#spencer drabble

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Girl's Night [Spencer x Reader]

Photo Credits: Left and Right (@archxangels) Center (@emilys-house)

Prompt: When the BAU girls pressure the reader to ask Spencer out, it ends up with her drunk texting him. Now she’s embarrassed and Reid’s asked her out. What could possibly go wrong? 

Pairing: Spencer x BAU!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns. 

Category: Fluff / Comfort 

Word Count: 2K

Content Warnings: Mention of drinking, brief mention of drug abuse [Spencer]. If I missed any, please let me know 

A/N:  I hope you are all doing very well! This fic doesn’t have a huge confession at the end, but I don’t think a shy reader would want that anyway, plus this is just a bit of build-up for a potentially larger relationship later. Please let me know if you’d like to see a second part to this story, and I’d be happy to write more. I hope that you enjoy this fic, and if you do, please like, share, and comment. Love Levi - ❤️ 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name

y/f/d = your favorite drink 

Every other month, the girls from the BAU got together and did something. The agenda for the night was going to a dance club, getting shots, and chatting about what was happening in all of their lives at the time. Whenever the plan was just a club, everyone would go over to JJ’s, pregame, and get ready together. Penelope and Emily were sharing the mirror while JJ and y/n were slipping into their dresses. Y/n was pulling up a skimpy, skintight y/f/c dress and then slipped on some heels. After this was accomplished, y/n took a sip of her wine, and then JJ turned to y/n and asked, “Y/n, can you help zip me up?” Y/n smiled and nodded, walking behind JJ’s dark blue bandage dress to pull the zip over her curvy body. When that was finished, y/n looked over at the mirror and asked, “Penelope, when you’re done, can I steal your spot?” Garcia paused her lipstick application mid-stroke and replied, “You got it, sweetheart.” 

Emily was putting on eyeliner and looked at y/n in the mirror and said, “Speaking of you, y/n, how’s that crush on Spencer going? Are you ever going to ask him out?” Hearing this, y/n flushed profusely before stammering, “Okay, okay. Crush is a bit teenager-ish. I have a mild interest in our resident genius, but calling a crush…” JJ snorted and said, “I don’t know what you call stumbling over your words and smiling like a maniac every time you and Reid are in the same car, or he likes one of your ideas.” Y/n deflated a little bit and took a longer swig of wine before replying, “Alright, I like him, but it’s like that one line in Dr. Who that River Song says. You know, the sad one about sunsets.” Prentiss and JJ looked at y/n like she’d grown a second head and replied, “Not to call you a nerd, y/n, but we in fact don’t know what you’re talking about.” Y/n sighed and ran a hand through her hair before explaining: “Okay, well, Reid would know what I’m talking about, but there’s this sad line that a character, River Song, says about the Doctor. She says ‘When you love the Doctor, it’s like loving the stars themselves. You don’t expect a sunset to admire you back.” 

There was a pause as the other women took in and tried to understand the quote. After a few moments of silence, JJ smiled and replied, “Y/n, Spencer’s not a sunset. I think if you asked him out, you’d find that he can love you back a whole lot.” Garcia tagged on and said, “Plus, what do you have to lose by asking him out?” Y/n rolled her eyes and said, “What do I have to lose? The dynamic with the team, my friendship with Spencer? What if I tell him I like him and he doesn’t reciprocate? It could change everything on the way we interact, and it would be awkward, so basically the end of the world for me.” The blush had returned to y/n's face, and Penelope moved from her spot at the vanity and patted y/n on the shoulder before saying, “The mirror’s all yours. And y/n, try not to keep those feelings bottled up for too long. I find it does more damage to keep things inside than just admitting the truth to the other person, no matter what the fallout is.” 

The club was a lot of fun, with drinks, dancing, and plenty of girl talk. One weird guy hit on the BAU ladies, but they put him in his place quickly. When it was all said and done, the members all Ubered home to sleep. Thankfully, they had gone out on a Friday night, so the weekend promised the opportunity to sleep in late. Even though that was the plan, and it was 1:30 AM, y/n was in her bed trying to get comfortable, but Penelope's words from earlier in the night kept rattling in her head over and over again. Perhaps it was because y/n was a bit tipsy still, or she really was taking Garcia’s advice to hear, that caused y/n to pull her phone from her charger and dial Reid. 

Spencer had had a normal night. He’d cooked some pasta, written his mother a letter, reread a chapter of Anti-Oedipus, and called it a night. The genius had found it a tad bit hot in his apartment, but was too lazy to move back to his living room to turn the temperature down. Instead, he stripped down to his boxers and called it good. Reid was in a light state of sleep when he got the call. It was natural for Spence to think that it was Aaron calling to say they had a new cas,e so when he answered the phone and said, “When do you need me in the office by Hotch?” He was surprised when there was a pause and finally a soft voice on the other line saying, “Actually it’s, um, y/n. I couldn’t sleep.” Reid was already sitting up and turning on the light when he realized he’d made a mistake. Spencer sat back in his bed, balls of his feet brushing the wood floor. 

“Are you okay, y/n? You sound sad?” There was another pause, and y/n replied, saying, “I guess I am sad. Sorry, Spencer. I don’t know why I really called you. Now my fucked up sleep is going to fuck up your sleep too.” It sounded to Reid like y/n was going to hang up, so he quickly replied, “No, no, I don’t mind. Where are you? Do you want to go out?” … Y/n took an audible breath and quizzically asked, “Go out?” Reid banged his palm against his head and said, “Not ‘go out’ go out. Just, you know, get out of your apartment?” Spencer had to assume that y/n was in her apartment even though she hadn’t told him where she was. There was another pause and y/n sounded a bit disappointed as she said, “Oh, sure. That sounds nice. What’s even open at this time apart from a gas station?” Reid chuckled and replied, “Well, there’s a small coffee shop that manages to stay open 24/7. Not sure how they’re not losing money by doing that, but anyway, we could go there? I can send you the address?” Y/n hummed and said. “Yeah, sounds good, but um, Spencer, could you come and pick me up. I think I’m still a little bit tipsy from my night out. I don’t want to risk a ticket, and you know an Uber will cost an arm and a leg right now.” Reid was happy to say, “You got it, y/n. See you about twenty.” 

After a few moments of waiting, y/n put on some comfy clothes, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the living room, flipping a few lights on as she went. Slumped on the couch, y/n wondered when the hell she and Reid would talk about this late hour, and why he was being so nice right now. Not that he hadn’t been nice before, he was always kind, at least to her, but this was different than a case, and she was so new to the team that she wasn’t sure of her footing yet. Did the young Dr. court every new arrival to the BAU? Before y/n’s thoughts could spiral further, there was a soft beep-beep from outside announcing Reid’s arrival. 

In the car, y/n seemed distracted to Spencer, almost agitated, like something was eating away at her sharp sense of self. If Reid had been a stoner, he wasn’t, nor never had been, he’d have given y/n a blunt to smoke just to take the edge off of her. But he had no such drugs to offer. He hoped that he could crack whatever was bothering y/n. When it came to cases, those, those were easy to solve, people, and their personal problems were harder for Spencer to read. Reid also realized that perhaps taking y/n to a coffee shop was not the best for her personal state. What if the caffeine only made her more jittery? But Spencer thought back to all the cases where y/n had drunk a boatload of coffee, it never seemed to make her more off-kilter than before, and he hoped it would be the same this time. 

At the coffee shop, Reid parked and opened the door for y/n. They moved inside the quaint little hole in the wall and ordered - Flat white for Reid and y/f/d for y/n. As the pair settled down at a small table and waited for their drinks, there was an awkward silence until y/n said, “Sorry for getting you out of bed so late. I don’t know what I was thinking, calling you like it was an emergency or something.” Spencer let out a small sigh that could have been a laugh and said, “It’s fine, y/n. I’m never that far away from being awake with my insomnia, and I’m happy to help get you out. Not just of your house, but maybe your head too? What’s going on up there anyway?” Y/n let out a genuine sigh and could very much say, ‘Well I like you and Penny, Em, and JJ are on my ass about it, so I ended up calling you instead of any of them,’ so she opted for “I don’t know, well I do know, I just don’t know how to say it.” Y/n let out an ugh and pushed a hand through her hair before continuing, “You ever feel like River Song in that episode of Dr. Who, the one about the sunset not admiring you back?” 

Reid didn’t even wait a moment before replying, “Of course. I’ve felt that way a lot of times.” The way that Reid made the comment had y/n almost choke on her drink. She coughed a few times before saying, “What do you mean, of course? Spencer, you do know you’re like perfect, right?” Spencer chuckled and responded, “I’m just human, y/n. That means that I am very, very flawed.” Y/n snorted and retorted, “Flawed my ass. You’re a genius, the youngest person to be admitted to the FBI and the BAU, and you can read ungodly fast. How is that not perfection?” As the words slipped out of y/n’s mouth, her semi-confession caused her to flush, which she tried to hide with a napkin for a moment before she realized it only made matters worse.” 

This time Spencer took a bit longer to respond before he said, “Yes, those are all parts of me. That still makes me far from perfect. Besides, you got into the FBI and the BAU too, y/n, and you're better at math than I am. Plus, you’ve never struggled with a drug addiction, unless you’re hiding something major from me.” Y/n nodded her head no and continued to blush even worse than before after all the compliments Reid had piled on her. Spencer could deduce enough from y/n’s flushed expression that she was keen on him, and asked, “This man, or woman. The sunset, do I know them?” Y/n’s jaw just about hit the floor before she managed to pick it up and put it back in place on her face. Flustered and not liking how fast this conversation was going, she simply said, “You might have heard of him. I don’t know Reid, I just get lonely sometimes. I think I’m broken in some way.” 

Hearing this, Spencer frowned and replied, “You’re not. You’re not broken, just you. Just human. And about the loneliness. You don’t have to be, not with me. Not while I’m here.” Spencer reached his large, slender hand across the table, a small offering for her to take if she wanted it. And upon a short reflection, y/n didn’t want to take it, so she did.

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[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[mggslover]

judt thinking about reader and spencer making out and just doing stuff over clothes yk and spencer cumming his pants 🥰 (love your work btw !!)

dry humping with spencer genre: smut (18+) cw: just a bunch of variations on dry humping lol, inexperienced!spencer but his confidence grows throughout it, tit play, fingering, handjob over clothes wc: 1,6k a/n: i wrote this "drabble" so quickly, felt so inspired by your request. this was a really fun one, thank you!

From the moment you started dating Spencer Reid, you knew your relationship would be nothing like your previous ones. Not only was Spencer way kinder and more thoughtful than anyone you’ve ever dated, he was also more inexperienced.

Spencer’s lack of relationships and experience in the bedroom never posed a problem for you. In fact, you found it endearing that he was shyer than the average man, and it felt good to know you’d found someone who took your relationship seriously and wanted to take things slow before moving to the next step. 

Spencer didn’t mind all physical touch, though. You often found yourself cuddled up on the couch, facing him as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around you and his face hidden in the crook of your neck. 

As much as you tried to contain yourself, you were just a girl. And sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he held you close and smelled deliciously like leather-bound books and overly sweetened coffee, turned you on. A lot. 

So it was a little more than an accident when, one day, during a passionate makeout session on the couch, you found yourself moving your hips against him. Spencer’s response was immediate, inhaling a sharp breath against your mouth. You pressed your lips back to his in a soft peck, making him forget about it until you repeated the movement a few minutes later. He responded with a whimper, and you pulled back enough to see the slight furrow in his brows and the twinkle in his eyes, his face speaking words he was too nervous to admit. 

“Do you want me to do it again?”

Spencer swallowed, giving a hesitant nod. His nerves quickly faded into pleasure as you put your hands on his shoulders, giving you enough grip to continue your motions. Your lips found his neck, and with a couple of licks and bites, he came undone, moaning incoherent words as his hips stuttered into you.

This event became a solid foundation to build on. Spencer’s confidence grew over time. Whereas it used to be only you who touched him, Spencer now dared to explore your body as well: his hands roaming over the sides of your thighs, wandering to the curve of your ass, kneading the covered skin as you grind your body against him. 

His warm hands would glide under your shirt, leading you to assure him that he could take it off. First came your top, then your bra. The more clothes you removed, the bigger Spencer’s need was to touch you. To take control. On his own initiative, he would squeeze your breasts, biting down on his bottom lip as your nipples hardened in reaction. He’d reach out to rub the buds in circular motions, until they stood peaked enough for him to wrap his lips around them. 

You’d revel in the feel of Spencer hungrily sucking on your nipples, gripping your tits tightly in his hands. He was like a man starved, having spent all his years without the touch of a woman. He couldn’t get enough, especially not because it was you. 

After a while, you even convinced him to get rid of his shirt. He didn’t regret his decision as you showered his chest in kisses, making him feel more loved than he thought was possible.

Eventually, Spencer wasn’t intimidated by the concept of dry humping anymore. Going as far as putting you into different positions. He’d have you on your hands and knees, your back arched as he thrusted against you. His strong hand would hold you by your thigh, the other placed on your shoulder as his denim-clad bulge repeatedly pressed against the thin fabric of your leggings. The rough material of his pants gave just enough friction for you to orgasm, your face pressed into the mattress as you cried out. Spencer only stopped once his pants reflected the same wet spot as yours had. 

-`♡´-

It was on a sunny morning that you found yourself tangled up in each other on top of his bedsheets. 

The heat of the night had resulted in both of you undressing down to your underwear. You woke up with Spencer pressed against your back, sleepily grinding his cock against the swell of your ass. Your moans woke him, and in practiced ease, he pulled you into a deep kiss. 

In all the months of dating, you had never seen Spencer in his underwear before. You could predict what his cock would look like based on the feel, but seeing his hard length stand proud in his boxers, pointing up to the small patch of hair covering his stomach, was a more mouthwatering sight than you’d imagined. 

Spencer lay on his back, his upper body propped up against some bundled-up pillows. Golden streams of sunlight hit his chest, and a tired smile graced his lips.

You happily climbed on top of him, your knees bent on either side of his body. You lowered yourself down onto his bulge, a satisfied moan leaving your lips as his length perfectly fitted between the space your thighs had created. His warm brown eyes never left yours as you placed your hands on his stomach, fingers digging into the soft skin as you moved your hips up and down. The room was filled with the soft creaking of the bed and the mixture of your moans. Another thing you loved about Spencer: he was loud. A whimpering and moaning mess every time your covered pussy made contact with his bulge.

When you looked down, you caught a glimpse of the tip of his cock peeking out from underneath his boxers, revealing itself as the fabric moved with your movements. It flushed a deep shade of pink and glistened with precum, seeming to accumulate with each roll of your hips. You didn’t want to bring any attention to it, scared he’d turn self-conscious, so instead you locked your lips with his.

He bit down on your bottom lip and moved his hands to your ass, helping you quicken your movements against his cock. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him a beautiful view of your breasts as they caught the sunlight. He cupped them in his hands and thrust his hips up into you. 

His name left your lips in a high-pitched moan. “Oh, Spencer.”

“Am I making you feel good, sweetheart?”

You cried in response, nodding your head. Your sounds of pleasure always encouraged him. He felt bolder as he slipped his hand in his underwear, adjusting himself so that his tip rubbed deliciously against your soaked underwear. 

“Turn around for me, baby.” 

You turned around on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Your knees remained spread and bent, and he held you up by the back of your thighs as he slammed his bulge up into you. Your hand slipped to your underwear, rubbing your palm against your heat. Your clit stood swollen, the layer of cotton forming no barrier for your pleasure. 

Experimentally, your hand slid lower down to his cock, rubbing the length and cupping his balls over his underwear. 

“F-fuck, do that again,” Spencer breathed heavily.

You obeyed, jerking him through his boxers. You felt overwhelmed by the feeling of him, finally able to know how heavy he felt in your hands. Your fingertips softly traced the veins of his cock, and you could feel his breath heaving against your neck. He pressed a wet kiss to the sensitive skin, making you shiver. 

Spencer resumed where you left off, his hand making its way to your pussy. He hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, pulling it aside and revealing how soaked you were. “All of this for me?”

You gasped as his long fingers trailed your outer lips. The pleasure clouded your mind, and you couldn’t find the words as your boyfriend, for the first time, slipped a finger inside of you. He curled his finger skillfully, and you would’ve believed it if he told you he’d done this a thousand times. 

The warmth in your core started building faster than anticipated. You reached out to grab Spencer’s wrist in an effort to ground yourself. He didn’t stop his movements, though, pumping his finger inside of you as he rutted against you at the same fast pace. 

“Spencer, I’m-” 

Your words got cut off as a leg-shaking orgasm washed over you. Spencer let out a deep groan, and you could feel his hot release forming underneath you. 

You hurriedly got off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him as you took in the scene. His underwear was translucent from your juices, and his happy trail was coated in his thick, white cum. 

“You made a mess of me,” Spencer chuckled, his voice still hoarse from waking up. 

You gave him a dreamy smile, and he returned it with a big, goofy grin.

“You look so incredibly hot, I wish I could fuck you.”

The words escaped your lips before you realized. You always made sure not to hint at wanting anything more than he was ready for, not wanting to rush him. You nervously looked up at him, but where you expected to find your boyfriend looking uncomfortable, his eyes shone with a compelling glimmer as he licked his lips.

“I think I’m ready for that.”

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.

[heavenlybodies333]

Viagra, really? -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

All you'd wanted was to satisfy a dumb curiosity—whether or not Viagra had an effect on women. It wasn’t like you were going to pop a whole pill and throw yourself at the next human being in sight. It was just a fun, stupid experiment for a boring Wednesday afternoon. You’d split the dose in half, dropped one into each of two steaming cups of black coffee—one for you, one for JJ—and left them on your desk while you stepped away to make Dr. Spencer Fucking Reid his usual. Like you did everyday.

The man had a freakish internal clock—he always took his second coffee at exactly 3:17 PM. You were the one who usually made it for him, and this time, that was your downfall. You had left your desk to go make his usual cup, completely forgetting you’d left the two tainted ones sitting there.

When you walked back in, everything went to hell. JJ looked chipper, a little pink in the cheeks, sipping from one of the cups. Spencer was holding the other spiked one. You stared at the third cup in your hand, the safe, non-Viagra-laced cup you’d made specifically for him, and your stomach dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He noticed you staring, eyes narrowing behind those glasses.“What?”

“Nothing!” you blurted, voice too high, too guilty. “Just—coffee. You know. Love it. Can’t live without it.” JJ gave you a sidelong glance over her cup, one eyebrow rising looking over at Reid, who of course, had already half-finished the drink.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted in his seat. Twenty minutes in, he tugged at his tie. Cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, but it was.

The Viagra was definitely working.

At twenty-five minutes, Spencer Reid stopped typing mid-sentence. His hands froze over the keyboard. His brows knitted in concentration, he glanced at you. His expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly. His chair rolled back. His hand pressed low to his stomach—almost reflexively—and he muttered, “I need to step out.”

You blinked. “What?” But he didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the hallway bathroom. You turned slowly to JJ. She looked back at you. Eyes wide. “Did he just—?”

“He drank yours,” you hissed. JJ nearly choked. “Then who—?”

“I have his.” You looked at the untouched cup beside you. “You took mine. He took yours.” JJ snorted so hard she had to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” you whisper-yelled.

“I can’t believe you accidentally drugged Reid!”

“I didn’t drug him! I—okay, technically, yes, I—” You groaned. “JJ. I gave Spence a goddamn boner pill.” You dropped your face into your hands.

It took him thirty-six minutes to come back. And when he did? You knew immediately. Because he knew. His eyes landed on you with laser precision. He didn’t speak, not at first. He just walked—calmly, slowly—over to your desk. You looked up, throat dry.

“You wanna tell me,” he said angrily hushed, “why I just spent half an hour in the men’s room trying to hide a completely inexplicable erection?”

You stared at him before looking around for JJ to be your saving grace, of course that bitch was nowhere to be found. “Spencer, I can explain—”

“Can you?” His voice was low, sharp. “Because the only logical explanation is that someone laced my coffee with sildenafil citrate.”

You winced. “We were just—curious. JJ and I.”

His jaw ticked. “We?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—” You fumbled. “It was for JJ and me! I made two cups, left them on my desk, and then went to get your usual—”

“And you didn’t think to label them?” His voice cracked at the end, furious and scandalized. “You didn’t think to mention the presence of a powerful vasodilator in the office kitchen?”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“I am hard in trousers I can’t stand up in.”

You bit your bottom lip. ��Oh my God, Spencer—”

“Don’t use that tone—like I’m the one in the wrong here.”

You were fighting a laugh. He looked so mad, and so flushed, and so painfully, obviously turned on.

His slacks betrayed him completely. The sharp cut of his jacket couldn’t hide the tension in his body, couldn’t cover the way he shifted, subtle and controlled, like every move was an effort not to feel too much.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” you asked, voice low, eyes darting around.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. “I’m hard,” he whispered, “and I’ve been hard for forty-five minutes. You drugged me. You think this is funny?”

You swallowed. “No.” But your voice said otherwise.

“It’s not funny,” you said, grinning. “It’s just—”

“What?” His voice dropped. “It’s what?” He just sat there, visibly hard, visibly panicking, eyes darting toward his lap like his own body was betraying him in real time.

“Reid,” you whispered, “do you want me to take you somewhere private?”

“I—uh—what? No. I mean, yes, I just—” He exhaled sharply and pressed the heels of his palms into his thighs, like that would help the situation. “This is not... I don’t normally feel like this. Not around you. I mean, not because of you. Not—not that I don’t find you attractive, because you’re very attractive, obviously. It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for this. You dosed me.”

You tried not to laugh. “I didn’t dose you, I made a coffee laced with a questionable pharmaceutical as a joke for JJ, and you drank it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” you agreed, biting your lip. “But it does make it kind of hot.”

He gawked. “Hot?”

You leaned in, your voice hushed. “You. Like this. All flustered and mad and trying really hard to pretend you're not turned on in front of me.”

He made a wounded, embarrassed sound and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this.”

You tilted your head. “A little.”

“I could report you to HR,” he muttered, though it had no real bite. His cheeks were flushed, jaw tight with discomfort and... something else. He refused to meet your eyes.

“And what would you say?” you teased gently. “‘She accidentally gave me a hard-on in the middle of the bullpen and then looked too hot about it?’”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.” you noticed he didn’t move away when you inched a little closer, nor did he stop you when you rested your hand lightly on his knee.

He looked down at it. Then up at you. And his voice cracked a little when he asked, “What... are you doing?”

You smiled. “Making it up to you.”

“You can’t just—just seduce your way out of this,” he stammered. “This is medical. Physiological. I—I’m experiencing venous occlusion and—and increased nitric oxide—”

“God, even flustered, you’re the most ridiculously hot person I’ve ever met,” you muttered, half to yourself.

He stared at you, lips parted. “Are you serious right now?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Dead serious.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Spence,” you said softly. “Just come with me. Somewhere private. I’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Eyes searching yours like he was weighing every possible outcome. Then he stood suddenly, stiffly, clearly trying to adjust himself without making it worse.

He stared at you. Then he looked toward Hotch’s office. Empty. Toward the hallway. Quiet. Back at you.

He grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to register it. He pulled you down the hallway, fast and quiet, past the copier, past the tech room, past the old conference wing. His grip was hot and firm around your wrist

You knew where he was going before you saw the door: Storage 4C – Surplus Tech.

Dead zone. No cameras. Half the time even Garcia forgot it existed. He pulled you in. Shut the door. Locked it. Watching him pace in a tight circle, he looked like he might combust.

“This is insane,” he said. “I’ve got dopamine overload, I can’t think straight, my pants—” He gestured wildly toward his zipper. “I can’t even sit down like this.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Then don’t sit down.” He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell you meant—but before he could speak, you dropped to your knees.

“Wh—what are you—” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, sharp and panicked.

You looked up through your lashes, palms dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs. “You said you didn’t know what to do, right? So let me.” You reached up to undo his belt, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out.

“I want to,” you said simply.

He made a soft, moan when you freed him from the confines of his slacks—thick and flushed, already straining with pressure. The tip was leaking, glistening, and you could tell just how sensitive he was by the way his thighs trembled the second your breath ghosted over his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god.” You wrapped your fingers around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock. His whole body jolted.

One hand shot out instinctively and tangled in your hair, the other hovered helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

You smiled around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly, letting him feel the heat, the suction, the way your tongue curled just right. He gasped—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and his hips jerked forward before he forced himself back, muttering a frantic, “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You moaned around him in response, letting him know you liked it, and the sound dragged another whimper out of him.

He looked down at you, his face flushed, his lips parted, his expression somewhere between awe and desperation. His fingers tightened in your hair again when you took him deeper, your throat relaxing around him.

“God, you’re—” He cut off with a moan, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, deliberately, watching him unravel. He was panting now, trying and failing to keep it together. His knees buckled slightly and his grip in your hair more needy.

“I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, trying to pull you back gently. “You—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

You hummed low in your throat, and that was it. His cock twitched in your mouth as he came. you sucked harder, mouth still wrapped around him, swallowing everything, hands steady on his hips while he sagged against the wall,

You let him go with one last slow drag of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was just another Tuesday.

His eyes were still closed when you stood. Like he couldn’t quite process as you leaned in close, your voice a whisper at his ear, “I said I’d fix it,” you murmured, “consider us even.” And then you turned and walked out—leaving him dazed, pants half-open, jaw slack, completely wrecked in the supply closet of the BAU.

No shame. Just the soft sound of your boots against the tile, echoing back to him

Spencer Reid didn’t move for a full five minutes. And when he finally did, all he could say was: “…Holy shit.”

a/n: omfg it’s confirmed Matthew is coming back for season 18 of criminal minds im losing my shit

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[hanasnx]

being spencer’s secret lowkey girlfriend who also happens to work at the FBI, but in a different unit. and there’s always talk about how hot you are and spencer always hears how much people want to fuck you.

and he just has to laugh to himself because at the end of the day he’s the one who gets to fuck you into the mattress every single night 🙂‍↕️🩷

OH, SHE’S SO HOT — s.reid

“ be my addiction, material girl / wrapped ‘round my finger like diamonds and pearls ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | criminal minds. NOTES. thank god u said smthn anon ive been wanting to write about smthn like this. also im only on s1 so those are the characters i’ll be using. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established relationship ノ everybody thirsting over you is currently single ノ suggestive material.

“she’s pretty.” jennifer relents with a shrug. her curiosity gets the better of her and she leans forward for a better glimpse of you. this isn’t your unit, but you’re paying a visit to hotch over at the far side of the room. “she’s really pretty.” she muses, her tone shifting to one of admission while she sizes you up. it’s not that you’re any kind of threat or unwelcome presence, but now the wheels in jj’s head are turning, “her and hotch aren’t… they couldn’t be…” SPENCER REID, who’s been sitting politely at his desk, perks his head up. he hadn’t seen you come in, but his pen raises and his lips part, all to claim you as someone he knows until he’s interrupted.

“girl like that? c’mon. at the very least he’s thinking about it.” derek chimes in, smoothly taking an open seat in one of the desk clumps to join the gossiping throng. spencer closes his mouth, pen dropping to his lap defeatedly. jj shifts in her position, having leaned her tailbone on the edge of the desk to cross her ankles smartly. now she needs a better angle to see you and aaron’s conversation. derek gestures to your back with his hand vaguely, addressing the group like he’s an expert in using his background in profiling for this specific strain of body language. spencer obediently follows the direction, furrowed brows landing on you as he cranes his neck to see you. “look at the way he’s standing. toes pointed towards her, making eye contact. he wants her.” derek scoffs, taking a long sip from his coffee as he studies you. it’s hard to tell from just the sliver of your face visible, but he’s seen enough of you to know you’re a catch. the genius starts to scratch his head.

“guys, hate to be the buzzkill, but can we get back on task?” elle interrupts just as jj was opening her mouth to continue scheming. “we don’t know anything about her. besides, hotch isn’t the kind of guy.”

“kind of guy to what?” jj clarifies with an impish tug to her lips, pivoting her head to cast elle a sly glance.

elle meets her gaze. “to get into a workplace relationship. he’s too professional for that.” she pinches her one shoulder in a shrug as she organizes a pile of files. spencer’s lips purse, mind racing at the prospect of being judged for unprofessionalism. it did occur to him there would be some scrutiny involved, which is why you and him have mostly been sneaking around thus far. still, it’s intimidating to have it laid out like this in front of him… and oddly thrilling. his fingers begin to fiddle with the pen in his lap. big, brown eyes glance from person to person as they lead the conversation, soaking in all the information like a sponge.

“he’s a guy.” derek once again imposes his theory, and says the statement like it’s definitive. even jj rolls her eyes. spencer clenches his jaw, tilting his head to himself as if it say, yes, that’s true. i fell for it, too.

“just because you haven’t been getting any doesn’t mean you get to go and make it everyone’s problem.” the blonde teases, straightening to her full height, heels clacking as she passes behind derek, giving him a healthy pat on his shoulder while he laughs sarcastically.

“ha. ha.” it’s a dry reply, one that leaves the group quiet for a second while penelope takes the recently departed’s place. “hey, garcia.”

“hey, what’re we talkin’ about?” she asks in that perky voice of hers, it’s only the throng’s hushed tones that bring her down to their level. she ducks her head symbolically. “sorry. didn’t know we were swapping secrets.”

elle may not act amused, yet she’s still participating. “they’re talking about hotch and the new girl.”

“tattletale.” derek taunts.

“grow up.”

“the new girl?” penelope confirms quizzically, twisting her face to match her dialogue as she scans her surroundings. it’s clear when she’s spotted you because her jaw drops, “oh, she’s hot.” once again she’s scolded by her colleagues shushing her, ducking down a second time with some exclamation about how weird they’re being. semi-hidden behind a desk’s partition, she goes for a second look. she doesn’t announce to everyone that you made hotch laugh. it’s a small kind of chuckle, a clear smile on his lips. it’s something spencer notices though, and he bows his head to avert his prying eyes. he doesn’t know hotch to joke around like that, and he doesn’t like the way it feels. instead, penelope points something else out, “she kind’a looks like spencer’s type, don’t you think?” her thumbs gestures to you lazily, and everyone looks at you through a new lens.

derek sets his sights on something to antagonize, “huh. awfully quiet there, reid.” he muses as he leans over, the flat of his hand batting spencer’s shoulder to get his attention. “what d’you think of her?” he asks coolly, sinking back into the chair while he sets his ankle up on his knee.

“hm?” spencer responds as if he hasn’t been listening, pulling the pen from between his lips. he meets derek’s gaze over the coffee cup, and all derek does is point and nod towards you discretely. spencer obliges now that he’s been asked directly. “oh, um…” he takes his time. “i dunno, she’s… i dunno.” brown eyes drool down like molasses, from your hair, to your smart outfit, to the seams from your pantyhose at the backs of your calves, to your black heels. you know he loves that. he’s broken through a couple pairs of those tights because he just couldn’t wait. “she’s… you know…”

the speechlessness causes a small eruption behind him, the group swapping expressions and silent conversations about his reaction. the spencer they know would start talking about the quality of fabric you’re wearing, the history of it and how—fun fact—it started some war in some country that doesn’t exist anymore. any useless knowledge he could spit out because his brain is a computer. they don’t get a chance to break the silence, you and hotch split. hotch begins his ascent to their desk clump and you pass by. everyone averts their eyes, everyone but spencer. you’re not shy either. you hold his eye contact, you even give him a small knowing smile, and a deliberate nod. derek’s jaw seems to unhinge witnessing such an obvious bid. spencer glances back at everyone, “now, guys—now, now—“ he stutters out, trying to fit words in with innocent gestures and a nervous grin. derek’s hand clamps on his shoulder and jostles him in some kind of show of manly camaraderie.

“dr. reid, you dog!”

“she was totally looking at you, spencer!”

“oh, my god.” derek, penelope, and elle respectively all give their input just as hotch approaches.

“what’s this about?” he asks, brows knit together at such an unusual display. spencer can’t seem to answer that either, shoulders stuck in a shrug and mouth open to make some case that never gets made.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[cherrygarcia-07]

Uniform // Spencer Reid❤️

You buy Spencer a new t-shirt and he is over the moon to be so publicly yours (despite some teasing from his friends).

pairing: spencer x girlfriend! reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.6k

notes: nothing really! cursing once. I really like this one, just a lot of lovey dovey spencer and a lot of derek and penelope being everyones favourite chaotic duo bullying their baby brother 😚

masterlist

——————————————————————————❤️——————————————————————————

“How do you feel about Star Wars tonight?” Spencer asked as he shuffled over to where you were curled up on the couch of your shared apartment, a bowl of popcorn in one hand.

“I hear you.” You began, lifting one side of the blanket up so he could slide in beside you.

“But?” Spencer raised a brow at you, suppressing the ‘I know what’s coming’ smirk pulling at his lips as you rested your weight against him.

“Hear me out.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.” He muttered, tossing more popcorn in his mouth.

“Pitch Perfect.” You grinned, giving him your best puppy dog eyes in plea.

Spencer hummed as he nodded as if to say I knew it, tilting his head to look at you while trying his best to hide the adoration all over his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong- and I’m not-“ you rolled your eyes, “but I believe you’ve made me watch Pitch Perfect 6 times over the past 2 months already.”

“Go for lucky 7?” you urged, putting on your best sweet voice as you rested your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him through batting lashes. “If you don’t say yes then you’re a great big liar.” You grumbled, pointing a finger at the print on his t-shirt.

His brows furrowed in that adorable way you loved as he glanced down at his shirt. He let out an exasperated chuckle as he realised what you were referring to. In large white & red lettering read the words I ❤️ MY GIRLFRIEND , bold and clear across his chest.

You’d gotten it for him on Valentine’s day. You always joked that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and despite him usually being a relatively private person he never shied away from bragging about you any opportunity he got (in fact he invented the opportunity himself more times than not just to give your name an excuse to leave his lips). You figured why not wear his heart on his chest too? He’d blushed when he saw it, a dopey smile on his face as he read it. He’d made you laugh, loud and heartily, with the way he immediately abandoned the shirt he was wearing, fingers fumbling with his buttons as a lovesick haze clouded his brain. Before you could even blink he was donning his new attire, a goofy but proud look in his eyes and your heart soared at the sight.

“I hardly think one’s willingness to watch Pitch Perfect every week is an accurate measurement of one’s love.” He smirked, pulling your legs into his lap, rubbing your calf with a gentleness that contradicted the sarcasm dripping from his words. “Especially if we’re basing it on a t-shirt.”

With a playful huff, you tried to pull your legs back in protest, only to end up tighter in his grasp as he pulled you in closer and you found yourself unable to hold back the giggle bubbling in your throat. His free arm wrapped around you and he laughed back as his hand guided your head to his shoulder with a loving touch.

“I’m kidding. You know we can watch whatever you want to anytime, sweetheart.” He spoke with a softness that would put the clouds to shame. He turned his head slightly to press a light kiss to your forehead before adding, “even if I could recite the script to you in my sleep by now.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you retorted. “You could do that with literally any movie, mr eidetic memory.” Smiling to yourself, you raised a finger to his shirt and lazily traced the red heart on his chest, revelling in the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through you over your boyfriend’s selfless eagerness to make you happy.

The bickering went on for just a little while longer before you finally began the movie, fitted against one another on the couch like pieces of a puzzle. It was about 45 minutes into the movie and you were both beginning to grow a little drowsy when there was a sudden knock at the door. With a groan, you pulled your head from where it still rested on Spencer’s shoulder and began to rise to your feet.

“No, no, I got it.” Spencer muttered beside you, gently pushing you back to the cushions and quickly tucking you back underneath the blanket before padding towards the door with a yawn. He ran a hand through his hair as he swung the door open, confused to see Derek standing on the other side, a book in one hand and his phone in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer grumbled as he checked the time on his watch.

“It’s nice to see you too.” Derek retorted with a raised brow. “You left this on your desk, genius.” He held out the huge brick of a book he’d been holding, waving it in front of Spencer’s face as he waited for him to take it.

“Oh, thanks.” Spencer took the book, placing it rather haphazardly on the small table by the door. “I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten it.”

“Too eager to get home to your girl, huh?” Derek teased as he glanced across the room at you half asleep on the couch. He moved to focus back on Spencer and his gaze dropped as he took in his slightly crumpled clothes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he read the print on the t shirt. Instantly amused, Derek laughed and rubbed his hands together with a mischievous shine in his eyes. “Now, what the hell are you wearing, loverboy?”

A blush immediately crept up Spencer’s neck and to his cheeks as he remembered what the hell he was wearing, the heat of embarrassment pricking at his skin as he hastily crossed his arms in front of his chest in a too-late attempt to conceal it.

“It-“ A loud exhale left his nostrils as he dragged his hands down his face. “It’s nothing. It’s my pyjamas. Why are you still here?” He cringed at the way his voice rose an octave higher, cracking like a teenage boy’s. His arms hung rigid in the air for a moment, unsure whether to return to his face or his side before resorting to crossing in front of his shirt again.

“Nah, come on- don’t do that. Let me see, pretty boy.” Derek grinned, reaching for Spencer’s wrists before being firmly swatted away. “I heart my girlfriend, huh? Does she have a matching one?”

“Did you come all this way just to bully me in my own apartment?”

“Hey I’m not bullying.” Derek raised his hands, his voice adopted a teasing tone as he continued. “In fact I think it’s adorable. Very cute, Romeo.”

Spencer groaned, hand gripping the door in preparation to shut it in his face.

“Thank you for bringing me my book.” He began, deadpan as he slowly began closing the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Derek jammed his foot in the door, still beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “You didn’t answer my question, Reid.”

“What question?” He sighed for what felt like the 50th time during this whole conversation as he lightly kicked the shoe out of the door’s way. It was a miracle he even had any breath left in him.

“Does she have a matching one?”

“Yes.” Spencer surrendered, punctuating his sentence with a hard slam of the door, ignoring the laughter echoing down the hallway on the other side.

A few moments later you felt the couch dip next to you, stirring you awake after you had nodded off while Spencer was at the door. Blurry vision barely made out the movie you’d begged for still playing on the TV, though it had long since been forgotten in the hypnotic presence of your boyfriend. Your vision began to clear as you awoke a little more and you turned to see him beside you, watching the way you gazed up at him through heavy eyelids.

“Who was that?” You mumbled as he pulled you back into his lap.

“My test from God.” He replied, caressing your legs over the blanket as if to soothe himself more than you.

“Derek?” You asked and he hummed his response, nodding.

The rest of the night the two of you remained curled up against one another, blanket intertwining you as you both fell in and out of sleep on the couch, staying there long after the movie had ended- neither one of you having the energy to break out of eachother’s grasp. Eventually, under some mostly-asleep zombified state neither of you would recall in the morning, you made your way to your bed and flopped down onto the soft mattress, bodies absentmindedly finding eachother again instantly and you fell asleep for good wrapped up in his arms.

-

Spencer walked into the bullpen, sipping the sugary coffee you’d made him before he left from the thermal mug in his hand and nodding his good mornings to the team. He plopped himself down in his chair, stretching for a second before unpacking his bag onto his desk. He didn’t get far into his work before his bubble of peace was abruptly burst, a familiarly grating voice materialising behind him.

“Hey, lover.” Drawled Derek’s voice. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut like an automatic response, a dramatic sigh leaving him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed internally.

“Are we really still doing this?” He tried to keep his voice low and even as if he didn’t care but the slight squeak in his words betrayed him.

“Depends.” Derek leaned over his desk, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do you still heart your girlfriend?”

Spencer stayed silent. Both in protest to his friend’s teasing and in silent agreement that despite his reluctance to the conversation, he very much does still heart his girlfriend.

“How come you’re not in uniform today?” Derek continued, gesturing to his usual cardigan and subtly patterned button up combo.

Sipping his coffee in a feigned display of nonchalance, he responded “that would hardly be professional workplace attire.”

“Maybe we should get you a mug. Can’t let anyone walk around here not knowing how much you love your girl, huh?”

Spencer rolled his eyes at the way Derek shook his shoulder as he laughed, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t genuinely considering it. He was somebody who lived to share his knowledge, always jumping at the chance to ramble about whatever topic presented itself, barely stopping to breathe as his words spilled into one another as his mind moved faster than his mouth could keep up. He could lecture about anything between the vastness of space and the tiny specks of dirt in the ground, an endless supply of topics floating around in that library of a brain but his favourite one to talk about was undoubtedly and unabashedly you. Something that lived on his desk as a constant invitation to talk about you? Well quite frankly, that seemed like a dream.

“Oh, leave him alone.” A new bubbly voice accompanied by the clacking of heels broke him out of his thoughts and he turned his head to see Penelope strut into the room. “It’s not embarrassing to be in love.”

“How do you-“ Spencer began, eyes darting between the two of them with an accusatory look. “You told Garcia?”

“You’re the profiler, honey.” Penelope chirped, tapping him on the nose with the fuzzy topper of her neon pink pen. “Should’ve seen that coming.”

He leaned back in his chair, utterly defeated as he let the teasing continue. He felt like a ping pong ball being batted between the two of them as they carried on for what felt like hours, only stopping when Hotch left his office to remind them that they do in fact have jobs to be getting to, although even he had the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he dispersed them.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, pulling his chair closer into his desk to get started as the sound of Penelope’s heels faded further away behind him- until they suddenly stopped.

“Oh- and hey, Reid!” She called. He turned to face her, brows furrowing as he watched her raise her phone in the air. “Thanks for the new lockscreen!”

Spencer’s eyes widened in what felt like slow motion as he realised what he was looking at. A slightly blurry, slightly off centre photo of him half awake in his doorway sleepily modelling the t-shirt. At a speed that risked whiplash, he spun to face Derek who was already brandishing the biggest shit-eating grin Spencer had ever seen on him- which was saying a lot. He’d been so focused on getting back to you he hadn’t even registered the phone in his friend’s hand when he answered the door.

“I’m sorry man. I’m sorry.” Derek raised his hands in surrender, though it didn’t take a profiler to see he was in fact quite proud of his work.

Spencer groaned and dragged his hands down his face again. It was going to be a long day.

-

Coming home felt like stepping through the door into dreamland, the harsh floor of the hallway outside melting into soft cotton beneath Spencer’s feet as he walked into your shared space. The weight of the day crumbled instantly as he heard your voice ring through the apartment. You were singing to yourself from the bedroom, the sound like a rope that lassoed him and pulled him to you without a second thought. He pushed open the door, body slumping in relaxation as you turned to face him with a smile.

“Spence!” You sang, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him fall into you as he buried his face in your neck. “How was work?”

“Long.” His voice was muffled against your skin. “Missed you.”

You ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his head as you chuckled at his broken sentences. For a genius who seemingly had an inability to stop talking, he sure had a limited vocabulary when it came to your affection. Even the lightest touch from you was enough to render him speechless, IQ slashed catastrophically as his brain melted from the heat of your fingertips against his scalp.

“I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and you could’ve sworn you heard him purr.

He pulled away slightly, aching to see your face and if his brain was faltering before it had stopped working all together now. He froze as he glanced down at your clothes, gentle hands finding their way to your waist. A black t-shirt with the words I ❤️ MY BOYFRIEND across your chest.

“I, um. I like your shirt.” He stammered eventually, voice thick with affection.

“Spence, you’ve seen it a thousand times.” You giggled, dropping your hands to rest on his shoulders. “You gave it to me, actually.”

It only seemed right, he’d thought, that you have a matching set.

“Have you been wearing that all day?” He asked, and his heart fluttered when you nodded. Spencer laughed lovingly as he pictured you walking around the grocery store, or the post office, or wherever you had been today with those words openly declared to the world. Suddenly, the whole day of teasing was forgotten, discarded like it never happened and he found himself itching to get changed.

You frowned slightly as he pulled away from you, though it was quickly replaced by an equally confused and thoroughly entertained smile as you watched him scramble to pull off his cardigan, fingers struggling with the buttons of his shirt in his excitement.

“What the hell are you doing?” You laughed, watching him grab his matching shirt from the closet.

“Well, as Morgan pointed out.” Spencer began, pulling it over his head and smoothing out the print so there was no doubt about what it said. “I wasn’t in my uniform.”

-

[ddejavvu]

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

[secretlovezz]

----------♡

Spencer Reid who's always looking for a chance to touch you.

Whether that be by attempting to subtly touch his thigh or knee to yours when sat next to each other on your way back home from a case, or letting the tips of his fingers brush against yours when handing you something like paperwork or coffee at the office.

He likes to think he's doing a good job at touching you in ways you might not notice. So admittedly he's been getting bolder. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help but want your attention. Placing a gentle hand on your waist when he is trying to get by you, or swiping an eyelash off of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

The way you look at him afterward is the most rewarding part of it all, eyes slightly widening at his sudden audaciousness and lips parted in utter astonishment. He'd do anything to get you to look at him like that all of the time, to be yours.

He wants to wake up in the morning with you in his arms, whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you drift awake so you can hold him too. He dreams of wrapping his arms around your torso while you bake even though he knows you would get annoyed with him for being in the way. He longs for a moment where he gets to hold your hand and interlock your fingers with his while he gives you pleasure.

But for now, he'll cherish the little moments- the lingering touches he so often yearns for will satiate him for now.

[briefkittenearthquake]

I like my men smart

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Dolls World [Spencer x Reader]

Photo Credits: Left (@starvingphilosofer) Center (@heyvs) Right (@anjukaji)

Prompt: A kidnapper is kidnapping women and torturing them. When y/n gets taken, Reid does everything he can to save her, but it’s too late. 

Pairing: Spenver x BAU-Reader

Category: Angst/Whump/No Happy Ending. 

Word Count: 11.1K

Content Warnings: Kidnapping, burns, torture [reader], intimidation, fear, submission. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! I know it has been a long, long time since I’ve posted, and that’s for many reasons that I don’t want to get into today. I return with a hecking long Spencer fic, and I hope you enjoy it. That being said, thank you to everyone who has kept up with me, or to any new readers or followers! Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! P.s. I haven’t edited this a lot for grammar, I’m just now jumping back into writing, sorry for any major errors. Love Levi - ❤️ 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/h/c = your hair color 

y/e/c = your eye color 

y/l/n = your last name 

As Spencer listened to the witness give his comments on finding the body in the field, his breath billowed up like smoke in the cold autumn morning. He shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around his slender frame, and locked back into the conversation. “Yeah. When I saw the body at first, I thought it was some kind of prank. It looked like a mannequin, and I got out of my truck to put it in my truck bed to haul it to the dump. It was when I touched the body that I realized it was a person in there.” The rugged-looking man shuddered at the memory of the cold, clammy skin of the victim. Reid nodded along. It must have been a real shock. He cleared his throat and asked, “What did you do when you realized it was a person?” The man shuffled on the ground and replied, “Well, I called the cops, of course. What else was I supposed to do?” Spence nodded again and asked, “You said you thought this might be a prank. Do people play pranks on your property often? Would you say you have any enemies?” The man let out a nervous laugh and replied, “Every now and then. There are some damn kids down the road that have done a thing or two. Vandalism, letting the chickens out, but they wouldn’t do whatever… whatever this is.” The comment couldn’t stop Spence from looking back at the victim and cringing harshly. 

y/n was close to the body, leaned up against a fence with a camera documenting every odd element of the victim. The bright flash only made the scene more eerie. The light flashed off the porcelain mask that was half slipped off the young woman’s face. Apart from the mask, which had a shocking likeness of the victim's face except for its paleness, and the outfit, like that of a little girl, nothing seemed to be wrong with the body. The woman’s eyes were open, glazed over, and staring into the sky that was cloudy and threatening to rain at any moment. Reid couldn’t help but look at y/n for a moment longer as she nimbly knelt on the ground to take the shots needed for further examination. The man standing beside Spencer cleared his throat, and the genius whipped his head forward again as the man asked, “So, are we done?” Dr. Reid let out a soft breath and nodded yes. Being given the all clear, the man moved away and down the gravel path toward the small barn on his property in upstate New York. 

Derek rambled up toward the lean agent and said, “Imagine how Garcia’s gonna be when she gets a load of this.” Spencer didn’t want to think about that and just gave a soft grunt as a response. Morgan furrowed his brows and asked, “What’s wrong, pretty boy? Not in a talking mood.” Derek followed Spence’s gaze to y/n, who was now talking to Emily and Hotch about the victim. Morgan let out a chuckle and commented lightly, “You know you could just tell her, Reid. The worst thing is that she says no.” Dr. Reid huffed and said, “That’s easy for you to say, Morgan; women seldom say no to you.” Derek was about to respond to Spence’s self-deprecation, but the pair was called over by Rossi as they were headed back to the station to regroup and deliver the profile now that they had his new piece of the puzzle. 

Back at the Idaho Presinct, McAllen Presinct, Aaron and Morgan stood at the front of the room. The rest of the team flanked them to add any needed information or grab anything either man needed. Hotch started by reintroducing the team and then jumping into the profile: “Good morning, and thank you for taking the time to listen to us. We’ll make this as brief as possible so you can get back to your shift and look for these missing women. The profile we’re about to give you may have some changing variables. The usefulness for you with this information is trying to find a suspect that matches said description we are about to give. Even a feeling is a good place to start with a case like this. 

Morgan stepped up and continued, “This case is made harder because of the vicinity to the border and, more importantly, the city of Juarez. The number of people fleeing that area due to the drug trade might be a great cover for the unsub or unknown subject. He might also be luring victims across the border with promises of sneaking them into the States. That’s a possibility, it’s also a possibility that one of the cartels is having a new initiation for new members of taking a mark and torturing them to death, which is already common practice with many gangs. Either way, the unsub has found a great place to kidnap and kill people. Aaron then spoke again, clarifying, “The unsub has a specific type of woman that he is looking for, as all of those taken so far have had y/h/c and y/e/c and a specific body type. These factors make it easier to identify possible targets, but so far, no correlation has been found between the missing women, and with the addition of the first body, it seems that there might be some kind of ritualistic element involved as a mask highly resembling the woman’s face was found on the body. We’re going to analyze the mask and see if anything comes from it. We will let you know. As for now, we suspect a white man in his thirties to fifties, with possible ties to the cartel, looking for women to exploit or for an unknown personal use. If you have any questions, please let Ms. Jareau or any of the team know, and we’ll be happy to answer them. That’s it for now, thank you for your time. 

The BAU did what they could with the limited knowledge they had so far about the victim and the unsub, but mostly it was a process of eliminating the primary and secondary cartel rings rather than outright finding a culprit. The guess was that the unsub was a domineering man who saw women as objects to control, but with machismo being such a large part of the culture in that part of Texas, that descriptor defined a lot of men’s views of women. It wasn’t until a spectral analysis of the mask that was found on the victim came back that any real progress was made. The mask was mostly made of plaster and reinforced porcelain, which was a strange find. Not only that, but a larger amount of terra cotta powder was found in the mix as well. As Aaron brought up this fact to the sheriff, the man nodded his head and replied, “Yeah, well, the terra cotta makes sense, there’s an abandoned saltillo and terra cotta plant on the far side of town. It’s mostly used for drug deals now, but I have no clue about it. Ain’t nobody I know around here that would use anything porcelain. Most stuff at the store is Talavera or plastic.” Hotch acknowledged the information and said, “Thank you, Sheriff. Morgan, Reid, y/n, I want you to go out and check out the grounds of that old kiln and factory. See if there’s any sign of life or the victims. Go in hot, we don’t know what this unsub is capable of yet.” The trio nodded and checked their gun holsters before moving out into the cold, bright Texas sun and toward the van. 

As Morgan, Spencer, and y/n moved southward, Aaron, Rossi, and Emily stayed behind to call around about the new leads and have Garcia work her magic on the new info. It was a nice feeling to have something to do after such a lull in the case. 

At the plant, the trio got out of the van that y/n had been driving and looked around the outside first. It was mostly dusty, with the sides of the metal and cement structure old and soot-covered from the fire of the kilns. The tall, brittle grasses moved slowly with the wind. As the team walked to the back of the large building, they saw a few junked-out cars that were rusting and had parts missing from under the hood. Most shocking, however, was a nondescript white Subaru that had no license plates and dark-tinted windows. y/n raised an eyebrow at Derek and Reid. Morgan pulled out his gun and said, “We’re not alone, it seems. Let’s head inside and see who we find.” The other agents slipped their guns out of their holsters and kept them lowered to the ground for safety as they slipped off the safety. 

Morgan took point and walked to the front of the building and tried to slowly open the door. Unfortunately, it gave out a loud creak, meaning that the person inside most likely heard their approach. Not wanting the unsub to possibly get away, Derek softly called, “Let’s split up. I’ll take the center, Reid, y/n you take left and right.” The other agents nodded as they threaded their way through rows and rows of shelves housing dusty orange stacks of tiles and shingles and all manner of pottery. There wasn’t a back door to the building, so the unsub only had one way out, through a member of the team. All of the lights in the building were out, and as y/n moved carefully along the side of the wall, trying to stay as hidden and shielded as possible. Plumes of silt and dust filled the air each time she took a step, and she had to pull her shirt over her nose to stop from coughing at the particulates filling her lungs. 

Reid was doing the same on the opposite side of the building. He felt something in his stomach twist, and he looked to his left. There was an old metal staircase that was roped off with a faded sign reading, “Mangers only.” He took a moment to asses. It was possible that the unsub was in one of the upper offices. However, Reid assumed that the kidnapper would have made noise if they had tried getting up the stairs, and he would have heard that. With that in mind, he continued moving forward toward the back of the building. The lanky agent was moving faster than Morgan or y/n as his sense of dread increased. He made it to the back of the building and saw the few small, sad windows letting in light into the dim space. Spencer turned around and wondered if the unsub was possibly upstairs. Just as he did this, he heard a creak from the upper level, but it was too late as a figure wearing a mask dropped from the second floor and onto Spencer. 

The figure wasn’t big, but the impact was enough of a surprise that Reid stumbled backward. The figure was holding a loaded gun and smacked Spencer on the temple hard enough to stun him and draw blood. Reid saw stars for a second and grunted. The sound of the commotion echoed through the large room, and y/n and Derek came running. As soon as they saw the figure on top of their friend with a gun pointed at his head, they both slowed and lowered their weapons. The masked figure said, “Good choice. You’re both going to do everything I say, or you’ll be cleaning your colleague's brains out of this dirt. If I even sense you’re trying to trick me I I’ll shoot, do you understand?” 

Helpless, Derek and y/n clearly nodded yes. The figure replied, “Good. You, girl, step over here nice and slow. I have the keys to the car in my back pocket. Come and get them. y/n shot a very small look at Morgan, who nodded for her to do as she was being told. y/n took a step forward, but the figure said, “Stop. First, take your gun and the other agent's gun and set them on the side of the wall over there.” The unsub just turned their chin over to the wall with the windows a few feet away. y/n sighed and disarmed Morgan. She was slow and cautious with her steps. She made sure the unsub could see the weapons with each step so the person wouldn’t do anything to Reid. As soon as the first task was done, y/n continued slowly and painfully doing as she had been told. She didn’t step too close to Spencer, even though she wanted to see how the genius was. Instead, she kept a wide breadth and moved behind the sub. The person was a woman as y/n got closer to the figure. It was obvious despite her baggy clothing. y/n moved her hand to the woman’s back left pocket and fished out the keys. 

Once the keys were free of the unsub's pocket, she said, “Good, now go stand back by the other agent. If I see you do anything with those keys I’ll remind you again that I have a happy trigger finger.” y/n nodded and again moved back to Derek’s side. Both Morgan and y/n cringed, and the woman pistol-whipped Spencer in the head, rendering him unconscious and bleeding in the dirt and silt. The woman then pointed the gun at Morgan and said, “Alright, you two. Move slowly toward the door If either of you try shit it’s curtain for all three of you. Now put your hands above your head and start walking along the left-hand side wall in a single file. The girl goes first. The agents did as told, even though it went against every instinct in their bodies to leave Reid on the ground like this. When Morgan got to the wall, he felt the barrel of the unsub’s gun at his back pressing into the fabric of his shirt. Both y/n and Derek considered how much of a distraction and damage could happen if they could only throw or tip one of the tile-laden shelves over. However, there was too much risk in such an act. No matter what they’d thought of the unsub before, she was far more accomplished than either of them had ever expected. Once the painful process of getting to the door of the building was finished, the woman barked, “Alright, stop both of you.” Both agents again complied, and without any notice, the unsub hit Derek on the head like she had with Reid. The tall athletic agent crumpled to the ground and y/n whipped around to retaliate, but again was met with the barrel of a loaded gun. 

y/n was pissed off that both of her friends had been harmed and asked, “You better have a grand plan here.” There was a scoff and a look of defiance behind the eyes of the unsub who replied, “Oh, I’ve got plans for you. You’re just his type. Now, little miss, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get into that car while I have this little toy pointed at you the whole time. I’ll get into the passenger seat, and you’re going to drive and follow my directions. And don’t think that I’m not willing to kill a fucking FBI agent. There are lots of women that I can use for him, but I think he’s really gonna like you. So let’s get this show on the road before either of your friends wakes up.” The unsub gestured with her chin, a sharp and jagged movement for y/n to move toward the car, which y/n did. y/n kept her hands above her head as she walked. She squinted into the harsh sun as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, which contrasted with the dark of the building interior. 

In the car, y/n carefully turned the key once her captor was inside, the unsub's gun pointed at y/n’s head the whole time. y/n kept her hands steady on the wheel and eyes on the dusty, barely paved roads they were traveling down. The first hour was very stressful and y/n had the feeling that at any might her brains might be blown out of her head. However, after that, the unsub seemed to start to fidget a bit. It seemed she was uncomfortable in her seat with the sun in her eyes and hot with her mask covering her mouth and nose. After a few more minutes, the woman gave up and took off the fabric covering her face, and took a deep breath. y/n still didn’t look at the woman but could tell something had shifted. All the bravado was wearing off as the woman’s adrenaline waned. y/n felt that if she kept not engaging and just doing as told, the unsub would break soon. True to her prediction, a few minutes later the woman said in a shaky voice, “I’m sorry for what’s gonna happen to you. I really am, but I can’t let him down.”

y/n took a split second to look at the blonde-haired woman who looked more like a suburbanite than a kidnapper. y/n placed her gaze back on the paved road and replied. “You don’t have to do this. Whoever makes you do it, we can stop them. We can keep you safe. We’re alone, all you have to do is let me call my team. You have me as collateral already, why not get help?” The unsub was struggling now as she tried not to cry as she replied, “I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’re life isn’t worth what not doing this will cost you. Now, no more talking. You can’t change my mind, just know that I’m sorry.” y/n’s hands tightened on the wheel of the car, with the way the woman was talking, perhaps there was hope of getting out of this situation before it got too out of hand. Now, what it came down to was timing. As much as y/n was concerned for herself, she couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer and how he’d looked sprawled out on the ground, blood quickly pooling below his head. The image was going to haunt her until she knew that he was okay. 

y/n and Spencer’s history was complicated by many things. The first was that when y/n had first joined the team, the genius was just coming off Dilaudid, and he had seen y/n’s hiring as a challenge to his role on the team. Therefore, he’d been a bit more than standoffish for a few months, and that had created tension between the team. Finally, Reid saw the failure of his actions and apologized, but the damage to their relationship had been done. It took months for the two younger members of the team to fully mesh. Then they had meshed and meshed well, and Spencer felt stupid for having been so rude at the start of their working relationship. They’d become pretty good friends and then, with a bit of hesitation from Spencer, went on a few dates. It was fun and it felt safe, and so when y/n had asked if he’d wanted to take it further, to try at more commitment, Spencer had gently rejected the idea. He had been too comfortable with what they had to want to risk losing it. That choice had hurt y/n, but she understood where Reid was coming from. After all, he was still only getting his feet back under him from his ordeal with drugs, but that didn’t mean that y/n didn't hold out hope that one day they might be something more. Now, as she got farther and farther away from the team and moved toward the unknown, she prayed that Spence was alright and that he’d find her. Deep down in her heart, she knew that somehow Spencer would always find her in one way or another. 

Reid’s head was pounding, and it felt all fuzzy. Even the low voices in the background seemed distant and far off, even though he knew they were right above him. Then suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, he came back to awareness. He was strapped to a gurney being wheeled toward an ambulance, and the bright light of the outside momentarily blinded him. That didn’t stop him from trying to sit up, but one of the paramedics held his shoulder down and said, “Hold on there, buddy. Everything is going to be okay.” Reid tried to respond, but his mouth felt like cotton. Thankfully, Emily saw him gain awareness, and she and Rossi moved over to his side as he got closer and closer to the ambulance. With some effort, Spencer said, “Where are Morgan and y/n?” Emily shot Rossi a look before replying, “Derek’s already on the way to the hospital. It looks like he got hit a little harder than you.” Spencer nodded, eyes wide, waiting for a comment about y/n. It seemed to take a moment before Rossi then said, “And y/n, well, she got taken by the unsub.” Reid’s eyes went wide, and he repeated, “She was taken?” Emily nodded yes, but quickly said, “But we have a lot of information about the unsub now. Morgan was able to tell us a lot before he was carted off. We have a BOLO on the car, and I’m sure we’ll find y/n soon.” As sure as Spencer was that the BAU was doing everything they could to find y/n a pit of dread formed in his stomach like a thorn in his side, but he didn’t have time to ask for more details as he was loaded into the transport vehicle with Rossi shouting, “We’ll see you at the hospital,” before the doors were closed. 

Before Aaron or Dave even got to the hospital, Reid had been told to lie back down three times as he tried to get up and get some more paper. He was going through sheets and sheets of it, as the drugs he was on were making it hard to remember important details about the unsub. When Hotch did arrive, the leader of the BAU considered saying, “Are we writing a memoir now, Reid?” but refrained. Aaron knew that Spence’s relationship with y/n was complicated. Instead, he just gave the facts they had so far. “y/n’s phone was thrown out of the unsub’s car seventy miles from the warehouse. Garcia is triangulating the area to see if she can find out any more information. Morgan told us what happened to him. I’d like to hear your side of things.” Spencer nodded and looked at his notes, and jumped into his side of things, speaking at a mile a minute. In some moments, Aaron had to slow the agent down so he could catch up with what was being said. 

The hospital had diagnosed Reid with a minor concussion and was required to hold him for seven hours just to make sure that he didn’t have any worse effects than a headache and some blurred vision every now and then. The same thing applied to Morgan, who was also very anxious about getting out of his uncomfortable hospital bed and finding the person who had taken y/n. When he described his experience with the unsub to Emily, he had said, “You know she was such a small figure, I didn’t think she’d have the power to knock me out like that. I mean, her hands looked neat and clean, almost like she had her nails done. That’s not the type of person I expect to be out kidnapping women. I mean she drive a freaking Subaru!” Em had nodded and tried to calm Derek, who kept speaking. “I thought for sure when I came to that y/n would be right there with us, or outside somewhere.” There was a look of sadness and disappointment on Morgan’s face. Emily knew immediately that he must feel like he had failed y/n in some way. The brunette-haired agent stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Morgan’s shoulder and said, “We’ll find her. Derek. We’re gonna get her back or die trying.” 

It felt like hours since y/n had been told to drive and just keep driving. The gas can was almost empty now, and y/n’s own energy reserves had long since left. It was hard for her to even keep her eyes on the road. Thankfully, after over four and a half hours of driving on unnamed roads, the captor and captive arrived at a quaint farmhouse with a white picket fence and an old red Ford parked out front. The house seemed to be three stories with a few pretty windows, and a mother-in-law's house a few feet from the outside of the main home. There was something about that space that leaked an eerie cold into y/n’s bones. Instinctively, y/n shivered and looked back at the main house. There was a little less comfort there, but at least it was better. 

The voice of the unsub shocked y/n back into awareness as she said, “Funny, everyone who comes here has that reaction. Maybe I should have know there was something wrong with him, but I’m just a mom, there’s not much I could do at this point.” y/n furrowed her brows. This was valuable information being given, but she was just too exhausted for the pieces weren’t quite lining up in her head to make a coherent picture. Agent y/l/h did see the large blond-haired man; she was assuming this was the unsub’s husband came up to the driver’s side door of the car. y/n knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. This was a make-or-break moment, maybe she could talk her way out of this, or make a run for it. The image of the woman with the doll mask flashed in front of her, and for a second, y/n considered that there might be a fate worse than death waiting for her inside one of those houses. However, the cold barrel of the woman’s pistol at the temple of her head was enough to remind her she was a federal agent, and she might not be the last victim of this pair of killer kidnappers. If it didn’t end well for her, perhaps it would mean she’d be able to save another woman put in the same position. Not that she thought she was going to die. She was going to do everything in her power to stay alive. 

The man got to the car quickly and opened the door to the car. He made no introductions as he dragged y/n from the seat of the car by her wrists and slipped them into a pair of zip cuffs. When this was done, the man dragged y/n toward the front door of the main house. The man was wearing a bandana that covered his nose and mouth. He hardly looked at y/n as they moved inside. y/n did her best to try and observe things around the first floor of the home. It seemed pretty sparse apart from some family photos and what was probably second-hand furniture that didn’t match at all. y/n looked at one of the photos near the steps up to the second and third floor. The picture showed the family smiling, though it didn’t reach anybody’s eyes but one of the little boys in the image. The mother and father were standing in the back, and each had a hand on a small boy. The father’s hand rested on the older boy’s shoulder while the mother’s dainty hands rested on the younger child’s plaid shirt. It was clear that y/n was looking too hard as her hair was yanked hard by the root, and the man manhandling her said, “Keep moving” in a gruff voice. 

y/n was pulled up all three flights of stairs. In the attic, y/n was hauled to the side of the room near the high window, and her hands were strung up by a hook hanging from the ceiling. The hook was high enough up that y/n’s feet didn’t have much purchase on the ground, and her arms strained as they took most of her weight. She pulled her eyes away from the man who was fiddling with some more zip ties and tried to get a sense of her bearings. The room was large, and there were bottles of cloudy-looking liquids of various colors along with multiple masks like the one found on the victim’s body. From looking out the window, y/n could tell they were very far from anything close to a city. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were multiple towns over from McAllen at this point. The idea was upsetting. They hadn’t driven near any major cities, so it was unlikely that the car she was driving had been picked up on any cameras. The vials on the shelf were a start to something. They looked like embalming fluid that a mortician might use, so perhaps the team could find that helpful if traces were left at the site. y/n found it strange that embalming would be part of the process, as the first victim they had found hadn’t been embalmed. She was so freshly dead, in fact, that rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet. 

As her legs were attached to the floor with new zipties and a chain, y/n wanted to beg for a chance to be let go, for anything else than what was happening at the moment. However, her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. She tried to say anything but coughed as a rag was roughly pushed in her mouth, followed by a long strip of duct tape over her lips. y/n struggled against the intrusion in her mouth and was quickly rendered blind as a blindfold was placed over her eyes. It became apparent to y/n that something was on the rag as her head felt woozy and she lost consciousness. 

Reid was out of the hospital and panicking over y/n. He hadn’t sat down or stopped moving for hours, even though the doctors had prescribed rest for the next week. Morgan was looking at the tire imprints and had matched them with the type of car the unsub drove, however, the popular model made the information almost useless. Frustrated and upset at not being able to make more progress, Spencer half yelled, “There has to be more. This can’t be all there is.” Hotch looked at the genius from across the table and said, “Reid, calm down. Getting worked up won’t help y/n or anyone else.” At the command, Spence slammed his hands on the table and snapped, “Don’t tell me how to feel, Hotch. I was there, you weren’t.” At the sudden hostility, Rossi quickly stood and said, “Okay, okay, okay, I think it’s time we had a breather outside.” The older agent stood and took Spencer’s arm in his and led the lean man outside the doors of the police station. Reid was flushed and crumpling the medical report he had been holding at the time as he tried to calm down. It was proving harder than he had anticipated. As he and Dave walked in an awkward silence down the empty street, Reid considered that perhaps all of his pent-up feelings for y/n were getting to his head, and her being taken had broken the dam to those buried emotions. 

y/n woke when she was roughly pushed by the shoulder. She grunted against her gag and could see that it was bright outside, possibly a whole day had elapsed since she had gotten to the home of the unsubs. Her blindfold was ripped off along with some strands of her hair, and she blinked back against the brightness of the morning light. It was the man again. It seemed she was going to be working mostly with him for a while, since she was here. That wasn’t a calming thought as he seemed much more guarded -- to the point that he was still wearing a mask to hide his face, even though she’d seen it in the family pictures already. 

The man stepped forward and lowered y/n’s arms from the hook holding them up, and she collapsed to the ground. Her upper limbs ached so much as the blood flowed back down her arms. y/n grunted from the pain as she tried to decide if this hurt more or less than having them raised. Without waiting for y/n to get adjusted, the man stepped back and grabbed some clothes from the floor and tossed them at y/n, stating, “Put these on, now.” y/n shakily looked at the clothes and saw that it was a maid's dress with stockings and long socks along with an apron. y/n didn’t like the look for this and what it meant for her, so she gave a protesting grunt and shook her head no. The male unsub didn’t seem surprised by this as he leaned down and grabbed a bucket. He heaved back and forward and splashed y/n with cold water that shocked y/n into more awareness. 

The water wasn’t exactly cold, but it was so frigid in the attic that it hurt like pins and needles on y/n’s skin. She watched as goosebumps rose on her exhausted arms, and the man said, “You decide, freeze in those clothes or change. I’ll leave you to it.” The unsub moved back to the door, unlocked it with a key, stepped out of the room, and then disappeared. y/n heard the lock click again, and once the sound of steps was gone, y/n let herself sag to the wooden floor. She felt like her whole body was covered with pins and needles, either from the cold or her having been suspended for a few hours uncomfortably. Much to y/n's chagrin, she realized that if she didn’t want to feel like she was freezing to death, changing into the other outfit was the best idea. She crawled to the pile of clothes, grabbed them, and turned her back to the door. She wasn’t sure if the man was going to come back to check on her, but if he was, she wasn’t going to give him a full frontal view. She might be in a tricky situation, but she still had her dignity. With effort and shaking hands, y/n stripped off her wet shirt and pants and quickly changed into the dress. The stockings and long socks were a no-go, but she used them to dry off as much as possible. When that was done, she instantly felt better and then tried to assess her tenable situation further. 

Rossi was looking at and updating the profile. He was tapping his pen against his chin when Aaron came up beside him and said, “Anything new, Dave?” Rossi looked at Hotch and then back to the board; “Well, the unsub being a caucasian isn’t a surprise, having it be a woman is. Though I think it’s most likely a team rather than just one person. The problem with that is that is that then we get more into the drug and cartel territory. It could be a gang initiation type of thing after all.” Hotch nodded along and said, “Women in the cartel aren’t unheard of.” Dave sighed and said, “I know. This is so frustrating, and I’m worried about Reid’s judgment, and not because he has a minor concussion right now.” Now it was Aaron’s turn to sigh, and he peeked over at Spencer, who was on the phone with Garcia. “I know. I’m going to have him, Derek, and Prentiss head back to the site where y/n was taken with some police and K-9 units and see if that can give us more leads. At least it will give Reid something to do. For now, all we can do is look at the records of the missing women who fit the profile so far and keep working. y/n’s tough, she’ll be doing everything she can to stay alive or get back here. 

It was a few hours before y/n was visited again by the man. He seemed agitated, and so was y/n. She was hungry and had to pee in the corner of the room in a bucket that had been placed there, she assumed, for her use. No matter that the act itself felt degrading. y/n had looked out the window, assessed her situation over and over again. All of her gear, including her badge, had been taken. She tried to get out of the zip ties holding her legs, but they were too strong for her to break, and there were no tools for her to reach in the attic. It seemed her only means of escape right now was going to be talking with the male unsub. 

y/n straightened when the man entered the room. She stood up to show that she wasn’t so tired that she couldn’t at least do that. He was carrying a metal folding chair and what looked like a cattle prod. y/n had never seen one before, but she could assume. She swallowed thickly when she made that observation. Not wanting to lose her nerve, y/n started talking, at first a bit shakily, but then recovering quickly: “I was speaking to your partner before, as I was driving her. I told her, and I’ll tell you the same thing. You don’t have to do this. There are programs. You can both get help from the government if you help me.” The man was now setting up the folding chair in the center of the room and chalking a small white circle about an inch away from each of the four legs. He acted as if he couldn’t hear y/n. Not deterred, y/n continued talking, saying, “You know it’s going to be different this time. I’m a federal agent. I can’t just disappear and not come back. My team, they’re looking for me. The BAU has some of the best FBI members in the nation. We were called here to find you, and I found you. I sure a hell don’t plan on letting you take more women. Not while I’m alive.” y/n realized that her last sentence might have been stupid, but she was scared and all she could think of was the face of the woman with the mask, and the face of her teammates. Yes, they drove her crazy sometimes with their antics and snooping into her personal life, but she realized now that she missed them so much. As hard as she tried to see all of them clearly, Spencer’s handsome, sharp face always stayed the longest and clearest. 

y/n was lost in that thought but snapped out of it when the man said sharply, “Sit, now.” y/n bit the inside of her mouth and was about to protest, but the man could see this and said, “Sit or you get 7,000 volts in that pretty hide of yours.” The man had picked up the cattle prod and turned it on and upped the level of electricity running through its prongs. y/n could hear its eerie hum from where she stood. Not wanting a very painful experience, y/n had once been tasered in her N.A.T. days; she did as she was told. The unsub nodded, almost happily as he said, “Now, you’ll sit still, back straight and head up and not move. No moving, no talking.” y/n opened her mouth to say something, but the man held the cattle prod dangerously close to her face. Realizing the man wasn’t joking, nor was he planning on moving anytime soon, y/n did as told again. She realized with a sinking feeling that this situation wasn’t getting any better. For now, all she had on her side was time and the fact that only one victim had been found, which could mean that the unsub was still pretty bad at this and might slip up sometime. 

It had been over an hour, and y/n’s head felt so heavy holding it up that she thought she might faint. The unsub seemed to have no plans of leaving or losing focus as he still had the cattle prod pointed at y/n. Much to y/n’s misfortune, a small piece of dust got breathed in, and she tried to stop herself from sneezing, but couldn’t. After sneezing, the man moved forward and pressed the prod into her side, sending a huge bolt of electricity through y/n, making her jolt in the chair. y/n cried out in pain and said, “FUCK.” The unsub was unhappy about this and hit y/n again with the wand. y/n felt the searing pain go through her again as her body jerked momentarily. The unsub said, “And you were doing so good, bitch. Now we have to start again. What did I say about not moving? Now sit the fuck up and don’t say a word again. I know it hurts, that’s why I’m doing it. No words of pity from you either, I don’t care.” Tears and snot streamed down y/n’s face as she tried to do as told. It hurt so much she wanted to whimper. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long day. 

The BAU was at a house an hour away from McAllen’s city center. The first victim had been identified by their family, and the team had gone out to question the members and see if there were any ties between y/n and the woman found in the field. Aaron, Rossi, and Emily were talking with the parents while Spencer, Derek, and JJ were in the victim’s room speaking with her little brother. Spencer was on the floor and was asking questions of the little boy who was playing with a toy horse. “You were talking about your sister, Caira. That she liked to go out without telling your mom and dad?” The boy nodded and replied, “Yeah, I’d see her sometimes when I was up late watching TV. She’d give me some chocolate or candy to keep quiet about her going out. I think she had a boyfriend or something, she went and said… yucky.” Reid chuckled. He had a feeling that the boy wasn’t supposed to be staying up late watching TV either, but he didn’t say anything about that now. The comment about a boyfriend stuck, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was significant. 

Spencer asked, “Why do you think she had a boyfriend?” The kid looked up and said, “Ugh. I guess she always talks about it. She thinks she’s old and will never get married. That seems to be the only thing my mom and dad talk about with her sometimes.” Here, JJ stepped forward and asked, “Oh, really? My mom and dad never did that for me. Do they seem happy or sad when they talk to Caira about having a boyfriend?” The boy paused his playing and furrowed his small brow before saying, “Mad. My sister wants to go out and date, but they want her to court, whatever that is.” Spencer looked at JJ and then around the room, the multitude of crosses told a story of high control and religious belief. Perhaps this was one of those families that expected women to stay at home until they were married, and dating was off the table unless it was under the guise of courting. JJ swallowed hard. She’d had friends who were in those kinds of situations, and it never seemed like a good situation. That uncomfortable feeling did give them both an idea where to look next: the church the family attended. 

y/n had spent all day being cattle prodded and sitting as still as possible, but not still enough to not be tazed. When she was left alone, she had just enough energy to pull up her skirt and see the burn scar where the electric current had entered her body. She cringed and then lay on the ground and let herself fall asleep. The next morning, y/n was woken by the sound of an augment just outside the door to the attic. She could hear the male unsub say, “It’s too soon. She’s not ready.” And then the woman who had taken her responded, “We have to! He’s asking for another new one, and you know how he gets.” There was a big sigh from the man that sounded like a concession, and then the door opened. The man was holding the cattle prod and some scissors, and y/n cringed at the sight of the items. Her body was so cold and stiff from yesterday that she could hardly move. The woman stepped forward and said, “We’re going to move you to where you’re going to be from now on. If you do well, when he’s not in the room, you can do as you please, eat, and even use the bathroom. This is a tester run for you, so don’t fuck it up.” y/n swallowed and wondered who this mysterious “he” was. Was there a third unsub? It was all highly unusual, and that was saying something for a BAU case. 

The man set the cattle prod aside and stepped close, cutting y/n’s zipties holding her feet to the ground. y/n knew that now was the time to fight, to run for it. Even two against one, she could make an attempt, but she was so tired. The lack of food and treatment from yesterday had left her with no reserves. In fact, she was shocked that she was awake right now. The man grabbed her hair and pulled her face up. He looked at the woman and said, “Give me the mask.” The female unsub stepped forward, and to y/n’s dismay, she was holding the masks that the first victim had been wearing. It wasn’t perfect, but it had an uncanny resemblance to her face. The man slipped the two elastic straps over her head, and the mask fit snugly to y/n’s face. The eyes had been cut out so y/n could see, and breathing holes drilled for the nose and mouth. Once this was done, the man looked at the woman and said, “You take her and explain the rest. You want the cattle prod?” The female unsub nodded no and replied, “No. You know I hate that thing. I’ve got my gun. I’ll just use that.” The man sighed and replied, “Fine, as long as you don’t get trigger-happy,” before standing and leaving the room. 

y/n was led out the door on shaky feet and legs. She felt like she might vomit, but stopped herself before doing so in the restrictive mask was a recipe for disaster. The eye holes weren’t very large on the face covering either, so it was hard to use her peripheral vision to see more than what was just in front of her. However, y/n didn’t need any of those things to feel the pistol at the base of her spine. She stumbled her way out to the smaller house just across from the main house. As soon as y/n got into the smaller home, she felt a huge amount of dread press on her chest. Everything was immaculate, and the scent of candles permeated the room. Not only was that unnerving enough, but the worst thing was the fact that there were three other women, also with masks, sitting in the chairs at the main table, looking either blankly out the window, the wall, or the clock. All three women, also wearing masks, turned their heads, nodded robotically at the woman and y/n’s entrance, and went back to their blank stares. y/n felt sick. It was like there was nothing left of the women in the room. y/n didn’t have much time to think about it as she was pushed into another room that was functioning as a dining room. There was a small table with four chairs, a window, and a cabinet full of china. There were lots of candles in candelabras on the dark wood table, dripping wax onto the surface. The female unsub led y/n to the corner of the room and said, “You stand here. You don’t move. No matter who or what comes into this room, you don’t do anything. If you want to live through the day, you’re going to do this. If you need to use the facilities, there’s a bathroom upstairs. Don’t take more than ten minutes before you’re back in this room. We have cameras everywhere, so don’t think that you can just try and run. My husband, as much as a pussy as he is, will shoot you if you step a foot out of this house. If you do as I say, I’ll give you some food tonight and let you sleep in an actual bed. 

y/n nodded and mentally agreed to do as told. She was still very convinced that the team was doing everything to find her, and she’d rather be found dead than alive. Given the last two days, y/n these unsubs were people who didn’t joke around or do power plays for fun. If they said something, they meant it. y/n moved to the corner and stood still, head up and back straight. The other woman in the room seemed to relax as she said, “Good. He’ll like that. He might not pay attention to you today, but you should pay attention to him.” With those cryptic words, the unsub moved out of the room. 

Meanwhile, an hour away in McAllen, the team was approaching a mortuary on the far side of town. They were very sure they had found the correct business that the unsub team lived in. The funeral home and morgue were split-level. Rossi and Spencer had noticed he oddities around a man in the Jehovah’s Witnesses records. That was the denomination that the first unsub had subscribed to and the services she had attended. The man, Rory McPine, had seemed a normal man on the surface, but looking into him more, his business seemed shady. He worked with a lot of chemicals, including porcelain and iron, another red chalking substance like terra cotta. There was also the money laundering and the one attempted trespassing charge that had been dismissed, oddly. The nail in the coffin of the team's assumption? The family home that Rory had tried to trespass on was next to the first victim's home. There was a young woman living there who was the same age as the first victim, and she attended the same church as the other two had. The facts all pointed to him. As the team screeched in front of the funeral home, Aaron stepped out and grabbed a megaphone, saying, “Rory McPine, come out of the building with your hands up. We have you surrounded.” 

Back at the small house, y/n was still standing in the corner of the room and looking out the window. Interestingly, another car had pulled up, and a woman got out of the car with a bottle of wine and what looked like a sympathetic demeanor. y/n thought about running forward and yelling for help, but she stopped herself. Maybe this was a test, and there was the fact that the female unsub had threatened death by shotgun, which y/n didn’t fancy either. After a short while, the sound of the door opening made y/n hyper-aware. After a second, a young boy with a life-size doll came into the room and sat down at the table. One of the other victims came in shortly after with a tray that held a glass of juice, an apple, and what smelled like a bowl of Kraft Mac and Cheese. The woman set the tray down in front of the boy and then silently moved back out of the room. It wasn’t the food that y/n was looking at, however, even if she did feel very, very hungry. What had her attention was the child-like “doll in the room.” As y/n kept looking at the item, she started for very much believe that the doll wasn’t a doll at all. Instead, she surmised that it was a child that had died and been turned into some kind of abhorrent plaything for the living boy in the room. y/n now knew what was going to happen to her. She was to become one of these things, like the other women in the room. She and the team had been wrong. The unsubs hadn’t had much experience; they’d had so much experience that they didn’t miss anymore, and she was to be their next collectible. 

Outside the funeral home, Rory was being taken back to the station for an interview. JJ and Spencer were going with the police, and the rest of the BAU stayed behind to process the scene the find y/n. But they wouldn’t find her here or in McAllen at all. But they weren’t to know that for a few hours yet. In the freezing interrogation room, Reid and JJ were playing good cop, bad cop with the supposed unsub. Even though Spencer didn’t look that intimidating, he could be very scary when he wanted to be, and he was doing a stellar job of that now. He wasn’t wasting any time trying to get y/n back. He slammed his hands against the hard table, making it and Rory jump as he shouted, “WHERE IS Y/N!” The man sat back, in p daze, and said, “Like I said, I’ve never heard or seen this woman before in my life.” Reid huffed and let JJ take a chance as the softer spoken liaison moved forward and asked, “Fine, you’ve never heard of agent y/l/n, but you have heard and seen Gillian Kary as fast as last weekend ago. Why were you trying to get on her property unseen? That’s not normal.” The man flushed and muttered something under his breath before Spencer shot him a glare that could melt lava. Rory sighed and said in an ashamed voice, “We’re swingers. If the church ever found out I was sleeping with a married woman, it would be curtains for me, but it’s looking like it’s curtains for me already anyway. I might as well throw my spiritual reputation in with the kitchen sink, too.”

At this revelation, even Spencer couldn’t keep up his tough guy facade, and he said, “You’re a swinger, really?” The man nodded, not having noticed Spencer’s change in tone as he replied, “I didn’t think I’d like that kind of life, but ever since my wife died, I’ve been lonely. When Gillian told me she had an open relationship, how could I refuse?” JJ and Spencer looked at each other with shocked expressions, and Reid asked, “What evidence do you have of this affair, and are you having affairs with other women in the area?” Again, Rory nodded, defeated as he laid out the complicated details of his personal life. It was like listening to a novella. When the interrogation was finished, Spencer called the team to give them the update and see if they’d found anything yet, though at this point he doubted it. There was a tone of despair with him as he made the call. They were no closer to finding y/n than they had been four hours ago. 

It was three agonizing days later until the tip came in from one of the unsubs themselves that led the team to the horror that was the Castel house. Derek had picked up the tipline phone when it had started ringing, and right away, he knew this was different. The tone was frantic, desperate as the woman on the other end of the line said, “I know where your missing agent is. You have to come here, fast.” Morgan flagged the rest of the team as he put the women on speaker and hit the record button. Derek cleared his throat and said, “Alright, stay calm. Where are you, and is the missing agent with you?” The woman said softly, “517, West Circle Dr. Hialgo, TX.  78692.” As soon as the address was given, Derek handed the phone off to an officer. Aaron already had the spot pulled up on GPS, and Garcia had transferred the phone to Spencer’s cell so he could still talk to the unsub as long as possible. Keep her distracted. 

In the vans, Reid asked, “Why call now? What has you so spooked that you want help from the FBI?” The woman on the other end of the line took a shaky breath and said, “My son wants me dead. I can’t die like those things. He’s wanted me dead for years. Please, please hurry. My husband can only keep Jimmy distracted for so long.” Spence cared less about that than getting to y/n, but it was keeping him distracted. The addition of who might be a third unsub was surprising, but he kept his calm. That calm didn’t remain as the vans finally screeched to a halt in front of the unsub's idyllic-looking home. There were police choppers in the air, and the whole team, plus a squad of officers, got out. Even before Rossi could get on the megaphone, a woman came out of the main house with her hands up, along with a boy and what looked like his father from another smaller structure. The child, upon seeing his mother, ran and began kicking, screaming, and clawing at her chest and face. He did so hard enough to draw blood from the woman’s cheek. The mother figure tried to fight off the boy, but she didn’t have to as a police officer pulled the child away from the woman. Right after she was cuffed and the older man was as well. Spencer, who was standing next to Derek, demanded of the woman, “Where are your victims. Where! Are! They!” The woman looked shocked but nodded her head toward the small house. Reid didn’t take any time to wait, or think, or do anything else but run to the little home and burst open the door to look for y/n. 

Thankfully, there was no bobby trap or deception, a he hardly noticed the other women who hadn’t moved much, even though there seemed to be chaos outside. In the central room, Reid found y/n. She was standing by the wall and looking out the window with no apparent response. Her mask was still on, and she was wearing a pristine maid outfit. Her left hand clung to a medical stand that had an IV attached. Spencer noticed it going into her arm, and he found this distressing. But what was most distressing was that y/n didn’t seem to notice him at all, even as he got close and called her name; there was no response. When Aaron and Emily entered the room and took in everything else, she still just stood stock still, not saying or moving at all. The only thing y/n seemed interested in doing was looking out the window with a distant gaze. 

In an attempt to get y/n to feel more comfortable, Spencer gently moved his hands up to her mask to remove it, but as soon as he attempted to pry it from her face, a horrifying realization hit him. The mask had been glued directly to her skin. There were breathing holes for her mouth and nose, and blank spots for her eyes, but the rest of her face was fully covered. It explained the need for an IV, but not what Reid could do to remove the mask. He turned to Aaron, mouth agape as he said in a whisper, “She needs 9-1-1.” Hotch nodded and replied, “They’re already on their way. ETA five minutes.” Aaron looked just as horrified as Spencer did, perhaps for different reasons, but Reid couldn’t look at his boss's face any longer like that. He turned back to y/n, who was back at the window looking out again, like it was her job. Even though it was against protocol, Reid took a chair from the side of the room and placed it behind y/n. He gently touched her hand and said, “Hey, y/n. It’s Spencer, why don’t you try and sit down for a minute? You must be tired standing like that all the time.” There was only silence, and when Reid gently pushed y/n into the seat of the chair, she only stayed for half a second before she was standing again. With nothing left to do but wait, Reid just stood by y/n, hoping in some way he could offer her some support, even if she didn’t know it was him, which was increasingly becoming a possibility. 

The next day, Spencer was waiting for news from the hospital, and Rossi and Emily were with the female unsub to get her story. The woman looked defeated; she’d already agreed to tell everything for a lighter sentence. Rossi was leaning forward on the table and said, “So you’re telling me your oldest son, Jimmy, he’s the one behind all this. Forgive me if I don’t believe you that a twelve-year-old boy captured and turned ten adult women into some kind of doll.” The unsub sighed and said, “If he could, he would. He’s always been a cruel boy. He had a hard birth, maybe that started it all off wrong.” Emily frowned and said, “Forget about the birth. Get to the part where you start kidnapping women.” The other woman flinched and said, “It was after I had my second son. Jimmy hung around his father in that workshop. All those chemicals and cutting animals open to preserve them. I think he… he got ideas. When Ben was five, Jimmy, he.” It didn’t seem like the woman would be able to finish the sentence, but Em slammed her hands on the table, saying, “What did Jimmy do?” Tears were streaming down the woman’s face as she said, “He cut up Ben and tried to stuff him in his father's workshop. My husband found him and… couldn’t bear it, so he finished the job. Jimmy liked the idea, he wanted to do me next, so we’ve been finishing substitutes, you know. I’m still his mother, he needs me.” Rossi wasn’t impressed and he asked, “Do you really think the courts will forgive you because you tortured women into becoming playthings for your son. Just because you didn’t kill them didn’t mean you haven’t destroyed their lives. I hope you get the sentence that you deserve, and I hope you remember their faces every day of your life, however long it is.” With that, the pair left the room. They had what they needed, and a story that would keep them up for days as well. 

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Spencer, Aaron, and JJ waited for information about y/n. It felt like hours because it was hours before a doctor came and called the small group back to the hallway near the entrance to the emergency room. There was a bustle of activity near the swinging doors. The man looked weary as he said, “Ms. y/l/n is as stable as she can be at the moment. She hasn't been woken since her surgeries, but my guess will be that she will be fully unresponsive to stimuli, as you’ve stated she was before arriving at the hospital. Apart from the uncertainty of her mental state, it was necessary to stabilize her. She was malnourished and needed treatment for severe burns on her side. It seems she was electrocuted multiple times in the same spot, which resulted in needed treatment of the skin treatment. There was a long pause before the man said the worst of it. “As for the mask removal, it was possible, but latex glue was used, and that is highly corrosive to human skin. Removing i,t unfortunately, only worsens the condition of the dermis. Most of Ms. y/n’s facial skin has been removed. The team is looking at starting a skin graft, but we need to let the patient stabilize first. Her recovery, whatever it might be, will be long and painful. She won’t be the same once she wakes, I’m afraid. 

The team took in the information with varying responses. JJ looked like she was going to be sick. Aaron was as stoic as ever, and Spencer gritted his teeth so hard that he could have ground diamond with them. After a few deep breaths, Reid asked, “Can I sit with her?” Hotch almost said something, but stopped himself, his telling Spencer it would make no difference wouldn’t help the situation any. The doctor hesitated but nodded, and he and Reid walked back to the room together. Aaron was about to call the rest of the team and give them an update, but JJ stopped him before he could, saying, “Spence won’t be the same either. You know that, right?” Aaron didn’t have to say anything as he gave a stiff nod and then walked off to make the call to Rossi. 

In y/n’s room, Spencer sat close enough to touch y/n. He looked at her face, which was almost fully wrapped in medical gauze. No one was there to see Reid cry, sobbing into his own shoulder. He whispered to an unconscious y/n, “I’m going to fix this, I promise,” but deep down inside, Reid knew y/n, his y/n was gone forever. She would always be someone else’s doll. 

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[luveline]

Hi Jade! (I’ve sent this before so ignore if you aren’t into it) just thinking about a bau!reader (maybe shy!reader??) who’s dating post-prison Spencer but didn’t know him before prison and she sees some footage of season one Spencer (maybe they need to refer to a recording of a previous case?) and she’s just dying at how cute he is 🥹

You’ve barely woken up with your face in a solid shoulder when Spencer’s turning around.

“Don’t,” he says when you whine, slipping a familiar hand over your hip. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Too early to make fun of me.” 

“Do you think I’m making fun of you?” 

His talking warms your nose where his head is angled down. Your skin smarts with goosebumps as he trails his hand lightly up your back, down again, the slowest, tumbling touch. You shiver, and Spencer, ever so slightly devious in love, says, “Oh, you’re cold?” with great pity as he pulls you closer. 

You rub your face against his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“Why?”

“I smell.” 

He hums. “Sort of. Not like sweat, though. You smell like sleep.” His lips touch your cheek.

He lets you ‘warm up’ in his arms for a few minutes, then however long you doze for, lost and too comfortable to bother even trying to wake up properly. Your phone pings a couple of times after it comes out of sleep mode, a sure sign you’ve overslept, but Spencer doesn’t make you move until your stomach growls. 

“Come on,” he says, kissing your nose and slipping you back onto your side of the bed. “I’ll make breakfast.” 

“It’s nearly twelve.” 

“You just woke up, and it’s the first thing you’re gonna eat. You are breaking your fast. Breakfast.” He looks pretty even through achy, tired eyes, all the sleep crusted in your lashes no match for Spencer Reid. How you went so long without knowing him is a mystery. 

You get up only because he told you to and because he looked quite lovely when he did it, not because you want to. The bed is warm, that pit of his arms calling your name, but Spencer’s already rolling out of bed with an eager hand scratching through his hair. Sweat has made them tight and a little darker in the back. You’ll both have to shower at some point, preferably after he’s made you breakfast in bed. 

He can see your expectations on your face, and he laughs as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. “Get up! I’m not bringing it up here, do you know how badly your sleep cycle is affected when you start doing the wrong things in bed?” 

“What counts as the wrong thing?” 

Spencer laughs again, softer now, and for a moment he traces your face with his eyes without speaking. “Fine,” he says, waving a hand at you as he makes for the bedroom door, “stay there. But only ‘cos you look so pretty!” 

“Thank you!” you call back. 

This time with Spencer isn’t enough. You need ten more years of this, thirty, fifty, you need to wake up in his arms and have him touch you and tickle your cheek with his breath. He’s too far to have him come back, so you resign to hugging him when he returns. 

Your phone pings again, drawing your attention finally. The first notification is a reminder to buy toothpaste today at the grocery store. The second is a text from a friend, the third an email. It’s one from last night that piques your interest, another friend, full capital letters: HELP. 

Her use of a laughing emoji defers any urgency. You click on the text thread and scroll up, puzzled by her previous messages, a link, and a caption: oh my god he was so dorky??? 

You open the video and feel your breath catch in surprise. 

Is that Spencer?

You're not stupid, you’ve seen photos of him and his friends together dotted around the apartment from over the years, and every time you come across that photo of him and Diana at a spelling bee with his huge black-framed glasses you have to laugh, but it’s different seeing him to hearing him. 

He’s so nervous. You can’t understand what it is he’s saying, something about mathematical components to profiling criminals. Jason Gideon stands in the background watching him closely. 

“There’s actually a good joke that–”

“Spencer,” Gideon reprimands. 

You watch in awe as Spencer stammers an apology, his cheeks a little pink. You’ve seen Spencer blush, but this feels different. He looks so young. His hair is straight as a pin. 

“Spencer, did you used to straighten your hair?” you call, hoping he can hear you over the sound of a frying pan popping in the kitchen. “Or do you have a perm now, or what?” 

“What!” 

“I’m confused on the logistics of your hair!” You feel something weird in your chest as on screen Spencer tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a mixture of wanting to eat him and wanting to reach through the screen to stroke his cheek with your thumb. 

Spencer treks back into the bedroom with his pink and white pinstripe apron over his shirt and sweatpants. He smells like cinnamon sugar already. “What are you talking about?” 

“My friend found a video of you and Jason at one of those lectures you did.” 

Spencer presses his lips together. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. “I didn’t do any lectures.”

“Uh, yes you did, liar, and you looked so cute.” You turn your phone to him. “So sweet.” 

He marches to the bed. Before you can stop him, he’s taking the phone from your hand, giving you the world's silliest, tiniest shove when you try to get it back. 

“Cruel,” you quip. 

Spencer stares at the phone screen, then you, “Sorry,” he says, turning pink, “I don’t know why I did that, just– I just–” He frowns deeply. “Can you stop smiling like that?” 

You climb onto your knees, a morning disaster, but when you wrap your arms around Spencer’s waist he looks at you like you’re perfect. His eyes soften, brows relaxing, his irises like dark dimes that slowly dilate as he looks you over. Your phone presses into your back, his arm wrapping around you. 

“You were adorable,” you say sincerely. 

“Not anymore?” 

You rub your cheek against his apron. “No, you still are. Let me watch the video again.” 

“Not a chance.” 

[op1umeyes]

from the club

Derek’s wolf whistle made you roll your eyes and try to slip into your seat without drawing too much attention. “Damn, mama,” he sang teasingly, eyeing you up and down.

“Derek Morgan! I ought to-“

“Whoa!”

You glared at Spencer, trying to ifnore the way his eyes trailed over your cleavage. “It’s like you guys have never even been in the presence of a female before,” you snark sarcastically. Secretly, though, you feel complimented that such aesthetically pleasing people thought you looked good.

Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, and Rossi were later than Hotch surprisingly. Aaron strode in next, laying a stack of files on the table. He sat down at his regular spot and turned to make conversation until the other arrived when he turned and saw you. His lips drew thinly over his face as he watched you reach over the table to grab a file. He swallowed and averted his eyes from you when you sat back in your seat. Hotch felt like a pervert and averted his mind to the more pressing matter. Dead bodies, knives, murder, he repeated to himself- trying to draw blood away from his crotch.

J.J., Penelope, and Emily arrived next. “Coffee for you all, my precious gems!” Penny sang, placing the team’s favorite brews in front of them. After she placed yours down her eyes gleamed and she raised her eyebrows. “Did you call-“

“Penelope!” You hollered, turning away from the red-head with a laugh. 

She just giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. As Emily took her place beside you, she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’m no better than the men here, y/n. You look hot.” 

You swatted her away and waited for J.J. to start the briefing. Emily snickered beside you.

There was really nothing professional about being called into work wearing low-rise jeans and a lacey tank top. But it wasn’t your fault- some of your college friends had stopped in the city and wanted to go to the club and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

Rossi showed up right before Hotch said his favorite phrase (read: “wheels up in 30”). You collected your file and started out of the room.

“Good lo- y/n!”

You whipped around to see Penelope rushinf towards you. “Wh-What?”

“You’ve surprised me more times today than I thought possible, darling girl. Turn around! I didn’t know you had ink!” 

You breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the feeling of her cold fingers tracing over the black ink just above your jeans. “I have some on the mid back too,” you said quietly.

“Impressive,” Rossi- of all people- hummed. “One of my ex wives roped me into getting a matching tattoo with her. The pain was somethinf else and the aftercare was hell. Rookie, here has a high pain tolerance.” He patted your practically bare shoulder and walked by without another word.

Emily purred lowly as she walked by, laughing at the way you flipped her off in return.

“You know, Jeffery Dahmer didn’t consume people that had tattoos… He said that the ‘tattoos made the meat taste like… shit’,” Reid spouted.

The way Spencer paused before saying shit was endearing. Maybe it was your attraction to nerds, but you felt particularly flattered at the weight of his gaze on you. “That’s interesting, Spencer,” you replied quietly. “Did you know the oldest recorded tattoo ink recipe required insect eggs?”

Spencer just hummed.

“I- uh,” Aaron cleared his throat. You stepped back from Penelope’s hands. “I imagine you have more professional attire?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, Hotch. I’m really sorry, my friends convinced me to go out with them, you know, and I-“

Hotch chuckled and held his hands up. “It’s okay, y/n. What you do on your own time is your business,” he said.

You wrung your hands. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“No problem, y/n.” Hotch started to walk away and you felt Derek’s arm wrap around your shoulder. “Nice ink,” he called back to you. 

“I’ll see you on the plane, y/n,” Spencer told you with a wave. You smiled back at him and watched him run a hand through his hair as he walked away.

“Lover boy’s gotta thing for you, y/n,” Derek told you, a shit eating grin on his face. “And Hotch too, if I took a guess. I think you made the old man pop a bo-“

“Derek Morgan!”

You shoved him off of you and tried to ignore his gleeful laughter.

[cerisereids]

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗛𝗶𝗺 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗠𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- early seasons!Spencer Reid x bombshell!Reader

Summary- You’re completely and totally enamored with Spencer Reid. When you have to flirt as part of a case, he is not happy.

Contains- not proofread we die like men, fem!reader, mention of reader's boobs and ass, the most unhinged work place flirting you've ever seen, Spencer is Horny, the case isn't rly canon compliant but fuck it we ball, nasty suspect who reader has to flirt with, Spencer gets insecure, they make-up and make out on the jet

A/N: divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

The soft, golden glow of sunlight filters through the window. The glimmer coats the BAU in an extra layer of warmth from the early spring chill. You adjust your light pink blouse as you approach the desk of your favorite coworker, Spencer Reid. You prop yourself up on his desk, your floral skirt pulling taut around your hips as you settle.

You swing your legs playfully, waiting for him to turn his attention away from his case file and on to you. A small smile curves his lips, and you know you got him. A heeled foot hooks behind his shin, running along the length of it until his gaze finally finds you. His eyes shine when they meet yours, a large hand moving to grip your ankle and bring it to his knee. He keeps it there, a soothing thumb rubbing the expanse of the skin there.

Your heart flutters at the action, his own cheeks tinting pink at his temerity. This has been a recent update between the two of you, Spencer's touch, his affection. Since you started at the bureau, only a few short months after him, you've been fascinated by the genius sitting beneath you now. At first, he was shocked by your immediate friendship, not used to such affection without having to earn it. In the past few months, though, his hands will graze your waist, his hugs lingering a moment too long. This change in behavior sparks a flicker of hope in your chest. Hope that, maybe, he sees you the way you see him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, he looks nothing like me..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

He shivers as you move off his lap, settling into his side as you begin to descend on Quantico. A flight home has never felt so long.

[laufeysvalentine]

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason, reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic offers you a smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”