Hey! Welcome to my humble corner of the internet. Quick facts about me: I am 23, a college student in the American Midwest region. I haven't been super active in the fanfic world in a few years so my skills are a little rusty.
My blog is a place for anyone. I'm always willing to talk and have a good time. My anons are open for anything!
Spencer’s first Father’s Day is quiet, just how you imagined he’d want it. The morning light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the living room where you sit with your daughter, Caitlin, nestled in your lap. At nine months, she’s a bundle of curiosity, babbling nonsensically as you carefully hold her wrist, painting her small, pudgy palm with blue paint. Her giggles fill the room, though she tugs at her wrist, trying to pull free.
“Hold on, baby girl,” you murmur softly, laughing at her determination. “Just a little longer.”
Caitlin whimpers, her brow furrowed in frustration, squirming against your gentle hold. You know that if you let go, the paint would be everywhere—on her, on you, and across the kitchen counter. So you hold her loosely, just enough to keep her in place as you press the card onto her palm, trying to capture a perfect little handprint for Spencer.
“Almost done, sweetheart,” you coo, but Caitlin has other plans. She pulls her hand back at the last second, smearing paint across the front of her onesie and leaving a streak of blue on the counter.
You sigh softly, glancing down at her messy, paint-covered onesie, but she’s happy now, babbling again and grinning up at you as if she hasn’t just created a tiny masterpiece of chaos. Her bright eyes are so full of joy that you can’t even be frustrated.
“Alright, alright,” you say with a smile, wiping her hand off with a damp cloth before she can do any more damage. Caitlin kicks her feet, satisfied with her little rebellion.
You look down at the card, a sweet, uneven print of Caitlin’s hand now perfectly stamped in blue. It’s not perfect, but it’s hers, and that’s all that matters. You gently seal the card, careful not to smudge the drying paint, and place it on the counter next to the small gift you’d picked out for Spencer.
As you scoop Caitlin up into your arms, pressing a kiss to her messy cheek, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. You know Spencer will love it, messy handprint and all. It’s the little things that make these moments special—the smudged onesie, the babbling baby, and the love that fills the house.
Spencer walks in to the scent of his favorite meal drifting through the house, immediately feeling the warmth of home after a long day. On the kitchen counter sits a decadent chocolate cake, one you’d baked from scratch, knowing it’s his weakness. He smiles, eyes scanning the room before he spots Caitlin sitting in her high chair, her chubby cheeks and tiny hands smeared with icing. She babbles happily, licking at the spoonful of frosting you’d given her to keep her entertained while you finished cleaning up.
"Looks like someone got into the cake before me," he teases, leaning down to kiss you softly. His lips linger, grateful for the effort you’ve put into making the day special.
You smile up at him. "Had to keep her busy somehow."
The three of you settle in for dinner. Caitlin, all cleaned up now, sits in Spencer’s lap as he alternates between feeding himself and offering her spoonfuls of baby food. He babbles to her about his day, telling her about a new case and the books he’s been reading. Caitlin listens attentively, her wide eyes fixed on him as if she understands every word.
He’s always been against baby talk, determined to help develop her vocabulary from a young age. And somehow, watching him communicate with her in that way, so casually, so naturally, makes your heart swell. You sit across the table, content to simply watch the two of them interact, the soft hum of their conversation filling the room with a sense of peace.
After dinner, it’s time for cake. You cut a small slice for yourself and Spencer, while Caitlin gets another spoonful of frosting—this time supervised. Her eyes light up with joy as she takes in the sweet taste.
When the cake is done and the kitchen is cleaned up, you hand Spencer a small card. "I didn’t have time to find you the perfect gift," you apologize, feeling a bit guilty.
He gives you a look, one of disbelief mixed with affection. "You already gave me Caitlin," he says, his voice soft and full of love. He nuzzles his face into her cheek, making her giggle in his lap before turning his attention to the card.
As he opens it, he chuckles at the cheesy tagline you’d picked out, reading it aloud with a smile. Then his eyes land on the tiny handprint, smudged but perfect in its imperfection.
"I tried to get her to sign her name," you explain, a soft laugh escaping as you point to the small clump of pen marks on the card where Caitlin had tried her best.
Spencer traces his finger over the marks, his eyes softening. "It’s perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He looks up at you, his gaze full of gratitude and love. "This is the best gift I could ever ask for."
You lean over, kissing his forehead as Caitlin babbles happily in his lap. In that moment, everything feels right—simple and full of love, with the three of you together. It’s a first Father’s Day he’ll never forget.
Heyy!! i was wondering if you could perchance do a drabble with dad!spencer and mom!bau!reader where they've gotten into the rhythm of calling each other mommy and daddy in front of the kids and one of them accidentally slips up and does it work without realising. And then the team is like "hold on 🤨" (probably morgan) and they have to defend themselves. Just something i've been thinking about and i don't have the artistic ability to right it myself but you do! Thank youuuu! xxx
SLIP UP. /spencer reid/
your at-home naming habits find their way into the office.
bau!mom!reader 1.1k fluff masterlist.
a/n | this is so funny i love it.
The bullpen hums with its usual energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations weaving through the space.
It’s late, and exhaustion weighs on everyone like a heavy fog. Cases have been stacking up, the paperwork never-ending, and you’re all running on caffeine and whatever sugar-laden snack Garcia has left in the breakroom.
You and Spencer, despite being used to sleepless nights—courtesy of two small children at home—are still feeling the burn.
Parenting while profiling is a delicate balance, and some days, it feels like you barely hold it together. But you've found ways to cope, to slip into a rhythm that works.
Spencer leans over his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he scans a report. His hair is slightly disheveled—likely from running his hands through it—and his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looks exactly how you feel, drained.
You, seated across from him, are going through another file when you sigh and reach for the next document. “Pass Mommy the file, please,”
The moment the words leave your mouth, the bullpen stills. For a brief second, no one reacts. Not even Spencer, who doesn’t hesitate to slide the file over to you, his tired brain not even registering what just happened.
But then—
“Hold on, what?”
Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Across the table, Morgan is staring at you with wide eyes, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. JJ’s eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline, and even Rossi has paused his paperwork, looking mildly amused.
Hotch looks like he’s trying very hard not to react.
You glance at Spencer, who is blinking rapidly, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened.
And then, it hits you.
“Oh my God.” Your stomach drops. Heat rushes to your face. “I didn’t mean—”
Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table, his smirk growing. “Did you just refer to yourself as Mommy?”
Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It’s— It’s not—”
“Because I swear I just heard that,” Morgan continues, clearly enjoying himself.
JJ covers her mouth, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.
You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not what you think,”
“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think.” Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Reid, you calling her Mommy at home?”
Spencer makes another choked noise, shaking his head furiously. “No! I mean— yes, but not like that!”
JJ snorts, and even Hotch finally cracks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to intervene.
You lift your head, groaning again. “We have two kids under four. There’s a lot of third-person referencing, okay?”
Morgan raises an eyebrow, amused.
Spencer, still red-faced, starts rambling. “It’s a psychological phenomenon, actually. When individuals—particularly parents—are frequently addressed in a particular way, their brains develop an associative response, reinforcing the use of the terms even in situations outside the expected context. It’s entirely innocent. Just an unconscious linguistic habit.”
Morgan whistles low. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You really just tried to profile your way out of calling your wife ‘Mommy’ in front of us,”
Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands.
Your face feels impossibly warm. “We’re tired, Morgan. We haven’t had a full night’s sleep in—” You glance at Spencer. “How long has it been?”
“Three years, three months, and sixteen days,” he answers automatically.
Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn,”
Emily places a hand over her heart. “That’s actually kind of adorable,”
Garcia practically vibrates with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I need to hear more,”
“There’s nothing more to hear,” Spencer says, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just a habit. Strictly innocent,”
“Oh, we believe you,” Rossi says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go,”
“Not a chance,” Morgan agrees.
You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This is never going away, is it?”
“Nope,” JJ says cheerfully.
Spencer sighs, rubbing his temples. “Great.”
And just like that, the teasing begins.
For the rest of the day—and likely for weeks to come—you hear variations of:
“Daddy, can you pass me that report?” from Emily.
“I don’t know, Mommy, what do you think?” from Morgan.
Garcia, of course, takes it the farthest, occasionally referring to you both as “Mommy and Daddy dearest,” complete with exaggerated winks.
By the time you make it home that evening, you collapse onto the couch with a groan, Spencer falling beside you.
“I’m never going to live this down,” you mumble.
“At least they think it’s funny,” Spencer says, leaning his head back against the cushions.
You sigh. “This is your fault,”
He turns his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “My fault?”
“You didn’t even hesitate when I said it. You just handed me the file like it was totally normal,”
His lips twitch. “To be fair, it is normal,”
You nudge him with your foot. “Not at work, it isn’t,”
He chuckles, then tilts his head, considering. “Maybe if we just… pretend it never happened, they’ll drop it,”
You snort. “You really think that’s going to work?”
“…No,”
“Exactly.” You groan again, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,”
Spencer smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “At least we’re in it together, Mommy,”
You open your eyes just to glare at him. “You better not start doing that on purpose,”
He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a grin.
“Spencer,” you warn.
His grin widens. “Yes, Mommy?”
You grab a throw pillow and smack him with it, and his laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.
Exhausted as you both are, you wouldn’t trade this—your life, your family, the teasing from your team—for anything in the world.
in which your son comes to your room in the middle of the night seeking the safety of his father's arms.
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: fluff
content warnings: fear of storms, spencer reid dilf agenda, boy dad!spencer
word count: 1.07k
a/n: need to give this man a baby immediately oh my god it's so bad the voices
Spencer woke up first; the very first hint of a rumble caused his eyes to flutter open before he even heard the patting of the rain on the window. He glanced at the clock, only for it to read just past two in the morning, grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, and tried to nudge you awake.
He was a much lighter sleeper than you; years of being conditioned to wake up to the slightest vibration of a phone had caused that. While he’d gotten over his own fear of storms, Spencer always kept an eye out for them, knowing it was a trait that your toddler had acquired.
“Hmm?” You responded to his nudge, stuck between being asleep and being awake. With your eyes open only slightly, you saw the flash of lightning peek in through the blinds and immediately sat up. “Jamie?” You whispered your son’s name while Spencer flicked on the lamp on his bedside table.
The two of you shared a knowing look when you heard the pattering of bare feet on the hardwood floor. You left your bedroom door open just a crack, so all he needed to do was push the door open and peek his head inside. “Mama?” He whimpered just as softly as you’d whispered his name.
Jamie’s glasses were crooked on his face, thick black frames that surrounded his brown eyes. Sometimes, when Spencer looked at his son, it felt like he was looking at a reflection of his past—something he’d never experienced until he was born. Jamie clutched a stuffed teddy bear in his hand, wearing matching glasses you’d affixed to the animal so the two of them could match.
As soon as your three-year-old saw his parents sitting up in bed, his little face crumpled in relief. “Daddy,” he called this time, and before he knew it himself, Spencer was getting out of bed to gather his son in his arms.
“Hey, lovey,” Spencer cooed, crouching so he could pick Jamie up, adjusting the way the stuffed bear—named Garcia, after his godmother, and affectionately nicknamed Bearcia—rested so no one was being crushed. “It’s raining really hard out there, huh?”
Wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck, Jamie held on while he was brought over to the bed. Once he was within reach, you rested a gentle hand on his back but made no move to take him into your arms. Knowing that he could comfort his son when he was scared reassured Spencer; it told him he was a good dad. He never would have gone to his own father for protection, and that’s all he’d ever wanted to be as a dad—dependable, protective.
You hushed Jamie when thunder cracked again, “Oh, my poor baby.” Moving over on the mattress to rest your head on your husband, giving you the range to press a soft kiss on your son’s forehead.
The feeling of tears as they seeped through Spencer’s t-shirt broke his heart; it almost made him wish he could control the weather to his benefit. Instead of forbidding the storm, he craned his head back to meet Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes, “’s okay to be scared,” he assured him.
Jamie squeezed his teddy bear for comfort and looked at your bedroom window; the blinds were still closed to prevent the eventual morning light from getting in. The toddler mumbled something unintelligible about the rain before sniffling. He used the sleeve of his dinosaur footie pajamas to wipe his face before resting his head against his father.
Getting up from the bed, Spencer walked Jamie over to the window and opened the blinds so he could see the rain, hoping that taking the mystery of the storm away would take away some of the fear. “When the lightning goes again, if we count the seconds until the thunder goes, we’ll know how far away the storm is,” he explained to Jamie, smoothing the toddler’s hair from his forehead and swaying gently while they waited for the flash of light.
“Woah,” Jamie breathed when the lightning struck, childlike wonder lighting up his features while Spencer started counting. “Two,” Jamie joined softly, “Three, four, five, oh!”
Thunder rumbled, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile to himself when Jamie curled into his side for safety. “We counted five, and if we divide by five, that means the storm is one whole mile away.” He didn’t expect the three-year-old to understand the mathematics, but he knew Jamie liked to have things explained to him.
At some point, you’d crept out of the room, and Spencer didn’t notice until you were tiptoeing back in, holding Jamie’s blankie and setting it in the middle of your shared bed. “One,” Jamie started counting on his own at the next flash of lightning, “two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!” This time, he smiled proudly up at his father when he finished counting, “More!”
Spencer nodded before closing the blinds once more. "That’s right; it means the storm is moving further away from the house.” He brought Jamie back to the bed, laying him down on his blankie with Bearcia in his tiny clutches. “Now we have to go back to sleep, and the storm will be all gone by the time we wake up.”
“Promise?” Jamie asked, big, brown eyes stared up at his dad as he sought reassurance.
He knew he might’ve been putting too much faith in the meteorologists, but nonetheless, Spencer nodded, “I promise.” He carefully took Jamie’s glasses off, setting them on his bedside table and turning on the nightlight you kept in there for nights like these.
Jamie settled into the big bed and cuddled his bear close. “Love you, daddy.”
A two in the morning wakeup call didn’t seem so bad when it ended like this. He finally found his way back to bed, pulling the covers over you and your baby, and once he took off his glasses and turned off the big lamp, Jamie curled into his side, resting his head on Spencer’s shoulder.
You poked your head up from your pillow, your smile glowing under the soft nightlight. Spencer could almost hear what you were thinking, imagining your voice as you cooed My boys.
Silently, so as not to disturb Jamie, Spencer mouthed I love you.
In response, you leaned over to press a goodnight kiss to his lips, and to Spencer, it was the same thing.
I like picturing Spencer Reid in silly, ridiculous little scenarios.
I had the hilarious mental image of Spencer having a girlfriend who makes him watch Glee with her. He would pretend to hate it but lowkey secretly be feeding on the drama, but he totally would point out every illegal/morally grey thing that happens that characters get away with (Will planting drugs in a students locker, Rachel sending someone to a crackhouse etc.)
Him and his girlfriend would be lounging in the apartment, sitting in a comfortable silence as they just co exist together. Spencer would be pouring over a crossword book or reading a stack of books when his girlfriend would suddenly perk up, straightening in her seat with a glimmer in her eye.
‘Blaine singing It’s Not Right But It’s Okay.’ She would say. Spencer would sigh, deep and heavy, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘season 3, episode 17 titled Dance With Somebody’ he would say monotonously. It’s a game she’d play with him often, finding the idea of filling his genius brain with Glee songs of all things absolutely hilarious. ‘Come on, what else is an eidetic memory good for?’ She’d tease. ‘Oh, certainly not this.’ He’d say back, hiding a smile as he’d shake his head and pretend to be bothered.
I think it would be funny if he was in the bar or something with the team at a quiz night and he’d shock them all by getting a round on guessing pop music correct, because we all know he doesn’t touch that stuff with a 10 foot pole if he can help it. When they’d question him about it he’d shrug and absentmindedly say ‘it was on Glee’ because OF COURSE his ass would become one of those people- he just can’t help make it known when he knows something! This obviously would lead to way more questions and teasing and shocked laughter and I think it would be even funnier if the team didn’t know he had a girlfriend and he had to scramble for a reason as to why on earth he would be watching GLEE.
Also the idea of them just sat on the couch watching glee and his girlfriend tilting her head and saying ‘don’t you think Sue Sylvester kind of looks like your mom?’ just makes me chuckle.
Yo, correct me if I am wrong please, but didn't Hitler rise to power because he promised to fix the German economy and people really liked that so they looked past everything else he was doing??? Like exactly what's happening in America right now???
So many people said they voted for Trump, put a truly evil person in power, because he said he'd fix the economy, and a little voice in my head is going, "Isn't that what happened with fucking Hitler??"
But I've seen no one point that out so maybe I'm miss remembering???????
I saw you responded to the questions I made so thanks you're soo sooo cool I loved getting to know you 😘😘😘😘
ps you should not feel bad for telling on those horrible people at the end of the day you did the right thing and hopefully they learned from that mistake
Awww!! I I also want to get to know you so I’m going to ask you 10, 11, and 27🫶🏽
(And they didn’t really but guess who goes back to every frat party because they can’t let go of college)
unfortunately probably not. I hate to say that but between school and other things I need to do, fic writing has really been on the backburner. I've come up with concepts, but nothing complete.
so, so so many. I have one that is all my spanish music called "I didn't ask to be born latina" and another with songs for writing inspiration called "Why do you write like you're running out of time"
9. Make a confession
When I first was kicked out/left my sorority, we had an agreement. I would have to be silent about the things that happened behind closed doors and they would return the money I pre-paid for events. The minute that money was out of my Venmo and in my bank, I drove to the president's hometown over an hour away and put an anonymous letter into the school with all of the evidence of hazing/bullying/sexual harassment that I had. Within days, they had hearings, had to tell the truth, etc. They were banned from events for the rest of the semester and had to pay a fine to the school. I may hate them all and wish them the worst of luck, but I feel really guilty because two of them were kicked out of their graduate programs. But maybe they shouldn't have locked me in the basement or tell me that being thrown through a window was 'not a big deal'
23. Do you prefer phone calls, facetime, or texting?
any of them honestly. I'm a yapper. I will send paragraph after paragraph or keep you on the phone for 'just one more thing'
30. Have you ever met a celebrity?
I've met a few here and there. Jeremy Allen White used my lighter once. I'm like 70% sure I saw Tom Cruise the other day going into the Scientology building in Minnesota
5'5" and proud!! I was always mad fun of for being short but I feel like I tower over a lot of the women I know rn
15. What's something you're insecure about?
My back. I've lost weight over the years and fluctuated, but I have two rolls that never go away no matter what I do and I feel like that's the only thing people see. And the back of my hair.
18. What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought?
With my own earned money, probably my 4 in 1 hair tool. I use it everyday and it was about $115. Other than that, when I bought my phone in 2021(?)
25. What's a controversial opinion you have?
Let's see if I get in trouble. I think America's current political state is going to cause a global collapse if it's not put under control. We saw it in the 1930's and in 2008 when American investors created the housing crisis due to their own greed, causing a huge setback in the global (not justAmericann) economy. But what do I know? I'm not a white man with daddy's money in my pocket
Wake Up by Hilary Duff. I had that song on this sleepover CD that I found at a thrift store. It was the opening song and the only song on there that didn't skip so I used to listen to it 24/7
22. A song that evokes a bad memory?
The Night We Met by Lord Huron. That song just reminds me of someone who I no longer speak to and I sob every time I hear it because I know things will never be the same again.
26. Do You Believe In Second Chances?
Yes!! I believe that people can change and that second chances can be a chance at redemption. With my focus in school, I understand that things are not always black and white and I try to rationalize everything into something positive, even if I know it's not good.
Tell me about your first kiss
So many people have horror stories, but mine was pretty nice. It was with my boyfriend at the time. We’d been walking around the mall when he went for it. He later told me he did it because he knew how much I like balconies and we were overlooking the food court at the mall.
Guilty pleasures?
Spreadsheets. I don’t know if this is considered more of a hobby or whatever, but I love spreadsheets. And smoking. I need to stop, but there is nothing nicer than a joint when its -10 degrees out.
What is something you are sure you'd NEVER do?
Skydiving. 1 in 5 people don’t even make it to the ground. And I would like to avoid anything to do with boats or ships.
eeee! Also, don't trust the guy from the first question. He is the nastiest skant bitch I have ever met (we're going out later this month)