. We’re just doing research for a book, right Spencer? Why should we put rules down? We’re profilers. We know what is too far, and more importantly, we know how to communicate.”

Spencer nodded along with your points.

“Then, we should just shake on it?”

You hesitated for a second, thinking about where your mind would evidently go and thus had already gone if you got even a glimpse of his hands. You knew they were veiny.

“We can shake on it, sure.”

With that, his hand - yes, veiny - grabbed yours and you found yourself in an agreement of mutual destruction.

Spencer was going to help you write your book, and you were going to stop yourself from thinking about wrapping your legs around him until you were satisfied.

And with that you found yourself a fake boyfriend.

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reiderwriter · 6 days ago

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Rumours

A/N: I'm back! I started this one literally in February and then got so distracted by my job I couldn't finish it. Employment is a curse.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Spencer is displeased about some rumours he hears about you around the office. Only the way he goes about confronting them is clumsy and downright maddening.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, misogyny, misunderstanding, Spencer is a dick for a while, violence (breaking glass etc.), penetrative sex, oral (F receiving), slapping, choking, anal fingering, general BDSM content, Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, breeding kink (tee hee), cock warming, almost exhibitionism?

Masterlist

It wasn't as if you'd made it your life's mission to be the most rumoured about person on your team at the FBI, but you weren't exactly doing anything to correct people's perception of you. Spencer may have been to jail, Emily may have faked her own death, and Luke's past was a big, fat question mark, but nothing caught the attention of the pencil pushers in the office than the string of broken hearts you'd ostensibly left behind you at Quantico.

At one point in time, you'd even promised yourself you wouldn't date anymore law enforcement officers, lawyers, detention officers or anyone even remotely adjacent, but life was short, and you had a decent appetite for a men with guns and badges. It was very convenient to say the least.

Convenient for everyone apart from Spencer Reid.

The FBI was a boys club, sure, but with all the women on your team, the most ridicule you got after a drunken escapade with a distant coworker was a few teasing remarks. The first few months on the team, you'd been able to date, fuck, and play freely without any judgement. And then Spencer Reid had come back from leave, and you suddenly began to doubt your bachelorette lifestyle.

Because fuck was he frustratingly territorial.

It wasn't as though he was interested in you. He was 13 years your senior, fresh from an FBI mandated leave of absence and false imprisonment, and absolutely used to being coddled by every member of the team. If the BAU was a family, he was absolutely the youngest child who'd returned home to find his parents had adopted a dog while he'd been gone to replace him with.

You were the dog.

Spencer took issue with your attitude, your work ethic, your professionally, and with the sheer amount of times he'd been approached by men asking for your number, home address, or if the rumors were true.

He was used to casual oversharing, of course, he'd worked with Penelope long enough to not be phased by much sexual talk. But everytime he stepped into the office - or specifically the offices male bathrooms - he'd end up stuck in the same conversational loop.

“I heard she can do this thing with her tongue…”

“... definitely likes it rough…”

“I could show her a good time…”

“....I'm definitely hitting that by the end of the year…”

He stewed in it for a few weeks before the cracks fully formed in his exterior professionalism. When he heard about how you'd definitely fucked every male member of your team, though, that's when he lost it.

“You need to be more careful,” he said one day, pulling you aside between cases in a rare private conversation.

“Oh, yeah, in the field I can definitely rush in-”

“No. You need to be more careful with men.”

The look on his face sent a flare of shame through your chest, as you found yourself suddenly out of your depth. You didn't know this man well enough for him to be giving you advice. Your body set to full alert, and your fight or flight was in full go, as he cornered you and continued.

“They talk about you in the bathrooms, and I would not like to repeat what they say, but-”

“I don't care what they say.”

“You should.”

You frowned again, as he continued, completely oblivious to your growing anger.

“You should, because now it's reflecting badly on the team, and-”

“The team? I'm sorry what had the team got to do with this?”

To his credit, Spencer at least managed to look uncomfortable after that. He was set on reprimanding you, fine, but you'd make sure he wouldn't try to get so personal again.

“They're saying that you've slept with a number of coworkers-”

“Why should I care if-”

“Including me.”

You managed a half laugh in his face as his frown deepened.

“Oh so this isn't about my reputation, it's about yours. I should be safer with men because I'm reflecting poorly on our golden boy?”

“That's not what I'm-”

“Don't worry, Spencer. I'm safe enough.”

You made sure to push past him as you walked away, and he'd not been quiet about his dislike of you ever since.

Every man on a case you interacted with got you a disapproving glare, a slight turned down lip, a questioning glance. It was like you were being watched constantly, and it felt horrendous.

It was almost worse when the knowing looks he sent you were spot on in their assumptions. If you spoke to a man you had been with, hooked up with, been on a date with, even simply flirted with for a while, you felt his eyes pricking you.

His gaze knew everything it needed to know, almost as if he'd been in the room watching you submit your body for pleasure.

You thought it would be better on cases, that he'd be focused on other things and not worry as much, but when your first case post-argument landed, it landed you uncomfortably close to your childhood home, and included a face from your past you'd hoped not to see again.

Having an ex boyfriend in the police department in the middle of nowhere Washington was helpful for the case, but on a personal level it sucked.

You managed five minutes of personal conversation before you felt his eyes on you.

“Beautiful, you're not paying attention to me anymore. And here I thought fate had sent you back into my life as a little gift for a job well done,” your ex had said, ducking in close to you at your makeshift desk but locking eyes with an approaching Spencer as he spoke.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, though his jaw was set, and his tone insistent.

“Professionally or privately?”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a bit lower as you rolled your eyes and stood, following him to a quiet interrogation room quickly.

“What's wrong with you this time?” you demand as soon as he has the door closed. “Panties in a twist?”

“We are on a case, Y/N. Please at least pretend to be a professional.”

“What? What am I doing that is so wrong?”

He fisted a hand in his hair quickly, closing his eyes as if it would drown out your arrogant tone.

“You can't be serious, Y/N, he was practically fucking you with his eyes in the middle of the precinct-”

“And that's a behaviour he needs to change, not me. What. Did. I. Do. Wrong?”

“What? What, you expect me to sit around here and wait for him to ask you if you can still do that thing with your tongue that makes him cum instantly? Want me to wait around for him to ask you if you're still as flexible as you were give years ago, while we have work to do?” He demanded, stepping so close you had to back up against the wall to avoid colliding with his incoming body.

“I bet you'd love to hear just about everything I can do Spencer, but if you're going to act like a jealous ass, maybe you should take a breather.”

“Jealous? You think I'm jealous?” he chuckled slightly, raising a hand slowly and pushing against the wall as he stepped, somehow, closet to you again.

“You're so obsessed with my personal life that-”

“Your personal life is not so personal when I have people asking me if I've also fucked you on a weekly basis-”

“You're being cruel. My sex life is none of your business, Spencer.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I'm glad we finally agree.”

He was so close you could practically taste his breath, and while your mind raged at his thoughtless words, your body wanted his to press his against it and say all of that one more time with his hand wrapped around your throat this time.

“Jackass,” you said, pushing against his chest and storming out of the room quickly, before you could make any other mistakes.

Part of you wanted to stick it to Spencer after that. Part of you wanted to do something to start an even bigger rumor, something to piss him off more, something that would get him angry and bring him closer to you somehow.

Another part aggravatingly agreed with him. Your behaviour, while nowhere near as promiscuous as half of the male staff, was judged twice as hard as anyone else's. You enjoyed sex, and you wanted to unashamedly keep enjoying sex, but every man you ran into recently had that look about them. Half judgement, half possession, like they were looking at goods to consume rather than a coworker. You weren't obtuse, but you'd allowed yourself to ignore it until Spencer made you face it, which only made you resent him more.

You stopped going on dates, stopped entertaining the men in the office when they flirted with you. You put your head down, and you worked, and it frustrated you to no end.

You ended up snappy in the office, short with every single coworker and not just Reid, who was also (inexplicably) short with you. You'd done what he'd asked, and he was still not satisfied.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to ease the situation slightly, with a mandatory team dinner, volunteering Rossi for dinner duty.

“Welcome to Casa Del Rossi, keep your hands off the pasta until I serve it, and please do not ask about the wine unless you want to be talking about it all night.”

You felt slightly uncomfortable being forced to play happy families under the watchful eye of 5 profilers and an incredibly perceptive tech support girl, but you tried to be civil over dinner.

Until you couldn't be.

“So, Y/N, any dates recently?” Emily laughed over a sip of wine, genuinely curious about your sudden lack of suitors.

“No,” you said, locking eyes with Spencer, who rolled his eyes as he looked away.

“What, not even a single hinge match?” JJ added, and you suddenly regretted not telling any of your other coworkers the root of your tension with Reid, because they were happily digging your grave.

“Come on, we all love your stories, Y/N,” Penelope laughed, prodding you with a finger as you smiled feebly.

“No, not all of us do,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, still loud enough that the room fell silent.

“Relax, Doctor Reid, I'm not going to regale you with tales of my conquests.”

“Good, I get enough of that in the male bathrooms,” he said, standing up from the table and excusing himself.

You stared slack jawed at him as he walked away, simmering anger getting ready to explode. You stood as well, and followed him, aware of every set of eyes watching you intently as you searched for Spencer.

You found him in a spare room, following him in and closing the door behind you with a thud so he would know you were there.

“What the fuck is your problem, Spencer?”

“Oh, it was Doctor Reid earlier, but now we're friends, huh?” he said, not bothering to look at you as he picked up a book and sat in a chair at the edge of the room.

“You can't just disrespect me in front of the team like that, and… and what? Slink away to read?”

He looked up at you with an annoyed glance, and you almost lunged at him. You'd probably be able to gouge out an eye before he could react if you wanted.

“You know, when we first talked about this, I was seriously worried for you. The way those men talk about you-”

“How do they talk about me? What do they say about me specifically that's any worse than usual misogynistic bathroom talk, huh?”

You stepped closer, leaning over him and poking his chest. You wanted him to react, wanted him to get angry. You wanted a fight, not for him to walk away shaking his head in resignment.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, tell me what's so bad that has you acting like such a spoiled brat.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Putting down the book, he looked up at you, locking eyes with you as he started.

“They talk about how well you take it. How much you love cock, and how if they got the chance they'd fill you up with so much cum you'd be leaking for days. Some of them even talk about using you as a human toilet.”

“They mostly talk about your body, about how flexible you are, about how flexible they'd force you to be, how-” he had to stop to look away, clear his throat and start again.

“Mostly they talk about your lips,” he said, finally risking a look down at them before dragging his eyes back up to your own.

“My lips?” you asked, mentally scolding yourself when you hear the breathy whisper you let out.

“They talk about your lips a lot. I'm sure you can imagine.”

You take a second to think about it, reeling at how close he was, how open he was being, how….

How turned on you were hearing these words fall from his mouth. Every sentence from his mouth felt like a confession.

“I don't believe them though,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I don't believe them. I don't believe you're as good as they say you are, as they're fantasising about you being.

Your mouth opened in shock, and the indignity of the accusation had your heart beating out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demanded, forcing him to meet your eyes again.

“You're not that good, Y/N. I'm sure of it.”

Quickly, you snaked your arm up and around his neck, grabbing him and pulling him down to meet your lips. You'd hoped to take him by surprise, to enter his mouth as he lost himself in the feel of you pressed against him. You'd hoped for the upper hand, until you realized you'd played right into his.

He kissed back immediately, hotly, insistently. His hands roamed your body for any hold of you they could find, settling on your waist and your ass as he pushed you back into the wall you stood in front of.

Frustrated by his attitude, you pushed back, twisting your bodies around until you'd switched positions, nails digging into the tender skin at his collarbone. You wanted to grab him hard enough to draw blood, you wanted to permanently scar him to remind him how good this felt.

He growled into the kiss, and you momentarily lost focus. He swung you around again, hands pushing your shirt up and roughly grabbing your boobs as he bit down on your lower lip.

With a moan, you hiked a leg up around his hips, rolling into him as he pinned you to the wall.

Your final act of defiance was pushing him away with all your strength.

Taken aback, he stumbled once or twice before hitting a dresser behind him. It shook, and with the tremors, the lamp that had been sat on it fell to the floor with a crash.

You stared at him panting as your coworkers ran to you both, opening the door with a loud bang as they assessed the situation.

You kept your eyes on him as Emily scolded you both, putting the two of you on BAU time out.

You quickly left the party after that, apologising to Rossi and tucking your tail firmly between your legs as you retreated.

Desk duty for the next two weeks was exactly the punishment you were expecting from Emily. Honestly it was what you deserved. If you couldn't play nice together, you weren't allowed to play at all.

You sat at your desk, and Spencer sat at his, and you were happy and content to ignore him for as long as physically possible.

Unfortunately, your sudden voluntary celibacy must have been driving you insane, because you couldn't stop picturing his hands on your waist, his hot lips tracing down your neck, your hips pushed so close you could practically feel his cock begging to be inside you.

Imagining.

You were sure your staring was making the man uncomfortable, or at the very least frustrated. You saw the vein in his neck jump out when he noticed you looking at him, but it didn't help too much to dispel the sudden and aggravating attraction you felt towards him.

You wanted to be angrier. Every interaction you entered needing to be angry.

Instead you found yourself somewhat softening based purely on lust, and it was eating you up.

You were not a pushover, and contrary to popular office belief, neither were you desperate or easy. One kiss with a coworker shouldn't have you trailing after him like a forlorn love struck child.

Spencer was definitely avoiding you though.

At first, he justified it to himself as giving you space, an apology of sorts after you'd been so brash before.

Then he came clean to his own conscious and realized he was afraid of another confrontation. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word, eagerly anticipating might be better, though when he tried to explain it to Penelope it didn't come out right at all.

“It's like- Okay, so we're like water and potassium, right?”

“You've lost me lover boy, I do computers not sciency science.”

“Potassium and water are both stable enough on their own. They do their job well, they work nicely.”

“Potassium is in potatoes, ergo they are in French fries. They work superbly.”

“Yes, but when you put potassium in water it has a tendency to catch on fire and explode.”

Penelope still looked at him confused, unsure what kind of avoidance excuse he was crafting in his mind.

“I'm potassium. She's water,” he said again to no avail.

“I need to avoid her so I don't explode.”

“What makes you think you're going to explode? Just talk to her nicely. Avoid topics you think are going to be more… reactive?”

Spencer just solemnly nodded and went back to avoidance.

He realized quickly that the only thing he'd ever talked to you about outside of working hours was your sex life, and that made him feel like both a creep and a pervert and also like he needed to take a long cold shower before quitting his job and moving into a cabin somewhere in the woods. But he wasn't Gideon, so he just suffered through it, leaving rooms you entered and ending work related conversations as quickly as possible, before his mouth could move quicker than his brain.

After a week of being swiftly dodged, you had the chance finally to corner him and you took it.

Watching as Spencer stood to get himself another coffee from the break room, you stood, grabbed your own mug and quietly followed him. You prayed to God that the room would be empty, but were quickly forsaken by the door when you heard two make voices inside.

“So Y/N, huh?” an unfamiliar voice asked, tone polite but playful.

“I've heard some stories about that one,” he chuckled, and even the sound of it set your hair on edge.

“She's a very hard worker,” Spencer simply answered, as you heard him preparing his own coffee.

“She certainly makes working hard,” the man slapped his back, taking a sip of coffee.

“I heard you two have been going at it in the office. Strange foreplay, but she must be into rough stuff like that, isn't that right?”

You'd heard enough men talking about you in your life to be used to it, but a flush of anger still ran through you at the man's insinuations. You almost walked in to embarrass the man when Spencer spoke up.

“I don't like your tone,” he said calmly, and continued quickly when the man tried to joke again. “I have been to prison, you work in white collar, let's see which of us comes out of the kitchen in better shape when you're done speaking.”

“You're fucking insane.”

“You're what, 35? From the looks of it, your marriage is over because you keep playing with your ring uncomfortably, probably because you're cheating, but you feel just guilty enough about it to worry about your kids. They lied by the way, your not the world's no. 1 dad. Even if such metrics could be determined, you'd rank low on the list. Is it their babysitter or their teacher you're sleeping with? Or your wife's sister, perhaps?”

“You're crossing a line, Dr Reid, I don't know how-”

“Well, I'm glad you seem to understand boundaries well enough. There are lines you cross, and ones you respect, and if I hear anything at all unprofessional from you about my coworker again, I will use the last six months of my experiences to make life difficult for you.”

You walked in quickly, hearing the change in Spencer's tone from casual to something more threatening, more desperate. The other man had two fistfuls of Spencer's shirt, though you didn't doubt Spencer would easily be able to floor the man.

“Good afternoon,” you said quickly, just loud enough to be heard above the thick tension filling the room. “I believe you were just leaving, right?”

You looked to the unfamiliar man, and the shame burned his face as you forced him out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you walked over to Spencer, finished making his coffee as he stood silently next to you, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You put the hot drink in his hand, smoothed his shirt out and whispered a quick thank you before retreating back to your desk.

After that, you didn't get closer.

You thought you would. You tried to follow him to the kitchen to actually have the talk you wanted in the days that followed, but you never quite managed it.

You'd just stand together in equitable silence making your coffees. Sometimes you'd talk about the weather. About the case. About things your coworkers did that you both found funny. About shows and books you both liked. About whatever random fact Spencer became enthusiastic about that day, or whatever noir movie he'd seen the previous day.

You didn't become closer, but you grew used to one another.

When the team finally came back, Emily patted herself on the back for a job well done for keeping the two of you grounded. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that while Spencer lacked tact, you should've been more patient with him when he was asking you to be careful.

You'd heard him similarly chastising a handful of men since, always careful just to listen until he was done, and then clean up afterwards.

Spencer found his anger closer to the surface after prison than it had been before prison. Instead of sympathy or words, his fists always tightened into balls when anything displeased him. He wanted desperately to hit colleagues sometimes, and kept his breathing steady enough to reply with violent words rather than violent actions.

He couldn't blame his experiences in prison for everything, of course. Part of the blame was yours.

As much as he knew potassium and water weren't a safe combination, he found himself wanting to be dropped back into that pool once again. Looking at you was like setting himself on fire, remembering your bodies twinned together was like a little explosion.

He didn't know what brought him to your door, but he knew it was an inevitable reaction, one in a long chain.

“Spencer?” you asked, meeting him at your door, wrapped only in a loose robe and the too small, too flimsy sleep set you'd taken to sleeping in in the summer months.

“Hi,” he said, a little awkwardly, as if gaining the courage to knock on your door was the end of his plan, and he didn't know what the next steps were.

“Hey. Why are you…?” Here. Standing at your door looking so hot after you'd stayed obsessed with him for the last week.

“Why are you holding a bottle of wine?”

“Oh. Oh this. This is for you. To drink. Its for us to drink together, really, I… I wanted to apologise.”

You welcomed him in silently and quickly. Quickly still, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses and a bottle opener and made your way back to your sofa where Spencer was standing awkwardly still.

“Please sit down,” you said, craning your neck to look up at him as he gently handed you the bottle. He nodded and sat down next to you, both too close and too far away at once. You'd thought of Spencer as more of a silent apologiser. You'd expected him to just be happy and friendly with you from here on out instead of directly acknowledging anything had happened. You'd seen him bottle up so many emotions, what was a little more shame and sympathy?

Now that he was in front of you, you didn't know what to do.

“So, um. I'm sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

The tension in the air was thick as you turned to pour two glasses of wine, waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he said taking the glass you offered him in two hands before glancing at it quickly and then downing it.

“When I got out of prison, I was in a bad shape, and that isn't an excuse, it's just a fact. My brain was in overdrive, and I was on guard around all… all men specifically. The things I heard in prison weren't good, nothing nice as said about women in prison, and when I got out, and I still heard those things…” He stopped and looked away, taking another deep breath.

“I was overstepping. I was being overprotective, and overfamiliar, and jealous-”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, putting your glass down, and smiling at him reassuringly.

“I appreciate your apology, but really it's fine. I came in while you were gone and getting back to schedule when your entire team dynamic is off is hard, so of course you were going to be on edge around me and a little bit jealous of my bond with the team but-”

“The team?” Spencer stammered quickly, cutting you off as you tried to reassure him.

“You were… jealous of my place in the group. I was an outsider who took your place and then you were just a little shorter with me than you would've been if we were introduced in normal circumstances.”

“No, Y/N… I- Did you think this whole time I was jealous of you?”

He said it in his softest voice which almost hurt a little bit more.

“Yes. That's how you were behaving, you were always annoyed and-”

“Jealous. Yes. Not of you, because of you.”

You felt every single place on your body where the material of your clothes were touching your body. The distance between the two of you, already small, felt smaller still, like you were tipping over an edge towards one another when in reality you were as solid as a statue in your seats.

“Y/N, I want you,” Spencer whispered, almost little bit ashamed, a little bit scared of his confession. It was the kind of voice criminals used when confessing, a voice that seemed ashamed of its own actions. “I listened to every single word men said about you, and I wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them back to them so they wouldn't have the chance to taste you again. So they couldn't torture me with their knowledge of you.”

He stood up abruptly and took a step back, placing his wine glass down on the table and pacing a few more steps away.

“Y/N, why did you have to kiss me?” He said, almost defeated. “Why did you have to kiss me and then push me away?”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether he wanted a real answer or not, his eyes round with desperation, but face turned away slightly, as if he couldn't bare the answer.

“To shut you up,” you whispered. He nodded at your answer and took a deep breath.

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-”

“Spencer? What-”

“I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do?”

“Spencer, what are you doing, why are you- are you quoting something at me.

“If you want me to stop, you know an effective solution,” he said, kneeling to the floor and looking up at you, continuing after a moments pause.

Quickly sinking to your knees as well, you grabbed the man by the collar and brought your lips to his.

As quietly desperate Spencer had been moments before, he took your kiss as an act of submission and countered quickly. You'd come to him, you'd listened to his request, and now he wasn't going to let you get the upper hand anymore.

Pulling you into his lap, his to guess pushed into your mouth as he wrapped your legs around him, guiding your cunt over his bulge as he kept up his attack against your tongue.

You fought back, trying to push him down to no luck. He caught your hands quickly, and standing up on his knees with one hand holding your ass in place, pinned you to the floor, arms held above your head in one large, strong, nearly painful grip.

Your body shook at the sudden motion, robe falling open and satin spilling over your body, revealing a single pink, perked up nipple that he eagerly latched onto.

You moaned at the contact of his hot tongue, the cold air hitting you at the exact moment his tongue dipped, as you held in a moan.

You couldn't hold in the second or third. By four you were practically humping up into the air to chase the sensations of his body pressed against your cunt.

“Spencer-” you moaned, cut off by a choke from your own throat as he roughly ripped down the other side of your shirt, harshly tugging at your other nipple with his fingers.

“If I had more time, I'd make you cum just from this. I'll spend hours edging your sore little nipples, just to make you happy,” he whispered, and you moaned as if it were your job, as if you were some cheap whore he was paying to abuse for the night.

“Good girl,” he said, tugging your underwear to the side and rubbing you slowly, coating his digits with your juices before pushing two fingers fully inside you quickly.

“No complaints. Take everything nicely.” he said, changing the angle of his hand as he began fucking you hard with just his hands.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck- no, no, no, you have to stop! Fuck, I'll-”

He stopped just as instructed quickly, and you grabbed his hands to still his fingers, still inside of you.

“I need… shit I need hard nos's quickly Y/N. Tell me what I can and can't do.”

You gathered your breath enough to speak, but it was breathy, your breath still uneven, your legs still twitching as you lay on your back, cunt exposed to Spencer's greedy eyes. He drew small, gently circles on your clit with his thumb as you recovered.

“W-Why?” You managed to squeak out, cunt twitching at every accidental contact between you both.

“Because I'm either going to slap you to shut you up, or fuck your face, and I do believe in letting the lady decide.”

You couldn't help the scoff that came from your mouth, even though it was followed by another hitched breath and moan as you melted beneath him.

“You wouldn't do that, you're not the type.”

“What? What type am I not?”

“Slapping, spitting, demeaning. You're too… Spencer to do any of that,” you said, slowly raising your hips to fuck his fingers once again, pracitically begging him to keep us all his hard work.

Until he withdraws his hand and pulls you back into his lap, arms locking you in place on either sides of your waist.

“If I was anyone else,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Or if I was me and I possessed the ability to do any of that, would you consent to it?”

His words were a whisper, his fingers wet and hot on your nipples as he pulled, prodded, and played with them quietly.

“Well… you wouldn't-” you moaned at a sudden hard pinch, your hips jolting as he continued abusing your nipples.

“Everyone else has. Why can't I?”

“Spencer-” Another sharp pinch cut you off, forcing your eyes down to where he had a hand gently brushing against your chest, before sharply pinching it again.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Spencer, p-please-”

You moan again as his other hand hooks around you to slide into your panties.

Pulls you fully onto his lap as he starts playing with your clit while tugging on your nipples, and he's waiting for you to give him permission to fuck you rougher.

“Can I do those things, Y/N?”

“Spencer….”

“Use your words to answer me, not your cunt. I know you're enjoying this.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting a hand trail up to your neck before kissing you gently on your lips again. The softness didn't last long as he picked up the pace with his other hand again, looming over you like a monster bent to its prey. His hand moved quickly, pushing in and out of you as you writhed on the floor, breaths shallow as he controlled where you went, where you looked, how you moved, and even how you breathed.

“S-Spencer,” you choked out, hands wrapping around his between your thighs, already twitching as your first orgasm hit you, twitching as he didn't slow down, moaning as you felt wetness seeping out of you in waves.

“Good girl. Good girl, you're doing so good for me. You want me to stop?” He asked.

“Yes, I can't- I can't do it anymore- nghhhh.”

“You can. Yes, you can, baby, you can. My little whore,” his voice was soft where his hands were hot, gripping your neck tighter as you focused only on breathing, legs shaking and twitching, squirming to get away even as you wished yourself to stay put.

“Good girl,” he said again, kissing you once again as his hand on your neck eased up. “One more time? One more right, baby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to scream. With an open hand he slapped your face, just hard enough to draw a moan from your lips.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes, I can do one more,” Ayou moaned, unsure if the stars you were seeing were from the harshness of the slap or the overstimulation. “Please.”

“Good manners,” he said, fingers slipping out of your cunt as you started to grind into him again, as soon as you said yes to another orgasm. “But I don't think I want you to cum yet.”

Lifting your hips, he urged you to turn over, pulling a pillow under your hips to help you lift them, still trembling as you were. A soft blanket was put under your head as he pushed your hips up, your shorts and panties pulled down and not just to the side now as he took all of you in.

“So drippy and wet, just for me…” he mused, probing a finger at your pussy again, laughing when you twitched at the contact.

“They say it tastes better than it feels you know,” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket before snapping a photo of your pussy, dripping and ready for him. “Look at it, what do you think?”

He thrusts the photo in your face as he pulled his dick out, letting it rub against the folds of your pussy as you moaned into defeat.

“Y/N, come on, what do you think? Do you taste better, or feel better?”

He propped up the phone in front of you and opened the camera, clicking record quickly as he slapped your ass.

“Answer me,” he insisted, cock head rubbing furiously against your clit now, fingers clamped down on a nipple, nails digging into your waist.

“Should I fuck you or eat that little cunt?”

“I- I don't know, Spencer, I don't know please-”

“Yes, you do. What should I do?”

You cried out in pleasure as you came again, the pressure on your clit too much too soon.

“F-fuck me,” you said, exhausted but still excited.

“Good girl,” he said again, withdrawing his touch before laying down under you and bringing your cunt to his mouth.

You tried to hold yourself up, but you couldn't as he licked and sucked and nudged at your clit with his nose. He'd ignored you, prolonged your torture, and decided he needed to decide for himself.

“Spencer…” you moaned, but it was weak. He chuckled into your cunt and you clamped your thighs around his face as far as you could, but he didn't relent.

Running a finger through your pussy to pick up your cum, he pushed a single digit into your asshole as you moaned slowly and weakly, face completely squished into the floor.

He pushed in and out slowly at first stretching your ass as you began riding his face, fucking against his to gue as you got closer and closer to release. The sooner you came now, the sooner he would release you.

But Spencer stilled your hips, and slowed his own movements to a few kisses here and there, letting one finger become two as he fucked your asshole. Eventually, all contact stopped with your cunt as you hungrily fucked his fingers, the stretch uncomfortable but good.

“Good girl, you like that? You like being my little anal slut? Good girl.”

The words hit hard, as you came on his face. He pulled his hands away and pushed you onto your back again, rising up to your fsve again.

“Open,” he said, and you obeyed letting him spit your own cum back into your mouth. His tongue connected with your own as you tasted yourself, hot and heavy on his lips.

As you kissed, he pushed your legs up, knees spread and with a single, hard, rough push, filled you with his cock.

You screamed in pleasure as he cooed into your ear. “I'm sorry baby, I couldn't help it. Your cunt looked too delicious, it was begging for my dick.”

Another slow pull out, and again he pushed in hard, stealing the breath from your lungs without even needing a hand on your neck.

Grabbing his phone, Spencer angled it towards where you were hungrily taking him in.

“This cunt is mine now, okay?”

You nodded, and he slapped you again.

“Words, Y/N, I need words. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

“Its yours, Spencer, all yours,” you moaned as he picked up his pace, lifting to his knees so he could drop it all into you.

“Shit, say more. Tell me what I can do to this pussy?”

“Abuse my pussy, Spencer. Stretch me out, slap me, keep me full, fuck I don't care, breed me,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your chest up to his, thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together behind him.

“You want me to cum in you? Want me to claim you so everyone can see?” He asked, nails digging into your thighs almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Yes!”

“Good…. fucking… slut,” he saif, and with a final thrust, he emptied his balls inside you.

You didn't move for a long time, catching your breath on the floor, a pile of limbs coated in sprsys of wetness and cum.

You started rubbing your cunt again first, as he joined in again with shallow thrusts, wincing and seething as he overstimulated himself.

You came quietly that last time and waited for him to pull out and clean you up.

He didn't. Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he awkwardly lifted the two of you to the couch and pulled your head down into his chest, letting you cockwarm him as your cum soaked into the material of the couch.

“Sleep for an hour or two. You'll wake up when it's time to go again.”

When you woke, it wasn't to Spencer starting again, but instead the ring of your phone. You tried to reach for it, to silence whatever alarm had decided to disturb you at that point, but Spencer was faster.

“Hello?” he said down the line, forgetting where he was for a second before you nestled into the crook of his neck again, fingers gently tracing his collarbone.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, confused and voice tired.

“Emily?” He asked. “We have a case?” He sat you up with him crasling you in his arms as you fully woke, your muscles objecting at this sudden movement. His cock stayed buried within you as you reoriented yourself.

“Uh, yeah. We've got an hour to get to the office and debrief, then were flying out- Spencer. This is Spencer?” she asked again, voice a muddle with confusion, tone rising by the second.

“Yes, Spencer. I'll be there.”

“And Y/N?” Emily asked. “I didn't dial the wrong number, Spencer, I have you all on speed dial. You're with Y/N?”

You sat bolt upright and took the phone from Spencer quickly, the shrill ringing of Emily's voice echoing down the line.

“We’ll be there,” you practically shouted. “We just drank together and-” you pulled the hair out of your face as you felt Spencer go rigid inside you again.

“A-and that's it. See you in an hour.”

Speedily you hung up, grabbed Spencer and pressed your lips to his again, pushing him down into the couch.

#dear readers i fear i cooked with this one omg

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reiderwriter · 8 days ago

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Could I request a fluff/smut/ piece where OC is trying to work on a new book but just can't seem to find the motivation/inspiration/attention span and is stressed about it. Then enter Spencer who volunteers to help her out by acting out some scenes she is considering writing like maybe a cute date, or bedroom scene and also rewarding her focus in special ways? please?

Hey... so I kinda got carried away writing this so I turned it into a series of fics oops 👀 But you can find the first part here and I really, really, really hope you like it! <4

#reiderreplies #spencer reid

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reiderwriter · 8 days ago

Text

♡ The Meet Cute ♡

Part 1 of The Romantic Comedy

Next Part

Like any of the great creatives of our time, the reader has found themselves stuck in a writing slump to end all writing slumps. With a literary agent breathing down her neck, and an absolute refusal to download any dating apps, she stumbles upon one of the greatest untapped romantic resources of her lifetime: Spencer Reid.

Warnings: Fluff/ none? Future smut, slow burn, slightly suggestive etc. Mentions of inappropriate age gap romance (not reader and Spencer).

A/N: Here's the first part! I got carried away with a request and decided to make it a full series, so we'll see how well I do with remembering to post ㅠㅠ everyone please send whatever the opposite of a writing block is my way, I wanna make it through this one fr

The view of a blank screen illuminating your dark apartment was one that you were beginning to grow immensely tired of. You’d tried typing out paragraphs, and then deleted them, and then simply tried to go with sentences, and those had ended up being deleted, too. By the time you’d tried to force yourself to type out a single word, you’d given up.

“I can’t do it,” you’d cried into your coffee a week earlier, meeting with the literary agent you knew was absolutely tired of your shit by this point.

“Okaaaayyy. What exactly is it that you can’t do exactly? Because if you say "write" you'd be absolutely incorrect.”

“I can’t write.”

Taking a long sip of her coffee and trying her best to subtly roll her eyes - subtlety was the one thing she hadn’t managed - you squared your shoulders and repeated yourself.

“I really can’t write,” you moaned. “I’ve tried and tried and all that comes out is thriller, horror, death, gore - the worst parts of a Christie novel tied up into a neat little Doyle novel with a splash of whatever new mystery writers there are. It’s not my genre but I started my new job at the FBI and it’s all that’s on the mind.”

You really loved your job. You didn’t enjoy that it was becoming your entire life, but you’d been warned multiple times from coworkers and acquaintances that it was a lot to handle.

“So quit.”

“I can’t quit, I love my job.”

“Then stop writing.”

“I can’t stop writing, I love writing.”

You would’ve screamed out your frustrations, but the franchise coffee shop you were stuck in was currently filled with stressed students and drone-like salary workers just trying to replace the blood in their bodies with caffeine, and you didn’t quite like the idea of zombified masses coming towards you.

“I can’t write, but I can’t stop writing, and I can’t quit my job.”

Nodding, your agent took another sip of her coffee, then set it down carefully and leaned into you across the table.

“I’m sorry to ask this but… when was the last time you had sex?”

“Oh my god!”

“It’s a valid question in this line. Your books have been marketed so far as spicy romances, I need to make sure you’re getting the best inspiration you can in order to write. If you’re in a dry-spell, it could explain your difficulty writing.”

“But-”

Your agent stood up, cutting you off quickly as she began to pack her things.

“But nothing, girl. Get back on the apps and give me at least 10,000 words, a synopsis, and some buzz words this time next month. I believe in you.”

You sighed and downed your coffee, melting further into the table before another stressed looking student asked you to vacate it so they could write an essay while aptly caffeinated.

Apps were off the table after a rough internet stalking case you’d worked on a few months prior, so you tried bars, but drinking alone was depressing and none of the men were inspiration-worthy.

Instead you’d tried a change of atmosphere. Your apartment was dark and dingy, and at least your desk at the BAU had a lamp. And the kitchen provided as much free coffee as you deemed healthy enough to drink.

You stared again at a blank document before deciding you needed to resituate yourself into the world of your novels.

You’d published three so far, under a quite popular and rather famous pen name. They were all connected but followed different couples among them. You sighed looking through their GoodReads pages, avoiding the reviews with a desperate zeal. You remembered the feeling of writing each one. The first you’d finished while in your final year at college.

You’d been with your high school boyfriend still, so the novel had been a sentimental pile of shit about how love was forever. You’d luckily had it published weeks before he announced that he’d got his female roommate pregnant, so at least you got a paycheck out of that heartbreak.

After college you’d taken a year out to work on yourself, which obviously meant you’d been unemployed and living on your book royalties and the remainder of your savings from college. When you started dating an older man who bought you dinner and not your fellow somewhat broke peers, you’d been absolutely inspired to write another book.

That one hadn’t ended well either, after you’d met the man’s adult daughter. So adult that she was in fact older than you. You did some therapy after that one.

Your third romance novel had seemingly come from nowhere, even if you’d been casually seeing a few people the year it came out. But you found that working towards a goal had made you infinitely inspired, and you were trying your best to get accepted into a role in the BAU that year.

Any ex boyfriend claiming to be the inspiration for that one was dearly mistaken. That dreamy man was tough to attain, high maintenance, required multiple qualifications, and a certain level of… physical fitness only parallelled by the FBI.

Now with all your goals met, and a further two books of the three book deal you’d signed with your publisher still unfulfilled, you were in a slump to end all slumps.

You were still sitting at your desk feeling sorry for yourself when you felt someone breathing down your neck.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Spencer asked, leaning over your desk and clutching his own free coffee in his hands.

“You know you probably shouldn’t sneak up on someone with a gun and a licence.”

“If I also didn’t have a gun myself, that might be wise advice,” Spencer replied, pushing in closer to read your writing.

You closed the document a second too late. The damned man was like a super computer.

“What is ‘The Boss Breakdown?’” he asked.

“It’s a book I think,” was the best you could come up with as you closed the tab. Which only unfortunately brought up the work in progress document you’d been not-working on and making no progress in earlier.

“Untitled Project 4?” Spencer asked again, as you willed yourself to spontaneously combust.

“It’s what I’m calling my paperwork. You know, to get it done quicker?” You said, hastily closing this tab, too. Google chrome chose that moment exactly to end your social life at work forever as your idea document popped up behind that one.

“Friends to lovers. Enemies to lovers. Roommates to lovers. Friends with-”

“Okay, please stop! STOP!” You screamed, choosing to just turn off the monitor, standing quickly.

Standing too quickly as your legs got caught in the cursed government assigned desk chair, you found yourself quickly tumbling to the floor. A hand reached out to grab you, but your incredible luck meant that the both of you dropped to the floor together.

Spencer’s arm hit just above your head as he grimaced feeling the pain of the fall reverberate into his arm. His legs fell either side of yours as you finally opened your eyes.

Hands interlocked, bodies pushed together on the floor, both panting from the sudden adrenaline of the fall, you found yourself in the perfect rom-com compromising position.

“Sorry,” you whispered as Spencer hovered centimeters above you, eyes locked with yours.

“Anyone here?” the voice of the security guard called out into the office as you froze up. You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment or fear of being caught up in an office scandal that stopped the both of you from making your presence known.

“Call themselves Supervisory Special Agents, and not one of them is special enough to supervise turning the lights off. Damn…” the officer muttered before entrenching the two of you in complete darkness.

Spencer stayed atop of you, as though it were the most comfortable place in the world.

“So what was that all about?” He asked in another whisper, even though no one else was near.

“It was nothing,” you whispered back, trying your best to figure out where every part of his body was in relation to yours in the shadows.

“It didn't look like nothing.”

“Oh yeah? What did it look like then?”

“It looked like a book.”

“Well… ding ding ding we have a winner,” you said with a huff and tried to stand, only to be forced down again by an unseen hand.

“Y/N. Are you that author?” Spencer asked?

“What? No. What author? That author? Why would you ask that?” you practically vomited the words out, still trying and failing to wiggle yourself out from underneath the apparently very solidly built man.

“You’re writing a book, right? I heard you on the phone with your literary agent a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“You- what?”

“Rossi is an author too, you know.”

“Rossi writes non-fiction books about cases he has worked on. I write the book modern bodice-rippers. Not exactly the type of thing I want to tell the whole world, Spencer- would you move? God you are hard.”

You couldn’t see the eyebrow raise, but you practically heard it.

In a flash, something came to you. Whether it was the comment you made or a final willingness to listen, Spencer suddenly became easier to move as you jumped back up into your desk chair, turned on your monitor, and vomited up your brain onto the page.

You felt Spencer once again at your back as you typed out every word that entered your brain, not stopping to edit or proofread once. It was messy, there was no plot, no character names, no visible progression so far, but there were words.

There were finally words.

After a solid thirty minutes of panting and the banging sounds of your fingers connecting with your keyboard, you finally pushed away from your desk and grasped at where Spencer, now illuminated by your monitor once again, stood.

Grabbing his shirt between your hands and pulling him a step closer as you still sat, you practically screamed out your request.

“Spencer Reid, I need you.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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reiderwriter · 8 days ago

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♡The Romantic Comedy ♡

Genre: Fluff, slow burn, eventual smut (I'm going to make you work for it though tee hee)

The Meet Cute

The Fake Relationship

The Enemies to Lovers

The Office Romance

The Roommate Special

The Long Distance Relationship

The Bed

The Forced Proximity

The Love Triangle

The Small Town

The Unresolved Sexual Tension

The One Night Stand

The Happily Ever After

A/N: I started writing one of my requests and it started looking more and more like a series instead of a standalone fic, so I hope you enjoy "The Romantic Comedy!" There's no strict upload schedule with this one, because like our self-insert reader, I too am plagued with a full-time job and writer's block 6/7 days a week. Nevertheless, I'm aiming for a chapter a week <3 I won't do a tag list for this one, but I will be reposting on @reiderslibrary so if you follow and turn on post notifs for that account you should get a notification every time a chapter drops. Or just... check in once a weekend!

#spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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reiderwriter · 14 days ago

Note

I just read The Rebound, pleeeeease part 2 😭

I was thinking about what I'd write for a part 2 but I have unfortunately 0 ideas for continuing this one as of now.... If i think of anything, I'll give it a try!

#reiderreplies

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reiderwriter · 14 days ago

Note

me going 😞😞 bcs the rebound is all fluff and not angst or even hurt comfort like i thought it would be

(i WILL still read it tho i am a whore for your fics)

I'm sorry for the disappointment 🫡🫡 Let me warm up back into writing before I decide to start hurting people again lmao

#reiderreplies

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reiderwriter · 15 days ago

Text

A Dream, A Kiss, A Wire

A (very late) submission for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover challenge!!

Prompts: Character is surprised when their undercover partner is *very* good at pretending to be in love with them. “It’s just acting.” / “So you can make your heart race like that on command?”

Warnings: mentions of case details (bombing/ arson), mainly fluff

A/N: I don't know when the last time I posted fluff was, but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it! I'm trying to post more regularly once a week now, so hopefully, I'll have something else for you next Sunday~

Masterlist

Two months of undercover work was probably standard in the FBI. You hadn't exactly been in the FBI that long, obviously, or in any job too long for that matter, being pretty fresh from a decade in academics, but you were a hard worker, and you got work done.

But your undercover work with the BAU wasn't exactly what you would call work.

You woke up in the morning, cooked breakfast for your fake husband, went to your pilates class with the other neighborhood wives, went to your fake job, and then went back to your fake home where you publicans flirted with your fake husband outside for an hour or two to make your real neighbors believe in your fake relationship.

So that hopefully, one of them would attempt to blow you up.

With three “accidental” house fires in the neighborhood in the last year, and insurance company who'd been investigating potential fraud in the area had tipped off the BAU of a possible undiscovered arsonist, though you'd quickly deduced as a team that your unsub was likely a bomber instead.

A few months of surveillance, and then the gradual introduction of pairs of agents into the neighborhood under heavy cover, and here you were.

Making your fake husband pancakes.

Spencer emerged into the kitchen to one of his favorite views in recent months. You'd been the first pair put in, the one most likely to get attention quickly, the team had said. He watched as you hummed along to the morning radio, stacking up piles of pancakes and dancing along as you cooked.

You looked happy.

The concept of pretending to be married hadn't sat well with Spencer at first. He was never the greatest actor, and his last attempt at cover with Cat Adams hadn't exactly lasted too long. He was two months in now, sure, but he owed most of that to you.

Every time he'd blundered, you'd been there to help him out.

You'd suggested working on the garden together at the weekend to show off your effective communication as a couple. He'd let you feed him strawberries and sprayed you with the water hose, causing a water fight the neighborhood kids had politely asked to be included in.

You'd also been the one to request weekly flower bouquets, preferable from the local florist, just so everyone could see how dedicated he was to his wife. You'd sneezed heavily into the first few bouquets, and he'd requested mainly tulips, roses, and carnations after that when your nose looked a little red.

You'd also been the one to hook your legs around his waist in the swimming pool in your back yard - in clear view of at least 5 neighbors houses - and angle your head just so, inspiring pats on the back from a few heavy handed husbands at the neighborhood barbecue the week after.

That was all to say, Spencer thought you were an incredible actor.

Until that morning, when you'd rolled over in the bed you shared after waking up and kissed him full on the lips as you groggily said good morning, before padding off to the bathroom to take your morning shower.

If Spencer hadn't been awake before then, he definitely was after. It was like every cell in his body jolted at the touch of your lips. You'd zapped him with a lightning bolt, then walked off so casually he didn't even have the time to question you.

By the time he stood to follow, the sounds of the shower were already pronounced alongside his own heartbeat.

It took the best part of the morning to remind himself that this was just work. You were just acting, and you'd gotten into the role.

“And don't forget to head to the dry cleaner today in your way home from work, I dropped off some summer dresses last week and your other work blazer and they called twice yesterday to say they were done-”

He listened to you happily telling him what to do as he ate his pancakes, responding where you wanted him to respond, and being a generally agreeing husband, all the while thinking about how your lips felt pressed against his.

He thought as well about the way your body felt against his. You'd been sharing a bed for two months, and obviously, you'd ended up tangled in one another more than once. He'd never let himself think about it as any more than an extension of work before that morning, though. Part of the cover.

And now he felt the contours of your body matched his in a way that made the tips of his ears pink.

His eyes - and attention - must've slipped away from where you thought they'd ought to briand you looked at him with a questioning glance.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm? Yes, dry cleaning and visit Tara at the bank. Anything else?” he asked, begging you to say nothing about where he'd just been caught looking.

“No. You got everything. Well, just make sure you wash up the breakfast pots on the way out, I'm leaving for pilates now.”

Without another word, Spencer watched you grab your car keys from the basket in the foyer, directly down the hall from his seat at your kitchen island, and felt a sense of dread.

He couldn't let you go again without asking you about the kiss, his body screamed at him, though his mind begged him to be rational.

His body seemed to win out rather quickly, as he called after you just as you opened the front door.

“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up with you before he pulled you into his arms. The memory of the pool filled his thoughts to the point where he could almost smell the chlorine, the tips of his ears aflame with the sensation of your breath against his skin.

You tried to relax into his hug, knowing that a few of your neighbors were already outside, getting their cars ready to go to work. “Spencer,” you whispered, “What are you doing?”

His eyes flicked to your lips as he thought about just kissing you then and there. But the almost worried look on your face had him loosening his grip slightly, losing his resolve.

Luckily, the shame at his loss of self-control made his head drop slightly, just enough to catch the translucent wire centimetres from your foot glare in the sunlight.

At the worst possible time for Spencer Reid, you'd had your biggest break in the case in months.

...

A week later, you were you again and on the jet with colleagues you hadn't fully been able to interact with in months. Of course, you'd seen them all about the neighborhood, and you laughed and joked about it now that you were going back to your real lives.

“I swear to the almighty himself, if Joy ever suggests putting me in one of those old people's homes really, I want you to just take me out back and shoot me,” Rossi complained, swearing off slippers and bingo for the foreseeable future.

“You had company at least,” Luke muttered, having been confined to a small apartment on the upper side of the neighborhood that coincidentally housed all their surveillance equipment.

“Speaking of company, how was married life?” Emily joked, elbowing Spencer in the side from her seat next to him.

“It was… it was good,” he said, taking a sip of water from his bottle and avoiding all eye contact from everyone.

“Okay…. Y/N, what about you? What was Spencer like as a husband?”

You looked nervous as Spencer finally found it in himself to look at someone else again, desperately avoiding Emily's probing gaze.

“It was…. Nice. To switch off for a while. Not think too much, just…. Pretend?”

“Really? It was hard for me to get into character, and I lived alone. You and Spencer had to keep up a double act,” Luke laughed and shook his head, and Spencer found the ensuing silence more than a little awkward.

“I don't know, I just think it was kind of nice,” you said after too long of a pause. “Living with someone again. Less lonely, you know?”

Some sad smiles flicked your way in sympathy, then out the window, and you found yourself looking up at Spencer directly across from you and smiling shyly.

“Maybe I should start dating again,” you sighed under your breath when no one else was listening. But Spencer was listening. Spencer was always listening to you.

Two days in the office working late on paperwork and research was all Spencer could handle before he started asking questions.

Two hours into overtime, the moon was out, and the light in the office had dimmed just enough for the majority of the light in the room to be coming from your computer screen and desk lamp.

Spencer watched you casually, quick to look away any time you looked up at him, the feeling of his eyes burning into you, alerting you to his attention.

After a few minutes of looking up just as he looked away, you sighed in resignation and confronted him.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Hmm? No, um… nothing,” he said, fumbling his pencil so it fell to the ground. He stood and retrieved it before hesitating and taking a step closer to your desk.

“You're really good at your undercover work, you know?” He said with a cute smile, leaning on the side of your desk as you looked up at him.

“What does that mean?” you asked, suddenly on edge. Spencer didn't usually pay you compliments, and you'd hoped to completely drop the topic of the cover completely after you'd landed and closed the case.

“I don't know, it's just… it seemed like you put a lot of yourself into it.”

“It was work. I put a lot of myself into everything I do. Work is included in that.”

“Work…” he said, nodding. He almost turned around and walked away. Almost.

“You kissed me that morning, you know?”

It didn't come out loud, but it resonated around the empty room anyway as you felt your heartbeat faster.

“You were awake?” You squeaked out before you could stop yourself, suddenly looking up Spencer with pleading eyes as you willed him to tell you he was joking.

“Yes, I was- hold on, you thought I was asleep? You kissed me because you thought I was asleep?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It was just something… I didn't think, and-”

“Y/N, I kissed you back. Why did you think I was asleep?”

“Well, you didn't kiss back hard enough if I hardly noticed, did you?” you pouted, trying to go back to your work, but finding yourself with a brain so blank you couldn't even pretend to type. “I was acting, Spencer. I just.. got too into it, I suppose.”

“Y/N, look at me please,” Spencer pleaded, but you kept your head stubbornly turned away.

You felt his eyes on you, heard him take a step closer. Then another. You felt him loom over you, saw his hand come to rest beside yours on your desk.

Finally, you cracked.

“Spencer, I really don't think-” you stood and faced him, and immediately regretted both actions.

You'd shared a bed for two months, but this was definitely the closest you'd ever gotten. You could practically taste Spencer. You stood almost attached at the hip, his mouth not even inches from your own, but centimetres.

His forehead practically rest against your own, and he clutched your waist for balance, bringing you in closer.

You were stunned into silence, and when he grabbed your wrist in his hand and looked down at it in silence for a minute, you stood with baited breath for him to do something, anything else.

“The average resting heart rate for someone your age and activity level is around 75 beats per minute. I estimate yours is currently between 112 and 115. Are you acting now, too?”

You almost wanted to pull away and pout, but before you could do anything with your bottom lip, he'd claimed it with his own. His kiss was soft and delicate but intentional. His second was bolder, harder, and invasion of all your senses as he cupped your chin in his hand and lifted it just a little higher, pressing his tongue between your lips as he begged for permission.

A small moan granted him everything he wanted, as his hands sparked up your skin.

When he finally pulled away, not far enough to be out of your reach yet, your pants filled the air, syncopated as you breathed each other in and out.

“Let's keep acting. Just for now,” he gasped, whispering in your ear as he stroked your cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered as he once again claimed your lips.

#..... i dont remember writing this WHAT #spencer reid #criminal minds

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reiderwriter · 15 days ago

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old enough to remember when smut was called ‘lemons’ but young enough that i had absolutely no business knowing that smut was called ‘lemons’ at the time

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reiderwriter · 15 days ago

Text

The Rebound

Plot: Rossi recommends a book binding service to get Spencer to stop complaining about his broken book. Maybe you can fix more than just the broken spine of his book. Warnings: None, fluff. I will preface this with I know the bare minimum about actual book binding though, unfortunately! ㅠㅠ A/N: I'M BACK! Did you miss me? Unfortunately I lost any belief I had in love for a while there, but I found myself thinking about this little fluff idea for a while, and couldn't get it out of my head so I had to write it. It's been almost two years since I began writing, and I decided I want to put this first as a hobby at least once a week, so you will hopefully be hearing from me more often as well. I got a lot of inspiration from the request box too, so thank you to everyone who requested <3 Enjoy~

To say that Spencer had taken this book everywhere would be an understatement. The tattered heap of papers could probably be legally recognized as a member of the BAU the amount of case hours it had seen. It probably had a degree or two of its own as well.

Spencer always justified it in one way or another. It was in Russian and he needed to practice. It was an incredible book. His mother gave it to him as a child, and she still recognized it sometimes, so he had to take it when he visited her. It was just a really good book.

In short, over the years it had been through a lot.

It had seen gunshots, stabbings, a drug addiction, multiple spills and drops from high areas, and yes, probably some book eating insects at some point, but it still stood the test of time.

Until, ironically, a prison sentence meant it hadn’t been cracked open in months and it had decided to disintegrate overnight.

Spencer had spent the best part of his first week back at the BAU grumbling about it that it was beginning to disintegrate his team mates nerves. Yes, they were all sympathetic to the struggles of the newly free man, but there was really only so much Russian literature one could take before losing it. And for the members of the BAU, that was pretty much none.

“Kid, why don’t you just go out and buy a new copy. Same words, same meaning, same book, just without the bullet holes,” Rossi sighed, trying to effectively end the same conversation he’d been having for the last 6 days straight.

“It’s a rare copy, it was published in the 50s. You of all people should know they don’t make books the same way anymore, Rossi.”

“Me? Of all people? How flattering, Spencer.”

“No-” the man sighed, jogging to catch up with the still prime older man as he walked brusquely down the hallway. “I just mean that as a fellow enjoyer of literature, that you would share my appreciation for…”

“The elderly?”

“Antiques. Come on Rossi, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Spencer sighed again.

“I just don’t want to buy another copy.”

Rossi stopped his march finally, letting Spencer catch up with him as he finally turned around and gave his last suggestion.

“Then you just have to get it fixed, Spencer.”

He shut the door to his office behind him before the open door could invite any other literary debates to his doorstop, but he did put the kid out of his misery later over text.

“I had a collection of Joy’s articles bound by this company for Christmas last year as a gift. Local business, give them a call.”

A week later, a free enough day rolled around, and Spencer - ever willing to avoid technology at all costs - decided that going to the shop's location and hoping for an on-sight consult would work. He assumed people still talked to each other.

You definitely still talked to people.

When you could see them, hear them and knew they were there. But you also liked to work with a set of large headphones drowning out the world, and everyone else had gone home for the day, so to say that you screamed when you saw the 6 foot something slenderman out of the corner of your eye was an understatement.

“FUCK!” You screamed, clutching at your heart that you thought was definitely still having an attack of its own. You weren’t sure if this was what fight or flight felt like, but you were quickly disappointed to find that your own trigger reaction was ‘fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the door was open, I assumed…” Spencer started, holding his hand up to show he wasn’t a threat, even if he’d spent the last phase of his life being just that to a lot of people.

“Yeah..yeah… sorry, heart still racing, I’ll be with you in just a second.

You made a mental note of not listening to any more horror audiobooks while at work and pulled a smile back onto your face.

“Welcome to The Rebound, I guess,” you said, coming around the counter to greet the man. “Are you here to pick up or deliver a package?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably as he stood before speaking.

“Actually neither. I was hoping for a consultation? I need a book rebound.”

You let out a sigh so loud you almost felt bad for the man. “Okay, so thank god you’re not a serial killer.”

You tried to laugh off the joke, but the man’s eyes bugged out of his head as he scrambled for something.

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m out of practice with this I guess,” he laughed a little, doing absolutely nothing to dissipate the awkward tension as he pulled out his FBI creds.

“Huh. FBI. Would you hold it against me if I said I feel a little bit less safe again?”

“Considering I spent that last few months in prison, not at all.”

You laughed again and then stopped again as you saw he wasn’t laughing.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little off-putting?” you asked, completely innocently as you grabbed your coffee mug, leaning back on your work counter.

“Many, many times,” he smiled, finally relaxing.

“Wonderful. So what can I do for you today, Mr….?”

“Doctor.”

“Perfect. What can I do for you today Mr. Doctor?”

He smiled shyly again, and you finally took the lull in conversation to look him over again. He was maybe a few years older than you, but he still looked young. Every item he wore seemed like it came fresh from a copy of Grandpa’s Weekly, or whatever Vogue was doing in Men’s fashion in the 50s, which almost made it annoying how well it draped on him. His hair was brown, and curled cutely around his face in a very ‘needs a haircut’ way, but you almost appreciated that more.

He was handsome.

“Fuck.” you thought again, realizing that the man had been talking for the last few seconds as you’d oggled him anyway.

“Fuck?” He repeated. “I mean, I know it’s in bad condition, but I didn’t think it’d be that hard…” His eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the book you now only just noticed was in his hands.

“Sorry, no that’s not what I meant!” You scrambled, combing your hair back roughly in your hands, and clipping it in place before walking back closer to him.

He even smells fucking good, you grumbled to yourself as you held out your hands for your next project.

“I’ve had it for about 25 years now, and it was definitely second hand when I got it, so…”

“So you want me to resuscitate it. Cool. Let me take a look at it quickly.”

You gently pried the book from the pouting man's hands and took it back to your work station as he played with his fingers, and you found yourself bumping into pieces of furniture you’d practically grown up with.

“So, Mr. Doctor, is there any specific damage you want us to take care of?” You asked as you forced your attention onto the book. “Missing pages, rips, that kind of- Is this in Russian?”

“It’s Dostoyevsky. There’s no missing pages, but there are a lot of tears around a third up on the pages,” he blinked, pointing a single finger at the edge of the page, where there were in fact small tears.

Ignoring that his fingers were also somehow attractive, you grabbed your glasses from the top of your shirt and pushed them onto your face and up your nose, getting closer to take a better look.

“These are pretty even across all the pages, how did you even manage that?” you laughed, flicking the pages as you searched for any particular mildew marks or signs of wear.

“Gunshot,” he said with such practiced nonchalance that you almost accepted it as a regular answer. Almost.

“WHAT?” You said looking up, noticing a beat too late that Mister Doctor was also leaning over the book, as if scared to let it out of his sight.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing in his sight was now you, as you’d come up so passionately you found yourselves nose to nose, a breath the only thing between you.

You felt the heat in your cheeks, just as you saw it in his, before you hastily looked back down to the book.

He straightened and looked away, taking a deep breath.

“I work for the FBI, remember.”

“I’m sorry, I assumed you were in a paperwork-diplomacy-tax-evasion department, not a pew-pew-bang-bang department.”

“You know I think those are the official titles, but we usually just call my team the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m a profiler.”

“Huh. Do I get three guesses which Dostoyevsky this is?”

“Wouldn’t most of his works fit in this scenario?”

“Touche, Mr. Doctor. Touche.”

You finished up your consultation on the book, which, gunshot aside, wasn’t in bad shape for a book over half a century old. You carefully catalogued the book's information in your system, and then turned back to him.

“As I assume Mr. Doctor isn’t your real name, can I try again at asking what it is? No sarcasm this time, and I promise that my hands aren’t crossed behind my back currently.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“And the Doctor part was real, or have I been out-maneuvered?”

“If a PhD is real, then yes. Three times over.”

You took another look at him again and then smiled widely as his breath caught in his throat.

“Doctor Reid, you look like the exact kind of person that would have three PhD’s. Congratulations, you’ve worked hard.”

Unable to respond to the sudden kindness, Spencer returned a tight smile of his own before taking a shaky breath to steady himself.

“Okay, so luckily we can fix the damage on this copy for you. We can try and salvage some of the cover details as well, but it will need a new spine, which usually means a complete overhaul of the cover. Do you have any specific design in mind, or would you like something similar?”

“As close as you can get it, please.”

“Of course. Now about the binding. Would you like it tight, or a little looser so it reads easier, like a floppy paperback?”

“Loose is good for me. I read it pretty regularly.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible: I can tell,” you said, looking up from your computer again for the minute. “Between us, these are always my favorite projects, but I’m never allowed to work on them because I always want to keep the books at the end.”

Spencer smiled at that, picturing you pouting handing over his book finally when it was done, refusing to let it go. There was something playfully childish about you that he found endearing.

Endearing? He cleared his throat again before he found himself in further trouble.

“Please don’t steal my book,” he requested in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in slightly dangerously.

“Don’t you worry about that Mr Doctor,” you said, smiling at him. “I have absolutely no impure intentions for your book whatsoever.”

Spencer wanted to bury the disappointed feeling that popped up in the pit of his stomach at that moment. You were talking about the book, and this was a business transaction, and really he’d only just gotten out of prison, so he most likely didn’t need to feel disappointed by anything at all, whatsoever.

“I, myself, cannot read Russian,” you smiled at him, handing him the receipt and guiding him back to the door he’d so innocently walked through about an hour earlier.

Just as Spencer was feeling relieved - relieved? - and ready to move on from this exciting albeit distracting visit in his day, you spoke again.

“So you’ll just have to read it to me if I get very attached.”

Clutching the receipt in his hand, and soon to realize that you’d scribbled your phone number on it in a hail mary, Spencer smiled to himself and made a mental note of thanking Rossi the next day.

Even if the other man wouldn’t appreciate the new topic of conversation that Spencer would find himself unable to escape for a while. You.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds cast

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reiderwriter · 2 months ago

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Guys I'm happy you guys like the smut but pls.... plot points and not just warning tags would be great in the requests lmao

REQUESTS OPEN!

I'm not sure if you can tell but I've had like zero motivation these days to write, so I'm looking for requests for motivation! I will likely close requests again if too many come through but yeah!

Open to writing:

Smut

Fluff

Angst (ish)

But literally only for Spencer Reid

I also haven't seen any of CME yet so please.... please don't mention that to me lmao

You cam find more in depth request guidelines ->

Here

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reiderwriter · 2 months ago

Text

REQUESTS OPEN!

I'm not sure if you can tell but I've had like zero motivation these days to write, so I'm looking for requests for motivation! I will likely close requests again if too many come through but yeah!

Open to writing:

Smut

Fluff

Angst (ish)

But literally only for Spencer Reid

I also haven't seen any of CME yet so please.... please don't mention that to me lmao

You cam find more in depth request guidelines ->

Here

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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reiderwriter · 2 months ago

Text

REQUESTS OPEN!

I'm not sure if you can tell but I've had like zero motivation these days to write, so I'm looking for requests for motivation! I will likely close requests again if too many come through but yeah!

Open to writing:

Smut

Fluff

Angst (ish)

But literally only for Spencer Reid

I also haven't seen any of CME yet so please.... please don't mention that to me lmao

You cam find more in depth request guidelines ->

Here

#spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom

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reiderwriter · 3 months ago

Note

wow finally you wrote something other than smut. surprising and refreshing!

This feels... kinda condescending, lmao

If you missed it, I did a poll asking if people wanted smut or fluff, and smut got the vote, so like... I write what is requested idk lol

#reiderreplies #if you didnt mean to sound rude sorry but also please think about how the things you type come across

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