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Spencer and reader have been dating for a while and Spencer burst "I love you" to reader for the first time, gets all worried and red about it but it's cute and how couldn't you say it back?? Fluffy Fluffy ❤️

Thanks for requesting! I’ll get writing this asap :)

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just post of BAU smiling

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"are you ok?"

No I want a fictional man to kiss me on my forehead and tell me I didn't deserve all the shit real people put me through

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hey! I just wanted to say thanks to those that have interacted with my writing — I appreciate it! Also, if anyone has any requests, please send them in (especially for Reid or Luke)

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current sexuality: spencer reid’s hands

mutual tags @reidsmilf @reidslibrarybook @reidsacademia @girlspencer @spookydrreid @writer-in-theory @lunarplutos @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @meganskane @lil-stark @buckleyhans @ssavanessa22

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@itsalicewickedmcgee I’m glad you enjoyed it!

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 — 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

────────────

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⇾ it’s only muscle memory for him to go to her when things go bad.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ⇾ @itsalicewickedmcgee ; Can I put in a request for Spencer Reid? After a run in with Cat Adam's, his s/o comforts him six ⤑ "look at me - it won't hurt if you look at me.”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⇾ spencer reid x female!reader

𝐜𝐰 ⇾ swearing, mentions of mental trauma, minor injury

────────────

IT WASN’T ENTIRELY A PROVOCATION for alarm when Penelope Garcia comes bustling into the conference room of the BAU, crimson flush beneath the application of her blush on her pale complexion, bursting with words as quick as the pace she keeps on a keyboard. 

Therefore, when the blonde woman came hastening through the doorway, a pensive energy taking fleeting residence within her typical one of amiability, Y/N didn’t instantaneously spur with any significant extent of a reaction, solely sparing a prompt and greeting smile towards her. It was an abnormally placid day within their unit, such serenity offering an opportunity for masses of discarded case files to be tended to by begrudging agents like herself. 

“You know if they’re doing a lunch order or something…? Spencer would be on my ass if he knew I was supplementing meals with coffee, and don’t you dare tell him that I have been,” Y/N’s hours of silence filtered into a mound of rambles of the prosaic thoughts that had littered her mind within that time, her pep mining into the pen balanced between her thumb and pointer. 

When the nonchalant and eased remark descended into a rigid discomfort within the room, Y/N glimpsed away from the typed summary of one of their prior cases, her capricious twiddle of the writing utensil fading into a stillness alike to that of the atmosphere around them and within the stature of Garcia. 

Her abandonment of the humdrum of the file before her on the wood table allowed her now discern the palpable fret entangled with the blonde’s expression.

“Garcia, what is it?” Y/N dubiously acknowledged how a surge of disquiet now gnawed at her nerves. 

The ever-apparent profiler instinct within her consciousness noted then how Penelope winced like she was in anguish, how her bejeweled fingers restlessly fidgeted against her stomach, “It’s Spencer.” 

The boy genius at the root of her concern had taken an abrupt personal day, muttering some semblance of his exhaustion to behave as his excuse for the atypical absence. The very boy genius who was her boyfriend and would, to a fault, tell her utterly anything and everything occurring within the intricate firing of his neurons. Y/N didn’t have her phone directly on her person, rather it was tucked into the rear pocket of her purse so as to not deviate attention from her cluster of case files. If she did, she would have found that there had been an absence of his daily deluge of manic remarks and nonchalant mentions of random statistics from her text messages. 

“H-he visited Cat today; that’s w-why he requested today off,” Garcia’s internal conflict released through a lump in her throat, thronging her hands with a fervency that may just cause her numerous rings to slide away from her fingers, “And now he’s i-in with Rossi, super u-upset and I think I saw - maybe, I don’t really know - a scratch on h-his cheek. Why would he go there to see her? She ruined your guys’ life - she almost killed you!” 

It was a furious question that Y/N herself harbored, a hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately as the words registered quicker than she would’ve preferred. Alongside that borderline demand was the prosperous misery of the memories of what the Adams woman had done to her, a despair that had been suppressed by the fortifications of a mind unable to cope properly. Why would he? She would further beg the query as to why he didn’t tell her, but it was an inquiry with an evident answer; she would’ve stunted any effort he made to do whatever he did at the prison that day. 

A subtle throat clear that teetered with a crack resounded from the doorway, a meek divulgement from Spencer himself for his reluctant presence as he angled against the scaffolding, lanky figure dynamically pinched with a hunch. His radiating dismay and frustration could nearly be felt in the confined room, burning like a furnace. 

His fingers were morass in a nervous jumble, his thumb repeatedly brushing over his knuckles that flashed white in the clench of his hands. And, he deliberately eluded the pair of uneasy and fretted gazes of the two women before him, both hushed as to allow him to speak if desired rather than have either of them inundate him with their questions. 

And in the prolonged silence that skirmished with the established tension to dominate the atmosphere, Y/N could confirm Penelope’s hunch about the scratch on his cheek. The swollen laceration was the evident aftermath of a fingernail crossing the slightly tanned complexion of her boyfriend; she had been witness to it enough in their line of work to discern it with a passing glance.

“Uh, could I-” Spencer cleared his throat once more - an agitated tic that Y/N had noted within the years of their friendship then eventual relationship - vaguely gesturing towards her with dubious stare upon Penelope, all a jumble of implicit and explicit indications for her to spare a moment alone for Y/N and him. 

The blonde woman briskly nodded, bumbling out of the conference area, only after duly casting a sidelong, reassuring smile to the other woman and sympathetically squeezing Spencer’s forearm. He gradually eased the door shut once she departed, fingers straying into a haphazard thrum against the sleek curve of the doorknob. 

Y/N could practically see the neurons that impulsively collided into a mess behind the broadness of his eyes as he stalled there at the door, her own thoughts conjecturing if he was internally debating as to whether or not to leave. 

“Spence,” she edged into the terse silence as if to hinder any desperate desire to walk out, observing how his anxious fingers halted in a hasty reaction, almost cramping at the abrupt cease of movement in their tense tendons.

To her bewilderment, his body jolted out with a meager quiver, any withstanding fortifications set alight by the overwhelming misery and humility devouring his soul; a trademark of the impact Cat Adams had on his prodigious psyche. 

The same remarkable one that was in the throngs of an electrical storm, lightning striking with tidal waves of anger, frustration, and anxiety in his mind as he bore his weight against the door. 

The manilla folder along with the pen was entirely forsaken on the wood of the table as Y/N pushed away from her chair, her footfalls a perturbed song as she approached him promptly. And he couldn’t refuse when her hands drew his head down into the crook of her neck, despite the stark contrast in height that thrived between them. She embraced him tight as he clung onto her now, pulling her against his slender and hunched figure. 

When he attempted to say her name, it sputtered out in a shattered and rough gurgle, his throat so throttled by tightness and raw from emotion that she almost didn’t pick up on the whimper against her neck. He’s vulnerable now, rather novel territory for Spencer Reid to venture into, and he's found himself astray in the shallow waters of a defenseless position he incidentally inserted himself into.

“Spence,” she approached once more, her sigh sounding nearly defeated as she tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair. His wayward breathing almost instantaneously steadied with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, yet his press against her shoulder blades in his own embrace remained pressured with desperation. 

“I thought I-I could confront her. Get s-some extent of a r-reason for everything. She almost murdered y-you and we weren’t even t-together so any excuse of jealousy is shit!” he rambled, misery bleeding into frustration amidst his muffled tone as his mouth was still partially pressed against her skin. And he sounded profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully throughout his every nerve and neural pathway. 

His face was warm between the clasp of her palms as she eased it out from the bow of her neck, and Y/N was fleetingly relieved when he didn’t turn away or endeavor to scramble from her effort at reassurance. Nevertheless, his chestnut eyes, fevered with tears, took a stubborn oath to elude her gaze. 

“Look at me - it won’t hurt if you look at me,” her thumbs brushed away the lukewarm tears trickling down the arch of his poignant cheeks, edging into the crimson border of his scratch.

His toilworn eyes warily flicked up to her own as she spared a moment to examine the aforementioned laceration amidst the smooth of his skin, subtly and fleetingly tilting his head in her scrutiny. 

“Whatever answer or reason exists, we both know it’d only upset you further. She doesn’t deserve any more of your time, Spence.”,” Y/N asserted as she steadied his chin out of her clasp, hands favoring to brush stray curls from his forehead.

His frustration tensed with a clench of his jaw, a brief spark of anger igniting beneath the watery facade of his eyes, both peeved actions a fleeting presence within his demeanor as he propelled his focus on her. 

“I know,” he murmured with a flush exhale, his downcast expression gradually acquiring a quality both warm and admiring - essentially muscle memory for him when around her.She then pressed a whisper of a kiss on his lips that were still bowed in a frown,  lingering there to defuse the ticking bomb of fury within the abyss of his psyche. A sole hand wandered down to ease into a tender clasp with his own, subtly wrenching at the flex in his fingers as to prompt him to follow her as she uttered with a nod towards his scratch, “Why don’t we go get that cleaned up and go home?”

And he allowed himself to be guided out of the conference room by his girlfriend, every remnant of his extolled psyche pinned in churns of implicit misery and anger that were curbed by her very existence. One of the few coping mechanisms that managed to elicit any success in his intricate mind was rather simple (and rather cliche), but nonetheless a triumph for him in his dunes of desolation: look at her and it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

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𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 — 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

────────────

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⇾ it’s only muscle memory for him to go to her when things go bad.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ⇾ @itsalicewickedmcgee ; Can I put in a request for Spencer Reid? After a run in with Cat Adam's, his s/o comforts him six ⤑ "look at me - it won't hurt if you look at me.”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⇾ spencer reid x female!reader

𝐜𝐰 ⇾ swearing, mentions of mental trauma, minor injury

────────────

IT WASN’T ENTIRELY A PROVOCATION for alarm when Penelope Garcia comes bustling into the conference room of the BAU, crimson flush beneath the application of her blush on her pale complexion, bursting with words as quick as the pace she keeps on a keyboard. 

Therefore, when the blonde woman came hastening through the doorway, a pensive energy taking fleeting residence within her typical one of amiability, Y/N didn’t instantaneously spur with any significant extent of a reaction, solely sparing a prompt and greeting smile towards her. It was an abnormally placid day within their unit, such serenity offering an opportunity for masses of discarded case files to be tended to by begrudging agents like herself. 

“You know if they’re doing a lunch order or something…? Spencer would be on my ass if he knew I was supplementing meals with coffee, and don’t you dare tell him that I have been,” Y/N’s hours of silence filtered into a mound of rambles of the prosaic thoughts that had littered her mind within that time, her pep mining into the pen balanced between her thumb and pointer. 

When the nonchalant and eased remark descended into a rigid discomfort within the room, Y/N glimpsed away from the typed summary of one of their prior cases, her capricious twiddle of the writing utensil fading into a stillness alike to that of the atmosphere around them and within the stature of Garcia. 

Her abandonment of the humdrum of the file before her on the wood table allowed her now discern the palpable fret entangled with the blonde’s expression.

“Garcia, what is it?” Y/N dubiously acknowledged how a surge of disquiet now gnawed at her nerves. 

The ever-apparent profiler instinct within her consciousness noted then how Penelope winced like she was in anguish, how her bejeweled fingers restlessly fidgeted against her stomach, “It’s Spencer.” 

The boy genius at the root of her concern had taken an abrupt personal day, muttering some semblance of his exhaustion to behave as his excuse for the atypical absence. The very boy genius who was her boyfriend and would, to a fault, tell her utterly anything and everything occurring within the intricate firing of his neurons. Y/N didn’t have her phone directly on her person, rather it was tucked into the rear pocket of her purse so as to not deviate attention from her cluster of case files. If she did, she would have found that there had been an absence of his daily deluge of manic remarks and nonchalant mentions of random statistics from her text messages. 

“H-he visited Cat today; that’s w-why he requested today off,” Garcia’s internal conflict released through a lump in her throat, thronging her hands with a fervency that may just cause her numerous rings to slide away from her fingers, “And now he’s i-in with Rossi, super u-upset and I think I saw - maybe, I don’t really know - a scratch on h-his cheek. Why would he go there to see her? She ruined your guys’ life - she almost killed you!” 

It was a furious question that Y/N herself harbored, a hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately as the words registered quicker than she would’ve preferred. Alongside that borderline demand was the prosperous misery of the memories of what the Adams woman had done to her, a despair that had been suppressed by the fortifications of a mind unable to cope properly. Why would he? She would further beg the query as to why he didn’t tell her, but it was an inquiry with an evident answer; she would’ve stunted any effort he made to do whatever he did at the prison that day. 

A subtle throat clear that teetered with a crack resounded from the doorway, a meek divulgement from Spencer himself for his reluctant presence as he angled against the scaffolding, lanky figure dynamically pinched with a hunch. His radiating dismay and frustration could nearly be felt in the confined room, burning like a furnace. 

His fingers were morass in a nervous jumble, his thumb repeatedly brushing over his knuckles that flashed white in the clench of his hands. And, he deliberately eluded the pair of uneasy and fretted gazes of the two women before him, both hushed as to allow him to speak if desired rather than have either of them inundate him with their questions.  Within that prolonged silence that skirmished with the established tension to dominate the atmosphere, Y/N could confirm Penelope’s hunch about the scratch on his cheek.

The swollen laceration was the evident aftermath of a fingernail crossing the slightly tanned complexion of her boyfriend; she had been witness to it enough in their line of work to discern it with a passing glance.

“Uh, could I-” Spencer cleared his throat once more - an agitated tic that Y/N had noted within the years of their friendship then eventual relationship - vaguely gesturing towards her with dubious stare upon Penelope, all a jumble of implicit and explicit indications for her to spare a moment alone for Y/N and him. 

The blonde woman briskly nodded, bumbling out of the conference area, only after duly casting a sidelong, reassuring smile to the other woman and sympathetically squeezing Spencer’s forearm. He gradually eased the door shut once she departed, fingers straying into a haphazard thrum against the sleek curve of the doorknob. 

Y/N could practically see the neurons that impulsively collided into a mess behind the broadness of his eyes as he stalled there at the door, her own thoughts conjecturing if he was internally debating as to whether or not to leave. 

“Spence,” she edged into the terse silence as if to hinder any desperate desire to walk out, observing how his anxious fingers halted in a hasty reaction, almost cramping at the abrupt cease of movement in their tense tendons.

To her bewilderment, his body jolted out with a meager quiver, any withstanding fortifications set alight by the overwhelming misery and humility devouring his soul; a trademark of the impact Cat Adams had on his prodigious psyche. 

The same remarkable one that was in the throngs of an electrical storm, lightning striking with tidal waves of anger, frustration, and anxiety in his mind as he bore his weight against the door. 

The manilla folder along with the pen was entirely forsaken on the wood of the table as Y/N pushed away from her chair, her footfalls a perturbed song as she approached him promptly. And he couldn’t refuse when her hands drew his head down into the crook of her neck, despite the stark contrast in height that thrived between them. She embraced him tight as he clung onto her now, pulling her against his slender and hunched figure. 

When he attempted to say her name, it sputtered out in a shattered and rough gurgle, his throat so throttled by tightness and raw from emotion that she almost didn’t pick up on the whimper against her neck. He’s vulnerable now, rather novel territory for Spencer Reid to venture into, and he's found himself astray in the shallow waters of a defenseless position he incidentally inserted himself into.

“Spence,” she approached once more, her sigh sounding nearly defeated as she tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair. His wayward breathing almost instantaneously steadied with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, yet his press against her shoulder blades in his own embrace remained pressured with desperation. 

“I thought I-I could confront her. Get s-some extent of a r-reason for everything. She almost murdered y-you and we weren’t even t-together so any excuse of jealousy is shit!” he rambled, misery bleeding into frustration amidst his muffled tone as his mouth was still partially pressed against her skin. And he sounded profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully throughout his every nerve and neural pathway. 

His face was warm between the clasp of her palms as she eased it out from the bow of her neck, and Y/N was fleetingly relieved when he didn’t turn away or endeavor to scramble from her effort at reassurance. Nevertheless, his chestnut eyes, fevered with tears, took a stubborn oath to elude her gaze. 

“Look at me - it won’t hurt if you look at me,” her thumbs brushed away the lukewarm tears trickling down the arch of his poignant cheeks, edging into the crimson border of his scratch.

His toilworn eyes warily flicked up to her own as she spared a moment to examine the aforementioned laceration amidst the smooth of his skin, subtly and fleetingly tilting his head in her scrutiny. 

“Whatever answer or reason exists, we both know it’d only upset you further. She doesn’t deserve any more of your time, Spence.”,” Y/N asserted as she steadied his chin out of her clasp, hands favoring to brush stray curls from his forehead.

His frustration tensed with a clench of his jaw, a brief spark of anger igniting beneath the watery facade of his eyes, both peeved actions a fleeting presence within his demeanor as he propelled his focus on her. 

“I know,” he murmured with a flush exhale, his downcast expression gradually acquiring a quality both warm and admiring - essentially muscle memory for him when around her.She then pressed a whisper of a kiss on his lips that were still bowed in a frown,  lingering there to defuse the ticking bomb of fury within the abyss of his psyche. A sole hand wandered down to ease into a tender clasp with his own, subtly wrenching at the flex in his fingers as to prompt him to follow her as she uttered with a nod towards his scratch, “Why don’t we go get that cleaned up and go home?”

And he allowed himself to be guided out of the conference room by his girlfriend, every remnant of his extolled psyche pinned in churns of implicit misery and anger that were curbed by her very existence. One of the few coping mechanisms that managed to elicit any success in his intricate mind was rather simple (and rather cliche), but nonetheless a triumph for him in his dunes of desolation: look at her and it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

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—Silas House

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LUKE ALVEZ BEING ADORABLE

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SPENCER REID IN 7x09 “SELF FULLFILLING PROPHECY”

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I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

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spencer reid + luke alvez 12x01 the crimson king {gifs}

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You know I do.

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COFFEE BREAK

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garvez + just generally being adorable

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The BAU in The Bunker-(13x06)

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gif request meme - favourite familial relationship of criminal minds:

↳ the BAU — “we’re family. our relationship to each other is not bound by where we show up to go to work”