Heyyy I hope this isn’t a weird request but can u do a Reid x gideons daughter reader?? Like she just came back from uni and Reid used to tutor her and now he’s helping her study for exams or smth?? I love ur styling of writing lol))
“you always learned fast”
pairing: reid x gideondaughter!reader
summary: prompt and just two cute nerds flirting.
warnings: age gap (21-30), fluff, stadistics...
a/n: okay SO SORRY for not writing this earlier, i had literally no inspiration.
When you were thirteen, Spencer Reid taught you how to beat him at chess.
Not intentionally, of course. At the time he had been a painfully awkward twenty-something doctoral student who had just joined the BAU and spent most evenings buried in books at your father’s kitchen table. Your father, Jason Gideon, trusted him immediately. You had been less convinced.
You still remembered the first afternoon he came over.
You had walked into the kitchen, dropped your backpack on the floor, and stared at the tall, thin man with messy hair and a cardigan who was currently explaining the psychology of decision-making to your dad.
Spencer Reid looked up at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hi,” he had said. “I’m—uh—Spencer.”
“I know,” you replied flatly. “Dad talks about you.”
That made him nervous.
Which, admittedly, had been a little funny.
After that day, he started coming over often. Sometimes for case discussions with your father, sometimes just to read in the quiet of the house. And somehow—without either of you planning it—he became your tutor.
Math first.
Then physics.
Then statistics.
“You’re not supposed to explain it like that,” you had complained once, staring at the equations on your notebook.
Reid blinked. “Like what?”
“Like it’s obvious.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
He paused, thinking.
Then he started again, slower, breaking the problem into pieces until suddenly everything made sense.
You had looked up at him, surprised.
“Oh.”
He smiled, small and shy.
“You always learn fast.”
Years later, you were no longer thirteen.
You were twenty-one, freshly back from university for the semester break, sitting at the BAU round table with a pile of textbooks that made even Spencer Reid raise an eyebrow.
“Statistics?” he said, leaning closer to read the cover. “Advanced behavioral modeling?”
You shrugged.
“Final exams.”
Spencer sat down across from you.
For a moment he just stared.
Not rudely—more like he was recalculating something.
Because the last time he’d really seen you, you had still been the teenager asking him why probability theory mattered in real life.
Now you looked… different.
Older.
Confident.
And unfortunately for Spencer Reid’s already fragile social composure, extremely pretty.
“You used to hate statistics,” he said.
“I still do,” you answered. “But apparently my professor thinks suffering builds character.”
Spencer snorted softly.
“That’s not scientifically supported.”
“Good. Tell him that.”
You pushed one of the notebooks toward him.
“Help me study?”
He hesitated.
Not because he didn’t want to—helping you had always been easy. Natural.
The problem was that lately something about being around you made his brain short-circuit.
Still, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Two hours later, the BAU conference room looked like a war zone.
Papers everywhere.
Equations on the whiteboard.
Three empty coffee cups.
You were leaning back in your chair, staring at the ceiling like the answers might be written there.
“I hate regression models,” you announced.
Spencer, standing at the board, turned around.
“You don’t hate them,” he corrected. “You hate that they’re counterintuitive.”
“Same thing.”
“No, actually—”
You threw a pen at him.
He caught it mid-air without looking.
You groaned.
“I liked you better when I was thirteen and thought you were cool.”
Spencer smiled.
“You still think I’m cool.”
“Debatable.”
You sat up and squinted at the equation he’d written.
“…Wait.”
He watched your expression change.
The moment when your brain clicked into place.
“You see it?” he asked.
Your eyes lit up.
“The variance shifts the model.”
“Yes.”
“And that means the behavioral prediction—”
“Exactly.”
You grinned.
“I got it.”
He felt an unexpected warmth in his chest.
“You always did.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
For a second neither of you spoke.
Then you tilted your head slightly.
“You still say that.”
Spencer blinked.
“…Say what?”
“That.”
Your voice was softer now.
“You always learn fast.”
He looked down at the table, suddenly fascinated by a stack of papers that absolutely did not require this level of attention.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, “it’s statistically accurate.”
You laughed.
God, he had missed that sound.
The next hour went smoother.
Mostly because you actually understood the material now.
But also because the tension between you had shifted into something warmer.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Until you asked a question that made Spencer freeze.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you visit when I was at uni?”
He turned slowly.
“…What?”
“You used to come by the house all the time,” you said. “Before I left.”
“That was mostly to see your father.”
“Sure.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“But you didn’t answer the question.”
Spencer opened his mouth.
Closed it.
There were, technically, many reasons.
Work.
Cases.
Travel.
But none of those were the real one.
The real reason was sitting across from him right now.
Because somewhere between teaching you algebra and watching you leave for college, Spencer Reid had realized something deeply inconvenient.
He liked you.
Not in the harmless, mentor-type way he was supposed to.
In the kind of way that made him rethink every interaction he’d ever had with Jason Gideon.
“You were busy,” he said finally.
You stared at him.
“…That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”
Spencer rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m not very good at lying.”
“I know.”
You studied him for a moment.
Then your expression softened.
“Did you think it would be weird?”
He blinked again.
“…What?”
“You helping me. Seeing me.”
Your voice was gentle now.
“Because I’m Gideon’s daughter.”
Spencer looked at you like the concept had never occurred to him before.
Which, in fairness, it hadn’t in that exact wording.
But you weren’t entirely wrong.
“I respect your father,” he said carefully.
“I know.”
“And there’s… an age difference.”
You leaned forward slightly.
“Spencer.”
He swallowed.
“Yes?”
“You’re thirty.”
“Yes.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“…Yes.”
You tilted your head.
“That’s not exactly scandalous.”
Spencer looked like someone had just unplugged his brain.
“I—well—statistically speaking—”
“Oh my god.”
You laughed again.
Then you stood up and walked toward the whiteboard.
Right into his personal space.
Spencer forgot how oxygen worked.
You erased part of the equation he’d written.
Then replaced it with the correct value.
“There,” you said.
“Problem solved.”
Spencer stared at the board.
“…You changed the coefficient.”
“You taught me to check the variables.”
He looked at you.
Really looked.
And suddenly the shy thirteen-year-old from his memory was gone.
Instead there was a woman standing confidently in front of him who understood his jokes, his references, his equations—
—and apparently his feelings.
“Spencer?” you said.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to keep staring at me like that or are you going to help me pass this exam?”
He blinked.
Then smiled.
A real one this time.
“Both,” he said.
You grinned.
“Good.”
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Spencer Reid realized something important.
Teaching you had always been his favorite part.
But learning you might be even better.
author's note: is this a bit problematic? any way, ty for reading, likes and reposts are always appreciated!
pairing: kurt kunkle x reader
summary: Kurt never meant to become that guy online. He just wanted someone—anyone—to look at him like he mattered. So he hit record, posted a few late-night videos, and somehow it worked. You weren’t even looking for him. One accidental scroll turns into watching every video, then following, then a DM you definitely shouldn’t answer.
wc: 5.7k
tags/warnings: 18+ ! MDNI ! smut, fem!reader, camboy!kurt, virgin!kurt, sub!kurt, light dom/sub, fluff & smut, strangers to lovers?, casual sex, sexting, AFAB reader, dirty talk, praise kink, mutual masturbation, photo exchange, loss of virginity, oral sex, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, creampie, reader is on BC, body worship, slightly breeding kink, aftercare.
author's note: hey! this is my first smut fanfic ever + my first post on tumblr 😭, so please be kind :( I tried to write Kurt as canon as possible! I had so much fun writing it :) enjoy, and thank you for reading! feel free to share your thoughts :) I’m always glad to receive some feedback! (pics used are from pinterest, everything is fiction).
ao3
Until recently, Kurt had only ever filmed himself.
He'd tried the "normal" path first— painfully earnest tutorials, vape unboxings that nobody asked for, daily vlogs where he'd ramble about nothing like it was profound wisdom. Shoot. Edit. Upload. Repeat. The views stayed stuck at double digits. Comments were mostly bots or people straight-up telling him to delete his account and disappear.
So he pivoted.
If the internet didn't want him informative or relatable, maybe it wanted him raw. Exposed. Desperate.
He didn't think it'd actually work. Why would it? He'd never been the guy anyone noticed. In school he was background static—or worse, the easy punchline. No girl had ever looked at him like she was starving. No one had ever wanted him like that.
Still, he hit record.
Three videos. That's literally all it fucking took.
Three shaky, harshly lit, way-too-long clips dumped at 3 a.m. like dirty confessions.
And somehow… it clicked.
Followers started climbing. DMs flooded in. Notifications pinged with tips, subs, custom requests. People started typing his name like it tasted good in their mouths.
It wasn't love. It wasn't real connection.
But it was attention.
And for Kurt, attention was enough.
You found him by accident.
You barely touch Twitter anymore. You were just killing time, thumb flicking mindlessly, when a thirty-second clip auto-played. You almost swiped past.
Almost.
Something made you pause. Then tap.
@KurtsWorld698,418 followers
Cam link pinned. OnlyFans in bio.
Instant cringe crawled up your spine.
That username alone should have ended it.
The bio was somehow worse.
Yet you kept scrolling.
It was pathetic.
The emojis. The fake-laugh confidence. The way he tried to play it off like he wasn’t literally jerking off for strangers’ validation.
And still—you didn’t close the app.
It was cringey. Stupid. Borderline embarrassing.
But you watched every single video that night.
Curiosity? Sure. Morbid fascination? Definitely. Same Kurt every time: flushed cheeks, messy hair flopping into his eyes, staring straight into the lens like it could touch him back. Like he needed the camera to tell him he was good. Needed someone—anyone—to want him.
By the third video your thighs were already clenched tight. Heat coiled low and heavy in your belly. Your breathing turned shallow, uneven.
You didn’t even register your hand slipping under the waistband of your panties until your fingers met drenched, swollen heat.
“Fuck,” you breathed, barely audible.
You didn’t stop.
On screen, Kurt’s shirt was bunched between his teeth, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. His tummy flexed with every rough pump of his fist around his cock—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. He was loud. Shamelessly loud. Broken moans and whimpers spilling out like he couldn’t cage them anymore. No fake porn-star groans—just raw, needy, unfiltered sounds that hit you like a punch.
It shouldn’t have worked.
It did.
You propped the phone against your pillow, volume low, his ragged breathing filling the dark room like he was panting right against your ear.
You hit follow before common sense could catch up.
Then killed the light.
You lasted maybe thirty seconds in the pitch black before your hand was back between your legs—slower now, deliberate. Fingers dragging through your own slick before plunging inside. You gasped when your fingertips grazed your clit—already so sensitive it almost hurt. Your hips rolled up instinctively, back arching off the mattress.
You pictured him.
That same pleading stare aimed at you instead of a lens. That same desperate edge. All that pent-up hunger with nowhere to go except his own fist… until you imagined it going somewhere else.
What if those shaking hands gripped your thighs instead? What if that wrecked voice begged against your throat while he fucked into you—deep, frantic, like he couldn’t get close enough?
Your fingers curled, thumb circling tight. You matched the rhythm from memory—the wet slap of his hand, the hitched “fuck—yeah—please—” leaking from the speaker.
You told yourself it was just curiosity.
Curiosity doesn’t make your thighs quake like that.
Curiosity doesn’t make you bite your knuckles raw to keep quiet.
When you finally came it wasn’t gentle. It ripped through you—sharp, sudden, almost violent. Your cunt clenched hard around your fingers, slick dripping down your wrist, a choked whimper of his name muffled into your palm.
Your body stayed hot. Oversensitive. Breath still ragged.
You lay there staring at the ceiling, aftershocks pulsing faintly, the room heavier, quieter.
Then—
Buzz.
You flinched.
Another buzz.
Heart slamming back into your throat, you rolled over. Screen glowed in the dark.
@KurtsWorld69 followed you back.
You stared. Blinked. Stared again.
No fucking way.
You hadn’t liked. Hadn’t commented. Just… followed.
Pulse roaring, you tapped anyway.
His profile loaded. Same dumb bio. Same try-hard energy.
Except now: Follows you.
Your mouth went dry.
Had he scrolled your page? Seen the unfiltered you—the beach pic with the crooked bikini top, the blurry concert selfie where you’re laughing too hard, the candid where you look soft and real?
Another notification.
A DM.
From him.
You waited three full heartbeats before opening it.
“Hey :)”
Too casual. Probably automated. A funnel script. “Hey cutie, special discount just for you 😉”
You should’ve ignored it.
You didn’t.
You typed. Deleted. Typed again.
You: Hi
Sent.
Typing bubble instantly.
He’d been waiting.
Kurt: oh shit hi
Kurt: didn’t think you’d actually reply lol
Kurt: you’re real right?? not a bot 😭
You huffed a quiet laugh through your nose. Not what you expected.
Kurt: sorry that sounded dumb af
Kurt: i just get so many fake accounts
Kurt: but your pics are… normal. like actually normal
Normal.
He’d seen them.
Your skin prickled, suddenly hyper-aware he’d looked.
Kurt: anyway
Kurt: hi :)
That stupid smiley again.
For a second you considered blocking him. Thumb hovered over the dots.
This was stupid. Humiliating. Dangerous in the pettiest, most pathetic way.
You’d literally come five minutes ago fantasizing about him.
And now he was here. In your DMs. Acting like some awkward guy saying hi.
Shame hit late and hard—crawling up your neck, burning your cheeks in the dark. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. But you did.
You could end it. Block. Pretend it never happened.
He’d think you were a bot.
Your thumb dropped.
You typed instead.
You: yeah I’m real
You: promise I’m not here to sell you crypto
You cringed at yourself.
Typing bubble popped up immediately.
Kurt: LMAO okay good
Kurt: that would be actually tragic 😅
Kurt: imagine getting scammed by my own followers 🥺🥺 #notcool
A pause.
Then:
Kurt: sooooo…
Kurt: what made you follow me? 👀
Your stomach twisted—different heat now. Sharper. More exposed.
What the fuck do you even say?
I binged your whole page and came so hard thinking about your cock I forgot how to breathe?
You shifted under the sheets, bare skin sliding against fabric, still slick between your thighs.
Kurt: wait !! don’t ghost pls
Kurt: i was just curious 🥺
Kurt: i mean… i’m just asking 😏 nothing weird unless you want it to be weird… then i’m 100% in 😳
Heat flooded your face. He was terrible at this—awkward, over-explaining, spiraling—but god, it was working. Your cunt gave a traitorous throb.
Kurt: be honest…
Kurt: you followed cuz you think i’m hot right?
Kurt: …don’t you? 😏
Your heart hammered. Shame and want twisted together until they were the same thing.
You: maybe
Instant.
Kurt: oh 😳
Kurt: okay… wow
Kurt: that’s… uh… really flattering lol
Kurt: and also kinda hot that you just said it 😏
You rolled your eyes, fighting a stupid grin even as your cheeks burned.
You: don’t get used to it
Kurt: lol i won’t…Kurt: unless you want me to 😏
You leaned back against the headboard, thumb hovering, smiling despite yourself.
You: we’ll see.
He didn’t reply right away.
Maybe he was already stroking himself again—thinking about you this time. About the “maybe.” About what your voice would sound like moaning his name instead of just typing it.
You set the phone down, heart still racing, thighs still slick.
Because whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t over.
The silence after “we’ll see” settles like fog—thick, quiet, impossible to ignore.
Thursday is empty. No ping at dawn with some frantic “you still there???” No panicked voice note rambling apologies. No blurry selfie begging “pls don’t hate me”with big puppy eyes and messy hair. You wake up half-expecting it, half-dreading it, and when nothing comes you feel oddly off-balance.
During your mid-morning coffee break you check his profile anyway, telling yourself it’s just curiosity. Follower count now 9,312. A pinned post from yesterday teases:
hey kurties ! late night live in 20 👀 come say hi 😎✌️
You close the app fast, cheeks burning with how ridiculous you feel. He’s a cam guy. Thousands watch him every week. You’re just some random who stumbled into his orbit.
You spend the rest of the day telling yourself to block him. Delete the chat. Go back to normal life—spreadsheets, endless traffic, burnt office coffee. But you don’t unfollow him on Twitter. You just leave it. Like a door you’re not ready to slam shut.
Friday afternoon, 3:58 p.m., he finally breaks through.
Kurt: hey … 🥺
Kurt: didn’t wanna doubletext like a desperate loser but i’ve been staring at our chat since that night
Kurt: “we’ll see” is officially haunting me LOL
Kurt: sorry if that’s pathetic :/
You’re home now, kicking off your heels in the entryway, still in the wrinkled pencil skirt and blouse that smell faintly of toner and stale meetings. The message lands low and warm, like fingertips brushing the back of your neck. You change into soft shorts and a tank top, buy yourself time by staring into the fridge like it holds the answers, then reply anyway.
You: Hey
You: Not pathetic
Kurt: FR ??! 😳
Kurt: okay okay that just
Kurt: made my whole day hehe
Kurt: did a live last night actually 😎
Kurt: peaked at like 1,180 viewers
Kurt: some girl tipped big for a custom but i kept restarting bc my head was elsewhere 😭
You huff a quiet laugh into the empty kitchen. You saw the teaser post. He knows you’re still following even though you didn’t reply all day, didn’t engage, didn’t tip, didn’t do anything. Still here. Still watching from the sidelines.
The chat drifts for a long while—easy, almost normal.
You complain about the 405 traffic that made you twenty minutes late and the coworker who “forgets” to mute every single call. He sends a blurry photo of one of his dogs on the floor by his gaming chair, tongue lolling out like he’s judging the whole situation:
professional distraction,, he thinks the whole apartment is his throne !! 😡😡
You reply laughing and a picture of your half-dead succulent on the windowsill:
Tired as fuck zzzz
He asks what kind of music you’ve been replaying lately; you mention that one indie playlist that’s been on loop. He sends back three voice notes—his voice softer than in his videos, hesitant and stumbling over his words, a little raspy as he laughs at himself and admits he tried to film earlier but couldn’t focus on anything except your messages. You send a short one back, teasing him gently. He floods the chat with heart-eyes and:
your voice is literally perfect WTF i’m smiling like an idiot now LOL 🥲
It’s comfortable. Too comfortable.
Saturday night, 9:42 p.m., you’re already in bed scrolling when he shifts the tone.
Kurt: can i like be honest for a sec
Kurt: you don’t have to answer if it’s weird 🥺
You: Go ahead
Kurt: i keep wondering what you look like when you’re ..
Kurt: alone ??
Kurt: like thinking about me
Kurt: maybe like
Kurt: touching yourself
Kurt: that’s creepy right
Kurt: i’m SORRY 😭😭
You set the phone face-down on the nightstand. Walk to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, stare at your reflection in the mirror. This is insane. He comes on camera for strangers every week. Thousands watch, tip, beg for more. You barely know him. What if he’s recording this? What if tomorrow he posts a screenshot somewhere? What if you regret every single second? Your pulse is already racing, heat pooling low despite every warning light in your head. You come back to bed, hesitate a full minute, thumbs hovering.
You: It’s not creepy
You: I do think about you
Kurt: fuck
Kurt: okay thats
Kurt: wow
Kurt: i’m getting hard just from you saying that
Kurt: is that too much ??
You hesitate again—thumb frozen over the keyboard. Part of you wants to type “yes, too much, goodnight.” The other part is already soaked, thighs pressing together under the covers, imagining him right now in that dim room.
You: No
You: Show me
The photo loads almost instantly. Dim bedroom light, hoodie shoved up to his chest. Slim, soft torso—no cut abs, just pale skin with a faint happy trail of dark hair trailing down from his navel. Scattered moles dot his chest and stomach like tiny perfect beauty marks, the kind that look almost deliberate, warm and human under the lamp glow. Boxers pushed low, hand wrapped tight around a thick, flushed cock curving upward—tip glistening and dripping pre-cum. He’s clearly been stroking for a while; the head is dark, slick, flushed deep.
Kurt: fuck
Kurt: thats what you did to me
Kurt: just from you saying you think about me …
Kurt: i’m shaking rn
Kurt: your turn??
Kurt: pls?
Kurt: only if you want
Kurt: no pressure I SWEAR 🥺
You stare at the photo longer than you should. Heat floods your belly, insistent and undeniable. Your clit throbs even before you touch. You stand, tug your shorts and panties down just enough—dark wet spot already soaking through the fabric, clinging to your swollen folds, a visible damp patch spreading. No face. Just the evidence. Send.
Kurt: OH MY GOD
Kurt: you’re fucking soaked
Kurt: that wet spot
Kurt: shit
Kurt: i can see how puffy your lips are through the fabric
Kurt: i’m literally shaking harder now
You sit on the edge of the bed, heart hammering. Your hand slips between your legs over the fabric, slow hesitant circles over your clit through the cotton. You’re dripping already, slick seeping through. The hesitation is still there—loud, screaming—but your body doesn’t care.
You: Tell me what you would do if you were here with me right now
His typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again. Then the messages start flooding in, frantic and explicit.
Kurt: fuuuckk
Kurt: ookay
Kurt: my hand is shaking so bad i can barely type
Kurt: i’d walk in and kiss your neck first
Kurt: then drop to my knees
Kurt: spread your thighs wide
Kurt: drag my tongue over your panties first
Kurt: just to taste how soaked you are for me
Kurt: pull them aside
Kurt: bury my face
Kurt: lick slow circles around your clit suck it into my mouth
Kurt: push two fingers inside you, curl them while i keep eating you out
Kurt: make you come on my tongue
Kurt: i’ve never done this irl so i’d probably be messy AF
Kurt: but i’d try so fucking hard to make you feel good
You: You wouldn’t be messy
You: Keep going
You push your panties aside completely now—two fingers sliding deep into your dripping cunt, curling, pumping slow while your thumb grinds tight circles on your swollen clit. Breath coming faster.
Kurt: o ok
Kurt: okay
Kurt: then i’d stand up
Kurt: rub my cock against your clit
Kurt: teasing
Kurt: push in slow inch by inch watching your lips stretch around me
Kurt: yk i’m a virgin LOL
Kurt: i know that’s kinda pathetic, no one ever wanted me irl
Kurt: but you do, right?
You: Yes
Kurt: fuck
Kurt: okay
Kurt: i’d go slow at first
Kurt: then once i’m all the way inside i’d lose it
Kurt: fuck you deep and messy and hard
Kurt: probably come embarrassingly fast the first time
Kurt: but i’d stay hard for you, keep going
Kurt: i want to be good for you
Kurt: fill you up
Kurt: watch it drip down your thighs
Kurt: breed you so deep you feel me for hours
Kurt: idk why that part gets me so fucking hard
The confession hits like gasoline on fire. You add a third finger, stretching yourself, pumping faster, thumb frantic on your clit. The room feels too hot, too small.
You: I’m so close already
Kurt: fuck yes
Kurt: me too
Kurt: stroking faster now
Kurt: picturing your pussy clenching around my fingers
Kurt: or my tongue
Kurt: or my cock
Kurt: i’m
Kurt: shit
You shatter hard—back arching off the mattress, thighs trembling violently, a choked “Kurt—” breaking into the dark room before you clamp your hand over your mouth. Slick gushes over your fingers, soaking your hand and the sheets beneath you.
His messages flood in seconds later, messy and frantic.
Kurt: coming
Kurt: fuck
Kurt: so much
A photo loads; thick ropes of cum streaked across his soft stomach, caught in the happy trail and those scattered perfect moles like little stars, pooling in the dip of his navel. His cock still twitching in his loose grip, last bead dripping from the slit. Chest flushed.
Kurt: … holy shit
Kurt: i’m actually shaking 😭
Kurt: came so hard i think i blacked out for a second LOL
Kurt: that was insane ..
Kurt: but idk i don’t wanna keep doing this over text
Kurt: we’re both in LA right??
Kurt: i could drive over tomorrow night after you get off work
Kurt: protection or not i don’t care ATP 😅
Kurt: i just need to feel you for real
Kurt: no recording stuff ofc !!
Kurt: i’ll be SO good i swear
Kurt: PLEASE say yes 🥺
You lie there panting, thighs sticky and trembling, heart hammering against your ribs. Every rational thought screams no—this is a stranger, a cam guy with thousands of fans, what if he’s not who he seems, what if it’s awkward or worse, what if you regret opening this door you can’t close? But your body is still pulsing, clenching around nothing, and the image of him showing up at your door—nervous, inexperienced, desperate and real—makes you clench again.
You stare at the ceiling for a long minute, phone heavy in your hand. Then your thumbs move before the doubt can win.
You: Yes
You: Tomorrow night. My place. Around 11.
You: I’ll send you the address
You: Don’t overthink it. Just show up.
Kurt: fuck
Kurt: yes
Kurt: i’ll be there
Kurt: thank you thank you thank you !!!!!!! 😭
Kurt: i can’t believe this is actually happening
You set the phone down in the dark, city lights flickering through the blinds outside. Tomorrow. No more screens. Just him—awkward, needy, painfully real despite everything.
And no matter how many times you tell yourself this is crazy, you’re already counting the hours.
The apartment feels too quiet in the hour before 11:00 p.m.
You’ve spent the day channeling anxiety into motion: scrubbing counters that were already spotless, remaking the bed with fresh sheets that still carry the sharp, clean bite of detergent. In front of the mirror you stood far too long, holding up jeans, then a tighter top, then leggings—each option feeling wrong in its own particular way: too deliberate, too casual, too obvious, not obvious enough. In the end you pulled the black cotton sundress from the back of the closet. Sleeveless. Thin straps. Hem skimming just above mid-thigh. Loose enough to pretend this was casual, light enough that the fabric would slide up easily if things went that way. Nothing desperate. Nothing calculated. You were lying to yourself the whole time.
You almost texted him to cancel. Draft after draft: actually maybe not tonight, headache, long day. Every time your thumb hovered over send, you remembered last night—his cracked “thank you” like you’d handed him something fragile and rare; the photos he sent; the way you’d come whispering his name into an empty room like a secret you weren’t supposed to keep.
You didn’t cancel.
At 11:01 p.m. three soft knocks—careful, almost scared, like he’s afraid of waking someone who isn’t even asleep.
Through the peephole: Kurt, green hoodie zipped to his chin, hair falling messily into his eyes, shifting from foot to foot. A small paper bag dangles from his white-knuckled grip.
You open the door.
And there he is.
The guy you found by pure accident on Twitter—@KurtsWorld69, the one with the ridiculous username. Real. Not a clip. Not a thumbnail you tapped out of curiosity. Him.
Your stomach flips, a quick, dizzy rush of disbelief. A soft, almost amused laugh slips out—more exhale than anything. “Can't believe this is happening.” You mouthed.
He freezes. Eyes widen behind the fringe. Mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“Hey…” The word cracks. He clears his throat, tries again softer, grin too big. “Hi. Fuck. You look… insanely good. Yeah. Hi. Sorry, I’m already short-circuiting.”
You step aside. “Come in before the neighbors think I’m harboring a fugitive.”
He huffs a small, relieved laugh—real this time—and slips inside. Door clicks shut. Outdoor light dies. Just the warm amber glow from the living-room lamp now, soft and forgiving, turning the edges of everything golden.
He stops two steps inside, clutching the bag like armor. Eyes flick everywhere: couch, windows, the faint mix of your perfume and yesterday’s takeout. He looks ready to bolt, then squares his shoulders, summoning the same bright energy he uses on camera.
“Brought… stuff,” he says, lifting the bag a fraction. “Condoms—obviously. Waters. And gummy bears. I panicked at the store trying to guess what you’d actually want after… y’know. Or during. Fuck, saying it out loud sounds so dumb. Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous. Like right now. Hi again.”
You lean back against the door, arms loosely crossed. “You okay?”
He nods too quickly. “Yeah. Totally.” He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Okay, maybe freaking out a little. In a good way. Thousands watch me jerk off on stream every week, but this? This is you. In your apartment. With gummy bears. I’m… stupid happy I’m here.” He swallows, voice dropping lower. “Also… been hard since I left my place. Like, painfully. Had to sit in the car reciting license plates just to calm down enough to walk up here.”
You study him. Taller than the camera angles ever made him look, but still slim—lean shoulders, soft middle you already know by heart. His hands—surprisingly large—flex nervously at his sides. The nervous buzz rolling off him is electric, but underneath it that familiar extroverted spark flickers.
You push off the door and close the distance slowly. He doesn’t step back. Just watches, dark eyes tracking every step.
When you’re close enough to catch the faint woodsy bite of his cheap cologne, you reach up and ease his zipper down a few inches. His breath hitches.
You can feel it already—the unmistakable hard line of him pressed against your thigh through the denim, straining, insistent. You’ve known since the moment he stepped inside; the way he’s been shifting, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his eyes keep darting down to your mouth and then away like he’s trying not to stare. He’s not subtle. He’s never been subtle.
“So... you've been hard since you left your place, am I right?” you say, voice low, teasing. Inside, doubt spins quietly: stranger, bad idea, what if he ghosts, what if tomorrow feels empty? Your body ignores all of it, already warm and tightening, pulse heavy between your legs.
His eyes snap to yours, wide and glassy. A choked sound escapes him—half laugh, half whimper. “Yeah,” he breathes, voice wrecked already. “Fuck yeah. Since I locked my door. Since I got in the car. Kept having to adjust myself like some desperate teenager. I’m… sorry? I mean—not sorry. Just—yeah. You do that to me.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple jumping, cheeks burning brighter under the lamp glow.
You let your hand linger a moment longer, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, the faint twitch when your fingers curl just slightly. Then you slide both palms under his hoodie instead, pressing flat against the warm, trembling skin of his stomach.
“Good,” you say quietly, thumb brushing the soft line of hair trailing down from his navel. “I like knowing.”
His whole body shudders at the words. Eyes flutter half-closed.
You kiss him first—slow, careful, testing.
He melts into it with a helpless little noise, kissing back messy and hungry at first—too eager, a little sloppy—then softer, like he’s terrified of ruining it. His big hands find your waist, fingers curling, pulling you flush until there’s no space left between you, until you can feel every inch of how badly he’s been aching for this.
Foreheads resting together. Breathing ragged.
“Bedroom?” you ask.
He nods fast. “Yeah. Lead the way.”
You turn. He follows—stumbles once on the edge of the rug in the hall, catches himself with a quiet “shit—” and you both huff soft laughs under your breath like teenagers sneaking around.
Bedroom door open. Lamp low. Gold light pooling across the sheets. You push him gently until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He drops to sit, knees spread, looking up at you with those huge honey eyes—pupils blown, lips parted, cheeks blotchy red.
“Can I see you?” Voice cracks on the last word. “The dress… please? No pressure. I just… you’re so beautiful.”
Doubt flickers—quick and bright—but you step back and pull the black dress over your head in one smooth motion. No bra. Just the black cotton panties already clinging damp between your thighs. His gaze drops, pupils blowing wide.
“Fuck…” Almost reverent. “You’re… holy shit. Perfect. Actually perfect. Can I touch? Please?”
You nod.
His hands come up—shaking at first—cup your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over nipples that pebble instantly. He exhales like he’s been punched. “So soft… so warm… fuck, your skin…”
You climb into his lap, straddle him, roll down once against the bulge in his jeans. He groans deep, head tipping back, hands flying to your hips.
“Off,” you murmur, tugging his hoodie.
He yanks it over his head in one frantic motion—hair staticky, wild. Bare chest now: lean but soft in the middle, moles like stars, happy trail dark and inviting. You drag your nails lightly down his sternum; he shivers hard, goosebumps rising.
You tug at his belt loops. “Jeans.”
He fumbles—buttons, zipper, shoves denim and boxers down in a rush. Cock springs free—heavy, flushed dark, tip slick and leaking steadily. Thicker than the pics. Harder.
He’s trembling just from being exposed. “Shit… look how hard I am. All for you. Been like this since I left home.”
You shimmy out of your panties. He stares, chest rising and falling fast.
You wrap your hand around him—firm, slow stroke. He jerks up into your grip with a choked “oh fuck—your hand—so much better than mine—”
You chuckle softly. “First time anyone’s touched you like this, huh?”
He nods frantically. “Yeah. Never… fuck. Feels… unreal.”
You guide him to your entrance, sink down slow. The stretch is exquisite—thick, hot, filling you inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside. Your inner walls flutter around him instinctively, adjusting to the fullness, the heat radiating from him. He’s trembling beneath you, every muscle locked tight.
“Breathe,” you whisper.
He tries. A shaky laugh escapes. “If you move I’m gonna lose it so fast. Swear. You feel too good.”
You start small—tiny rolls of your hips, grinding in slow circles so your clit drags against the coarse hair at his base. Pleasure sparks low in your belly with every motion, building in lazy waves. He groans low, hands gripping your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks.
“Yeah… fuck, roll like that. Just like that. Don’t stop. Feels perfect.”
You lift and drop once—harder this time. The sudden depth makes you gasp, a sharp bloom of sensation spreading through your core. He bucks up on instinct, chasing the feeling, and the friction sends another jolt straight to your clit.
From there it’s rhythm: steady at first, then faster, grinding down so every stroke rubs you exactly right. His hands roam—waist, hips, breasts—holding on like you might vanish. He doesn’t talk much now—just short, desperate sounds: “fuck,” “so good,” swallowed moans when you clench around him deliberately, testing how it makes him twitch inside you.
“So good,” he pants. “Better than anything. Fuck—I’m—” He stills you suddenly, hands gentle on your hips. Panting against your throat. “Wait—want you to come first. Can I taste you? Please? Need to make you feel good. Really need it.”
You nod, pulse racing.
He flips you carefully—settles between your thighs, spreads you open slow, reverent. “So pretty… so wet… all for me? Fuck, that’s hot. Tell me if I mess up, okay?”
Broad lick up your folds. The first contact is electric—warm, wet tongue dragging slow and deliberate. Then focused—soft sucks, tongue circling your clit in tight, patient loops. You thread fingers through his hair; he moans into you, the vibration traveling straight through your core. Pleasure coils tighter, building in slow, insistent pulses.
“Like that? Tell me… fuck, you taste so sweet… driving me crazy…”
“Circles,” you gasp. “Slower.”
He obeys instantly. “Like this? God—tell me if it’s good… wanna be perfect for you.” Two fingers slide in—curl slow, searching, pressing against that sensitive spot inside until your hips lift off the mattress. “Tight… wet… fuck, am I okay? Please tell me.”
“Good,” you breathe, voice shaky. The combination is overwhelming: his tongue flicking steady, fingers stroking in perfect rhythm, the soft, needy sounds he makes against your skin. Heat surges, coiling low and tight until it snaps—your thighs clamp around his head, back arching, his name spilling out in a broken cry as waves crash through you, sharp and consuming.
He pulls back slow, chin glistening, grinning wide and dazed. “You okay? Fuck… you came so hard. Felt it. So hot.”
“Yeah,” you pant, chest heaving. “Really good.”
He crawls up, kisses you deep—lets you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and intimate. “Inside again? Please? Need to feel you. Need it bad.”
You pull him close. He settles on top of you, weight comforting, grounding. He pushes in carefully, groaning the whole way down. “So tight. Warm. Perfect.”
He bottoms out and stays still, trembling, forehead pressed to yours. “Can I move? Please?”
You nod.
Slow thrusts first—deep, careful, savoring every slide. Words spill between breaths: “Feels so good… love how you squeeze… tight… perfect… don’t stop… gonna lose it… so fucking good…”
You whisper “Good boy” once.
He shudders hard. “Fuck—say it again? Please? Makes me… yeah.”
“You’re such a good boy, Kurt…” The words come between soft whines as he hits deeper, the praise making him thrust harder, more desperate.
Pace builds. Then he snaps—harder, deeper, hips snapping with raw need. “Gonna come,” he rasps. “Inside—can I—please? Wanna fill you… need to… please say yes.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Pill.”
He buries himself deep—comes with a long broken moan, hot pulses flooding inside you. The sensation tips you again—clenching hard around him, gasping as another orgasm ripples through, softer this time but no less intense, your body milking every last tremor from him.
You collapse together—sweaty, shaking, hearts slamming against each other.
He stays inside a minute longer, kissing your shoulder, collarbone—soft, open-mouthed. “You okay? Was I… too much? Too fast? I talk too much, I know—”
You lace fingers with his. “You were perfect.”
He exhales, shaky relief. “Really?”
“Really.”
You feel him smile against your skin. He pulls out gentle, grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleans you both—careful, tender, almost worshipful.
Climbs back under the covers, curls around you—face in your neck, arm across your waist, leg slung over yours.
You hum, tracing lazy patterns on his back. His breathing evens out slowly. You card fingers through his damp hair. “Stay tonight. Sleep here.”
He stills. Lifts head just enough—eyes searching, vulnerable. “You sure? Like… really sure?”
“Yeah. Want you to.”
Something soft and wrecked flickers across his face. “Thank you… Fuck… thank you. For this.”
Quiet stretches—warm, easy. His breathing slows, body heavy against yours.
Then, sleepy murmur: “Hey… random thing.” Thumb brushes your hip under the blanket. “What if… sometime… we recorded something? Just us. You’d be totally anonymous—no face, no voice, nothing. Could be hot. Fun. No pressure. Just… putting it out there.”
You stare at the ceiling a beat. His heart thumps steady against your side.
“We’ll see,” you say softly.
He laughs quiet against your throat—happy, sleepy. “There it is again. ‘We’ll see.’ Those are my favorite words now… for real!”
You turn your head, meet his eyes. “Maybe,” you murmur. “We’ll see.”
He chuckles—low, warm—pulls you closer. “That’s enough for me. For now. But, seriously, like… You would totally get so much clout! I mean, you’re so pretty and I’m sure my followers would love to… know you? I mean, like your sexy-anonymous-internet sona, or whatever.. so there’s this—”
He starts rambling again, words tumbling out in that familiar, nervous rush. You simply listen, letting the sound wash over you without paying close attention. Something in your chest feels warm, at ease, comfortable—quietly surprised by how right it all feels in this moment.
The lamp glows. City hums outside.
Night stretches—warm, quiet, open-ended.
author's note: I hope you enjoyed my fic ! If so, reblog, comment or share please 🫶🏻 it motivates me to write more !
All my stories are R18. I occasionally write smut (by the moment) but I may touch sensitive topics, or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS. +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Masterlist
Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!Reader
Warning/Tags: Smut, Angst, Established Relationship, Unprotected Sex (don't do it at home!), Misunderstanding, Second chance trope, if i'm missing a tag I may add it later!
Word Count: ~3.1k
Summary: After your relationship becomes almost toxic you and Spencer decide to step away from it, just to realize none of you can make it without the other.
Author's Note: This is half something I had in mind and half inspired on this question! And completely horniness! Tysm @pumpk1nl34v35. It's never late to wish a Happy Valentine's Day! Not betaread, all mistakes and non sense are completely mine!
Things with Spencer were never really that easy. He was complicated to say the least, but you loved him deathly. From day one, to the prison situation, to the day you both ended things. And he loved you too, you were the only thing that kept his will to live as strong as possible.
It had started almost in a natural way. Late nights. Shared case theories over takeout. Spencer reading passages of obscure Russian literature while your head rested on his shoulder. He’d memorize your coffee order; you’d remind him to sleep. It was like you were meant to be.
The problem was that you were not only a couple in love, but partners in the field too, and that made it even more complicated for everyone, you both started arguing over small things even in the field, no one really interrupted you when you were yelling between teeth, but you noticed—you noticed everyone was tense, uncomfortable and that’s when you both decided it was for the best.
It was classy, you just stopped hanging around. And no one really noticed you were not together anymore. Everyone kept thinking you were just trying to refrain from doing more drama. You didn’t even properly say good bye, you just moved out and that was it.
Spencer was typing something on his computer while you were just checking a box with old evidence on a cold case.
“Are you Spencer and you ready to hang out with us at the bar?” Luke asked, leaning on your computer.
You didn’t even look up at him, “I don’t think I’m coming, but you should ask Spencer.”
“As if you two were capable of going to a place without the other.” He chuckled and you sighed.
“We—are not…”
“Luke, we are not together anymore.” Spencer spoke from his desk, he didn’t even stop typing.
Suddenly, everything stopped in the bullpen—time was paralyzed. JJ was looking at you with that soft gaze, Luke was agape, and you were trying to not show the colors in your cheeks.
“Say what again?” Emily said emerging from her office.
You and Spencer sighed in unison. You knew this was going to happen, and that was what you wanted to avoid. All the ‘Oh, the lovebirds are not together anymore, we need to help them! We need to do something!’.
You turned around to see him—he hadn’t slept. The dark circles around his eyes gave him away. He didn’t tell you, but somehow and even against all his knowledge, he started to sleep better when you started to sleep over, and even more when you started to live together. Consequently, he stopped having good nights the day you moved out from his apartment.
“Since when?” Emily walked toward you.
“Maybe a month…” You said.
“Thirty seven days…” Spencer mumbled, “Thirty seven days since she moved out.”
You felt a lump in your throat. You knew he was counting, he always did. But somehow, listening to him was even more painful.
Emily blinked. “And no one thought to mention this?”
“It wasn’t relevant to work,” Spencer said automatically.
JJ stood up slowly from her chair. Her eyes moved between the two of you, reading more than either of you were saying.
“Are you okay?” she asked Spencer gently.
“I’m fine,” he replied too quickly.
He wasn’t. You knew the exact pitch his voice reached when he lied. He couldn’t even feign he was hurting.
Luke cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh. Well. Bar still stands if anyone needs… distraction.”
No one answered and eventually, the bullpen noise resumed—slowly, carefully. But everything had shifted. Now they knew, and everyone was going to make a deal out of it. Now it was real.
And even when you didn’t want to. You noticed it. You noticed Spencer was closer to JJ—or her to him. She started bringing him coffee, something you used to do. She was hovering over him like he was a child that needed to be taken care of.
You didn’t want to feel jealousy. They had been friends since day one. She was married. But he had feelings for her back in time. He confessed to you when you started dating, and even when you didn’t want to feel it, it was eating you from within.
It was there when you pulled away further. Spencer and you had decided to keep it friendly, partially because you really enjoyed being friends back in time, but algo because of the team. But you stopped thinking straight, and started being cold, not waving back, not responding to greetings. If he was going to move on that easily, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.
A case in Ohio made it even worse. He was paired with JJ, you were with Luke, but you saw it. You saw how they laughed together in the hallway, how her fingers lingered on his shoulder, how he leaned toward her like gravity pulled him there. Like he was meant to be there.
“You can’t keep doing this,” JJ said quietly, laughing with a bitter tone.
“Doing what?”
“Pretending you’re okay.” He swallowed, “I ended it.”.
His jaw tightened.
“We were toxic.”
“You were stressed. You were both exhausted. That’s not the same thing.” JJ’s face softened. Almost motherly.
He stared at the carpet, “She doesn’t want me.”
“Spencer… she looks like she’s barely breathing around you.”
He looked up then, hope flickering in his eyes before he crushed it.
“She’s avoiding me, I can’t force her to speak to me.”
“Maybe she thinks you’re avoiding her, have you thought about it?”
He didn’t respond, because the worst part was—he didn’t know anymore.
That night you were working late, you didn’t even really notice when the bullpen emptied, you were typing on a document, humming a song that was playing on your computer. Then, you felt a hand over your shoulder. You jumped on your seat and saw Spencer there with a mug of coffee.
“Lord’s sake, Spencer. Don’t do that!” You chuckled.
“I’m sorry, I thought you heard me.” He handed you the mug, “Why are you staying late?”
“Pending work.” You half smiled and took the mug, both of you seemed hurt, “And you?”
“I was about to leave and I saw you here.”
“You don’t have to stay, I’m not sure when I will be done.”
“I want to stay, you hate to be working late on your own.”
“And JJ?” That question left your mouth without you even thinking it through.
“What about her?” He furrowed his eyebrows until he realized what you had asked, “Wait—do you think we are flirting or something like that?!”
You sighed.
“And are you not?” He shook his head, “Oh, don’t lie, Spencer. I’ve seen you two together.”
“What are you even talking about?!” You sighed, “Don’t sigh at me, I’m being serious. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not even asking you to tell me. I’m just sure of what I see.”
“She is not flirting, we don’t have anything. I love you, and that hasn’t changed just because we are not together anymore.”
“Just stop it. I don’t need this right now.” You sighed.
“Let me get this clear, you can flirt with Luke, but if I have a friendship with JJ—like I have always had, then there’s a problem?”
“It’s not like that and you know it!” You shouted.
“Then how is it?”
He snapped—his voice was loud. You could see that expression in his face, that one that made you realize you were getting on his nerves.
“We are just friends, we have always been!” You stood up and locked eyes with him. It was almost challenging. You wanted to show him you were on the edge too.
“It is different because I have never had feelings toward him.”
“Not like I did for her…” He mumbled.
So, you stepped back and looked down; this was the whole reason you ended things, you were to each other to bring the worst out.
“Spencer, please… Just let me finish this, I will be heading out in an hour max, and then we can keep ignoring each other.”
You sat on the chair, but he turned it around to face him, he knelt in front of you.
“I’m so sorry,”
You saw it for the first time—remorse in his eyes. He was not only struggling to sleep—he was struggling to exist without you. But he hated who he had become since you both started dating. His hands were gripping yours, his thumb circled your wrist carefully.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been doing this so wrongly. And I know we shouldn’t be together. That we need space from each other, but… please.”
You shook your head. “It’s not that easy, Spencer. You know it.”
“I know it, and I hate myself for disregarding my logical thoughts, and not accepting that we shouldn’t go back together.”
He cupped your cheeks with his hands, his large and thick fingers cradling your jawline.
“You know I miss you?” He vowed.
His bony but smooth hands reminded you of how much you missed him, your breathing hitched at the moment, the pain wrenched on your chest. Your heart cramped at the same time as his fingers brushed against your skin.
“I miss you too, but that doesn’t mean it’s correct.”
Back at home you were typing on your laptop, you couldn’t stop thinking in the way Spencer was almost pleading for you to go back together. On the way his eyes found yours in a way that made your knees tremble.
The document in front of you now seemed dull. You were not even paying attention to it anymore.
A knock on your door took you out of your thoughts, when you opened it, Spencer was there. Disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, parted lips.
“I don’t know what I’m doing—I just know I need you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t accept the fact we are not good for each other.”
“Spencer…”
He didn’t even let you continue. He stumbled against you and started kissing you.
“I’m sorry,” He mumbled with your lips still brushing his, “I love you…” Another peck.
You weren’t even resisting anymore. You pulled him into the kiss even deeper. You could sense he felt like it was the last time he was going to be able to kiss you in this lifetime.
“Spencer…” You urged, “Don’t do this to me…”
His lips traveled from your mouth to your neck. His hands clutching your waist guide you inside your apartment. His lips pecked your neck with care, while you roamed from his shoulders to his chest.
“Can I?” You cooed, and he nodded eagerly.
“Please…”
Before you could even start undoing his buttons he turned you around and squeezed your body to make you walk to the room.
“You have no idea how much I missed you, how much I have missed your scent.” He purred in your ear.
He sat you on the edge of the bed, then he knelt in front of you. You started to take off his shirt—your hands were shaking while his hands slowly put down your jeans. His bare chest was almost sinful at the sight. You were sure you weren’t going to be able to look at it once again.
He made you lay on the bed while his finger dug in your thighs, you could see how his eyes were locked on your core and before you could tease in any form, he latched his mouth on your cunt with your underwear still covering it. His tongue lapped on the fabric while you intertwined your fingers in his hair. Your back arched with every damp movement.
“Spencer…”
His name was the only thing that could come out of your lips, you were sure if he didn’t stop you could hit the climax just with that performance. You could feel the heat on your cheeks, how a warm feeling crawled from your core to your chest.
He hooked a finger on your now damp underwear and tossed it aside. His tongue delved between your folds, his lips latched on your clit while one finger hooked inside.
You bit back a moan, you knew you were about to moan as loud as possible.
“No. Please don’t restrain yourself. I need to feel you.” He mewled.
Seeing him like that made you feel that lust that grounded you in the moment.
You made him stop before even coming—you tossed away your underwear, and crawled to the edge, he was still kneeling on the floor, you took him by his arms and made him sit on the bed. You took his position now sitting on your knees, his eyes were fixed on your face.
You unzipped his pants while looking at his eyes. His fingers were tangled on your hair while he admired the way you bit your lips out of concentration.
“You look beautiful like this.”
You didn’t answer—his voice was more like a hum that lured you to feel more relaxed. When his length spang freely you admired the way it looked. His pink tip leaking pre–cum while it twitched at the ghost touch of your fingers in the base.
The friction of your hand stroking his length ignited an ecstasy that drowned him in pleasure. You kissed the tip, a trace of thick from his arousal was left in your lips. His hips jerked at the feeling—he was shaky, almost intoxicated with just the kiss. You swirled your tongue around his tip and hollowed your cheeks to create pressure.
“Dear lord…” He keened before pulling your hair softly.
Your head bobbed lazily on his length, your tongue went through the base to the tip while his hand pulled your head remorsefully to make you go faster. You could feel it, you could feel the way his cock twitched in your mouth, and he yanked you from his cock, you gasped at the missing touch.
He took you by your waist and made you rest on the bed, with his knee he sprawled your leg while he knelt in the middle—he hovered you to set your upper–body free from your clothes—he had always been a yapper, and your naked body was his favorite topic.
He always talked about your breasts, how much he loved the way they looked when you were naked, the way every one of your scars, lines, birthmarks told a story to him. He worshipped every part of you every time he could. And the simple thought of not being able to see you again like this was killing him from within.
“Can I?” He rasped shakily. His voice was almost a whimper.
You nodded, his fingers were now stroking your fold languidly, his knees between your thighs felt lascivious. How they made you stay wide spread for him. With his free hand he was jerking his cock slowly, then he centered his length to your entrance, with his tip he teased slowly, you arched your back and a gasp gave you away.
“Please, Spencer… don’t tease more… I miss you.”
He could see a tear welling up on your eye, and he knew—you were as desperate as him. His tip sank on your cunt, you saw the lustful scene—how he pulled his hips down even harder, how his cock disappeared into your body. He snapped his hips with a slow rhythm, you took him by his neck and made him closer, then you hugged him digging your nails on his back.
His lips found yours, almost devouring you, his tongue delved on your mouth, you could feel your teeth clicking with each other as he pounded his hips against you. Every here and there your lips just brushed against each other—breathing each other’s air while he muttered ‘I love you’, ‘I missed you’ as if he were praying.
When finally, both of you needed to bring some air to your lungs he caged your face with his arms, his chest heaving on your face—you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. The way his chest rose and fell while he whispered something to the ceiling.
You couldn’t hear, but he was thanking—thanking someone he didn’t really believe in. He worshipped every moment of being inside you. He even thanked the way your nails digging in his back burned.
“Spencer… I love you…” You whimpered in his chest, he really didn’t stop, he just leaned his face closer to yours and kissed you again.
“I love you—you have no idea how much I love you…”
You felt it again—his cock was twitching, and you knew what that meant.
“I missed you, I needed you, honey.”
The heat coming from your bodies was getting you dizzy, his arms roamed behind your head to pull you closer. You whimpered in his collarbone, a tear coming from his eye landed on your face. The pleasure he felt was almost unbearable.
“Please, don’t ever leave again.” He pleaded.
You shook your head, “Never again. I swear.”
You felt his cock throbbing, and then—his seed coming from his cock, but he knew… he knew the only way to make you cum was with the whole package. Never stopping his rhythm even after coming he moved his body to hover you, his left hand spread you open by the thigh, while his right hand rested on your pelvis, his thumb circling your clit while he could see the way his cum leaked from your cunt.
His touch sent a shockwave through your whole body, and his dick pulsed while you clenched around him. He stopped his pace and fell on your body, his sweat fell from his chest to your lips, that salty taste was enough to make you clench again.
In a swift move, he turned his back to the bed and pulled you on top of him. His cock left your cunt which made you whimper with the missing touch.
“You know I’m an idiot, and the whole team knows it,” he started mumbling with ragged breathing, “But I will never, never start something with someone else, not with you this close, not when you exist in my world.”
“I know… I was being an asshole. I know you and JJ are just friends…”
“Good—Remember it. I’m yours. Only yours.”
“Spencer…” You tilted your head. And he shook back.
“Give us some time to savor this. We can discuss the details later. Tomorrow. Never.” He was closing his eyes.
“I’m trying—I’m just afraid…”
He knitted his eyebrows in the middle.
“Afraid of what?”
“I think we are going to fuck this up again.”
He sighed. “We are going to do our best, okay?”
You nodded and rested your head on his chest again.
warnings: angst | emotional neglect | unbalanced love | quiet heartbreak | joe being an asshole
It’s funny how quiet your apartment is at night.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Just… empty in a way that feels personal.
You’re curled up on the couch in your old sweatshirt—one of his, technically, though he probably forgot he ever left it here. Your phone is face-down on the coffee table, like that might stop you from checking it every thirty seconds.
It won’t light up.
It hasn’t all evening.
You glance at the TV, where something mindless is playing, the laugh track too loud, too artificial. You’re not really watching. You’re counting. Minutes. Hours. The space between messages that never come.
It’s funny you’re out drinking.
You picture it without trying. Joe in some dimly lit bar, arm slung over the back of a chair, laughing with people you don’t know. People who know his face. His name. The version of him that doesn’t come home exhausted and quiet.
Funny I’m at home.
You snort softly at that, a dry, humorless sound, because yeah. That tracks.
You didn’t always mind being the one who stayed in. You liked routine. Normality. A life that didn’t revolve around premieres and press and strangers who felt entitled to pieces of him.
Joe used to say that’s why he loved you.
Loved. Past tense. Even if neither of you has said it out loud yet.
⸻
When you first met him, he was… different.
Not unknown—never that—but softer around the edges. Less guarded. He used to show up at your place with takeout and a crooked smile, collapsing onto your couch like the world hadn’t already started pulling him away.
“I just need somewhere normal for a bit,” he’d said once, forehead pressed to your shoulder.
You were normal. Comfortably invisible. No cameras. No expectations.
You didn’t realize, back then, that normal was something he’d eventually outgrow.
⸻
Your phone buzzes.
Your heart jumps embarrassingly fast before your brain catches up.
A notification. Not him.
Just a mutual friend’s Instagram story.
You tap it before you can stop yourself.
There he is.
Joe, flushed and smiling, drink in hand. Someone’s tagged him. The bar’s loud, crowded. He looks good—effortlessly so, like he always does when he’s not trying. Like the version of him the world gets.
The caption reads: “Best night 💥”
You stare at it longer than you should.
Funny everybody knows something I don’t.
You close the app.
Your chest feels tight, like something’s sitting there, heavy and immovable. You tell yourself not to spiral. You’re not dramatic. You’re not clingy. You’re not the girl who needs constant reassurance.
You’re just… tired.
⸻
Joe had texted earlier.
Running late. Might grab a drink after. Don’t wait up.
No question mark. No is that okay?
You’d replied with a joke, because that’s what you do now.
Wow, living the dream. Say hi to the bar for me.
He reacted with a laughing emoji.
That was it.
It’s funny how much damage a single emoji can do.
You replay the past few months like a highlight reel you never asked for.
Missed calls.
Plans rescheduled.
Conversations cut short because he’s “exhausted” or “swamped” or “about to lose signal.”
And every time, you laugh it off.
“Yeah, yeah, go be famous,” you’d tease.
“Don’t worry about me,” you’d say.
“I get it,” you’d insist.
You’ve said I get it so many times it’s started to feel like a lie you tell yourself more than him.
⸻
Your phone buzzes again.
This time, it is him.
Your fingers hesitate before you pick it up, like you’re bracing for impact.
Still out. You okay?
You stare at the screen.
It’s such a simple question. Such a harmless one.
You laugh.
Out loud, this time. A short, brittle sound that echoes a little too much in your living room.
Funny how I do this. Every single time.
You type, delete, type again.
Yeah. Just watching TV. Have fun.
You send it before you can overthink it.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Then nothing.
You wait.
You always wait.
⸻
You don’t remember when laughing became easier than crying, but now it’s instinctive.
Like a reflex.
Your friends have started to notice.
“You’re taking this really well,” one of them said recently, concern masked as admiration.
You’d smiled. Made a joke. Changed the subject.
What you didn’t say was that crying feels too honest. Too dangerous. If you start, you’re not sure you’ll stop.
Laughing, at least, keeps you intact.
So funny that I have to laugh just so I don’t cry.
⸻
Joe comes home around 2:17 a.m.
You know because you’re still awake, staring at the ceiling, the TV long forgotten. The door clicks open softly, like he’s trying not to wake you, even though he never checked if you were asleep in the first place.
You hear him kick off his shoes. The familiar sounds feel foreign now, like muscle memory without the comfort.
He steps into the living room and freezes when he sees you.
“You’re still up,” he says quietly.
You glance at him. He smells like alcohol and cold night air. His hair’s a mess. He looks… happy. Or at least lighter than he has around you lately.
“Insomnia,” you reply, shrugging. “Very trendy.”
He huffs a small laugh, but it fades quickly.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to stay out that late.”
You sit up, pulling your knees to your chest.
“It’s fine.”
He frowns. “You always say that.”
You smile, sharp and tired. “Funny, right?”
That gives him pause.
Joe drops onto the armchair across from you instead of sitting beside you like he used to. The distance feels deliberate, even if he doesn’t realize it.
“You mad at me?” he asks.
You consider it.
Mad implies energy. Passion. A desire to fight.
“I’m not mad,” you say honestly. “I’m just… here.”
He rubs his face, uneasy. “I texted you.”
“I know.”
“I asked if you were okay.”
“And I said I was.”
Silence stretches.
Joe looks at you like he’s trying to read something written in a language he never bothered to learn.
“You can talk to me,” he says.
You laugh again.
God, you’re so good at that now.
“About what?” you ask. “How funny it is that you’re living your life and I’m watching it through other people’s stories?”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
You stand, suddenly exhausted.
“I think I’m going to bed,” you say.
He nods, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Me too. Long day.”
You pass him without touching.
That’s when it finally hits you—not like a dramatic wave, but like a quiet truth settling into place.
You’re lonely.
Not alone.
Lonely with him.
And somehow, that’s worse.
As you close the bedroom door behind you, you let out one last soft laugh, pressing your forehead against the wood.
Because if you don’t—
You’ll cry.
author’s note: first joe fic!! like and repost if you enjoyed 🩷
Hello!!! I wanna request for an angst! I recently watched FRIENDS and saw the episode where Ross said the wrong name in the altar when he was about to marry Emily. So I was thinking about an angst reader and spencer were about to get married, but he said the wrong name in the altar, it could be Maeve or his exes. Thank you so much!!!
“speak now”
pairing: fem!reader x Reid
summary: prompt :)
warnings: angst, maeve donovan, wedding,
a/n: oh girl you like to suffer…
The church is too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—more like the kind where every breath echoes, where the weight of the moment presses against your ribs until it hurts to inhale. You stand at the altar, hands clasped tightly around Spencer’s, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm.
You remind yourself of the facts.
Spencer loves you.
Spencer chose you.
Spencer proposed with shaking hands and tears in his eyes because “statistically, the probability of finding someone like you twice is negligible.”
This is real.
He looks beautiful in his suit—awkward, slightly stiff, hair refusing to behave. His glasses sit low on his nose, and when he smiles at you, it’s soft, reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re here.
Across the aisle, the team watches. JJ smiles through misty eyes. Garcia is already crying. Rossi looks proud in that quiet, fatherly way. Even Hotch’s expression is gentler today.
Everything is perfect.
The officiant clears his throat.
“Spencer Reid,” he says, “do you take—”
You feel Spencer’s hand tighten around yours.
The world narrows to the sound of his breathing.
“I do,” Spencer says quickly, then freezes. He blinks once. Twice. His jaw tightens, like something in his brain has snagged.
The officiant continues, unfazed.
“Please repeat after me.”
Spencer swallows.
“I, Spencer Walter Reid—”
Your heart pounds.
“—take thee, Maeve—”
The word hits the room like a gunshot.
For a moment, you don’t understand it. Your brain refuses to process the sound, like it’s a foreign language you’ve never learned.
Maeve.
Not your name.
Not you.
The silence that follows is unbearable.
You feel it before you see it—the shift in the room, the sharp intake of breath from the guests, Garcia’s hand flying to her mouth. JJ stiffens. Rossi’s eyes widen. Hotch’s jaw clenches.
Spencer’s face drains of color.
“I—” he says, voice breaking. “I—I didn’t—”
You let go of his hands.
That’s when it becomes real.
That’s when your chest caves in.
“Y/N, I swear, I didn’t mean—” He turns fully toward you now, panic flooding his features, words tripping over each other. “It was a cognitive intrusion, a stress response, my brain—”
You shake your head.
Not angry. Not screaming.
Just… broken.
“I can’t do this,” you whisper.
Spencer looks like you’ve just told him the world is ending.
“Please,” he begs, forgetting where he is, forgetting everyone watching. “Please don’t leave. I love you. I love you. Maeve was—she was a trauma imprint, not—”
But the damage is already done.
You feel exposed. Humiliated. Like you’ve been standing naked in front of everyone you know, only to realize you were never the one he saw.
You turn and walk down the aisle alone.
No music.
No applause.
Just the sound of your own heart shattering with every step.
⸻
Spencer doesn’t remember how the church empties.
He doesn’t remember Rossi putting a hand on his shoulder, or JJ quietly telling the guests to leave, or Garcia sobbing openly in the front pew.
All he knows is that you’re gone.
He sits alone at the altar, head in his hands, replaying the moment over and over like a cruel experiment with no end.
Maeve wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.
He loved you differently. Healthier. Braver.
But under stress, the brain reaches for what hurt the most.
And he destroyed the best thing he ever had.
⸻
You don’t answer his calls.
Not the first one.
Not the tenth.
Not the voicemail where his voice cracks so badly it barely sounds like him.
“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says. “But please… please let me explain.”
Days pass.
Your apartment feels wrong without him. Every book on your shelf reminds you of Spencer. Every quiet moment aches with the absence of his presence, his facts, his gentle warmth.
Finally, there’s a knock at your door.
When you open it, Spencer looks wrecked.
Dark circles. Rumpled clothes. Glasses crooked. Like he hasn’t slept since the wedding.
He doesn’t step inside.
“I didn’t come to ask you to take me back,” he says softly. “I just… I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you the truth.”
You cross your arms, protecting what’s left of your heart.
“Then talk.”
He swallows.
“Maeve was a ghost,” he says. “A scar. She was never the future. You were.” His voice shakes. “But fear is powerful, and my brain betrayed me. And I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
Tears burn your eyes.
“You said her name,” you whisper. “In front of everyone.”
“I know.” He nods, tears slipping free now. “And I lost you because of it.”
Silence stretches between you.
Pain. Love. History.
Finally, you speak.
“I don’t know if I can ever forget that moment,” you admit.
Spencer nods again.
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
He turns to leave.
And that hurts almost as much as the wedding did.
author’s note: hope you like it! don’t forget to repost and share 🫶🏻
summary: he comes back from a really bad case, you comfort him in your own way.
warnings: fluff, smut, +18, not explicit, comfort, established relationship,
a/n: hope you like it!!
Spencer doesn’t say much when he gets back.
He shrugs off his jacket, sets his messenger bag down with mechanical precision, and sits on the edge of the bed like he’s not entirely sure it’s allowed to touch him. His shoulders are tense. His hands won’t stop moving.
You don’t ask about the case. You already know better.
Instead, you step closer.
“Hey,” you say softly.
He looks up at you, eyes tired, dark circles deeper than usual.
“I’m fine,” he says automatically, then exhales. “That was statistically untrue.”
You smile gently and sit in front of him, close enough that your knees brush his. He freezes for half a second.
“I don’t need facts right now,” you tell him. “Just… let me be here.”
He swallows.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I can do that.”
You reach out slowly, giving him time, and rest your hand over his. His fingers twitch, then curl around yours like he’s afraid you might disappear.
They’re warm. Shaking.
“I’m not great with—” He hesitates. “With physical stuff. Not because I don’t want it. Just… I’m not used to being touched without it meaning something bad is about to happen.”
Your chest tightens.
You lean in and press your forehead to his.
“Nothing bad,” you whisper. “Just me.”
His breathing stutters. You feel it when his grip tightens, when his other hand comes up to your wrist, hesitant, like he’s asking permission even now.
You kiss him slowly. No rush. No pressure.
He melts.
A soft sound leaves him—barely there, but real—and suddenly he’s holding you like he needs it. Like he’s been deprived of this for too long. His hands slide up your back, unsure but desperate, like he’s learning as he goes.
When you pull away, his eyes are glassy.
“Can I—” he starts, then stops. “Can I touch you more?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Please.”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth is on yours again, deeper this time, messy in a way that feels almost reverent. He kisses like he’s been thinking about this for months and never let himself imagine it fully. His hands explore you slowly, reverently, like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his palms.
You guide him back onto the bed, straddling him, and he looks up at you like he can’t believe this is happening.
“You’re—” He laughs softly, breathless. “You’re real, right?”
You smile and kiss down his neck, feeling him shiver beneath you.
“Very real.”
Your hands slide under his shirt, and he gasps when your skin meets his, hips lifting instinctively. He flushes, embarrassed.
“Sorry—reflex,” he mutters.
You grind down gently, deliberately.
“Don’t apologize.”
That’s when he breaks.
Spencer’s hands grip your hips, confidence snapping into place like something innate finally waking up. His kisses turn hungry, his movements more certain, like once his brain lets go, his body knows exactly what it wants.
Clothes are pushed aside. Skin on skin. Breathing heavy, uneven.
When you guide him inside you, he freezes—just for a second—eyes searching yours.
“Okay?” he asks, voice low, serious.
“So okay.”
He moves slowly at first, reverently, like he’s afraid to rush something sacred. But the more you moan, the more your fingers dig into his shoulders, the more he starts to lose control.
Thoughts don’t spiral.
There’s just you.
Your name falls from his lips like a confession, over and over, until he’s completely undone beneath you—until the tension finally leaves his body, replaced with something warm, grounding, safe.
Afterward, he holds you like he never wants to let go.
“I think,” he murmurs against your hair, “this might be the first time my brain has been… quiet.”
You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest.
“Good,” you whisper. “You deserve that.”
And for once, Spencer Reid believes it.
author’s note: thank you so much for reading, pls like and repost if you did! requests are open
summary: the making out session is making Spencer very nervous.
warnings: kinda suggesting at the end, make out, fluff, s rambles a bit
a/n: happy new year!!! im back, I was studying for my finals but hey, im here now
Spencer’s apartment was too quiet.
Not in a bad way—just in the way that made him painfully aware of everything. The hum of the fridge. The ticking clock. The sound of his own heartbeat doing something embarrassingly close to cardio.
And you.
You were kissing him slowly, deliberately, like you had nowhere else to be. Your hands rested at his waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of his sweater, and Spencer was doing his absolute best to stay present.
Keyword: trying.
He stiffened just a little.
“I—um—fun fact,” he blurted out.
You pulled back an inch, smiling already.
“Oh no.”
“According to multiple studies,” he continued, words tumbling out faster now, “physical intimacy can cause the amygdala to misfire, which explains why I feel like I’m about to either pass out or recite the entire periodic table.”
“That’s my fault?” you teased.
“No—well—statistically, yes. But not in a bad way. Just—” He pushed his glasses up, cheeks pink. “My brain is very loud.”
You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, then his neck. Spencer inhaled sharply.
“Spencer,” you murmured, “you don’t have to explain everything.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I just—when things get intense, I start listing facts. It’s a coping mechanism. Did you know octopuses have three hearts?”
You laughed, forehead resting against his.
“Breathe,” you said gently.
He did. Slowly this time.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’m breathing. And the facts are… quieter.”
Your fingers slid up into his hair, grounding him, and this time when you kissed him, he kissed back without stopping to analyze it. His hands found your waist, tentative but certain, like he was finally letting himself believe this was real.
When you pulled away, the air between you felt charged—different.
Spencer swallowed.
“So,” he said softly, voice lower now, steadier. “Just for the record… I might get nervous again.”
You smiled, brushing your nose against his.
“That’s fine,” you replied. “We’re not in a rush.”
He nodded, eyes dark behind his lashes, fingers tightening just slightly at your hips.
“…But,” you added, leaning in closer, “we don’t have to stop either.”
Something shifted in his expression—nerves still there, but curiosity too. Want. Trust.
Spencer leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Then,” he murmured, “maybe we should… move somewhere more comfortable.”
You didn’t answer with words.
You just took his hand and stood, and Spencer followed—heart racing, facts forgotten—as the apartment fell quiet behind you.
author’s note: don’t forget to like and repost! thank you for reading 🩷
Heeyyy hope you’re doing good! I wanted to request a reid x reader where the reader gets jealous because some girl starts flirting with reid at a bar in Vegas or something like that
“really?”
pairing: fem!reader x reid
summary: prompt :)
warnings: established relationship, jealousy, girl flirting with reid, reader is a bit insecure???
a/n: this one is short but I hope you like it 🫶🏻
Vegas was loud in the way only Vegas could be—neon lights, slot machines screaming for attention, people who looked like they’d been awake for forty hours straight.
But after closing the case, the team had agreed on one thing:
One drink.
Just one.
You and Spencer sat together in a small booth, pressed a little too close for two “coworkers.” His hand brushed yours under the table every few seconds—quiet, secret little touches that kept your heart doing cartwheels.
The team didn’t know you were together.
Not yet.
You and Spencer had agreed to keep things private for a while.
But watching him now, laughing softly at something JJ said, you felt a wave of affection so strong you almost forgot the whole “secret” part.
Almost.
When Spencer went to the bar to grab your drinks, you watched him go with a stupid smile. His curls were a bit messy from the long day, his shoulders slouched with that soft tiredness he always got after a case.
You adored him.
But apparently… someone else did too.
A woman—not just pretty, but Vegas-pretty, all long legs, smoky eyeliner, and a glittery dress—slid right up beside him at the bar. Leaned on the counter. Smiled way too sweetly.
And then she touched his arm.
You blinked.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Morgan followed your gaze and grinned.
“Oh, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?” you said, way too fast.
“That ‘I’m about to commit a misdemeanor in public’ look.”
“I don’t— I’m not—” You hissed, waving him off. “We’re literally just getting drinks.”
Morgan chuckled. “Mhm. Sure.”
Your eyes snapped back to Spencer.
He looked… confused.
Polite smile.
Doing that soft, awkward laugh he did when someone was being bold and he didn’t know how to react.
She leaned in closer.
You were up before your brain even caught up.
You marched across the bar, your steps sharp, your jaw tight. Spencer turned just as you reached him—his eyes lighting up like you hung the whole damn moon.
“There you are,” he said, relief pouring through every word.
The girl glanced at you, annoyed.
“Oh… is this your friend?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“No,” you said, sliding your arm through Spencer’s with casual confidence.
“I’m his partner.”
Spencer froze.
The girl’s face dropped.
“Partner? Like… work partner?”
“No.”
You smiled, slow and dangerous.
“Like relationship partner.”
Spencer’s cheeks went pink instantly—but he nodded, leaning into you like it was instinct.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
Your heart practically melted into the floor.
The girl blinked, awkward, stumbling over her words. “Oh—well—um—sorry, I didn’t know—”
“No worries,” you said sweetly. “You know now.”
She disappeared fast.
Spencer stared at you with the softest expression—half amused, half smitten.
“You were jealous,” he said quietly, voice warm.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I wasn’t!”
He nudged you gently, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear.
“I think it’s cute.”
You nearly combusted on the spot.
“You’re insufferable,” you whispered, cheeks burning.
He smiled, eyes shining.
“And you’re adorable when you’re protective.”
You swallowed, fighting a grin.
“Come on,” he murmured, threading his fingers through yours under the bar counter. “Let’s go back before Morgan starts taking bets on how long it takes us to make this public.”
You laughed.
“You think he knows?”
Spencer squeezed your hand.
“Oh, he definitely knows.”
And when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple—quick, hidden, just for you—you knew something else too:
You wouldn’t mind the team finding out.
Not at all.
author’s note: hiii, thank you for reading!!! don’t forget to like and repost 🤍
i honestly have no ideas, but i would loooovveee to see a enemies to lovers spencer reid x reader! i rarely see those these days, they’re so underrated!! maybe the reader is also really smart and they’re kinda rivals at the bau?? idk anything enemies to lovers is ok with me!!!
if you end up doing it thank youuuu🫶🏻
“not you please”
pairing: fem!user x reid
summary: prompt
warnings: enemies to lovers, teasing, rivals, coworkers to lovers
a/n: hihi! sorry for this, it was a bit rush :]
You and Spencer Reid are the BAU’s unofficial problem.
Not because you argue loudly, or because you make scenes—no, you two are way too professional for that.
Your problem is quieter. Sharper.
A razor-thin tension that slices the air whenever you’re in the same room.
You’re new-ish to the team. Brilliant. Sharp. Faster on your feet than most people Spencer’s ever met.
He’d never admit it, but the day Hotch introduced you, the first thing he felt was… threatened.
You’d never admit it, but the first time he corrected you, the first thing you felt was… excited.
Rivals. You two became rivals without ever discussing it.
Hotch announces partners for the new case.
“Reid, you’re with Y/L/N.”
You exhale through your nose. Spencer visibly tenses.
Then—both at once:
“Not you, please.”
Morgan snorts so loudly Garcia chokes on her coffee through the phone line.
Hotch just stares at you both. “Figure it out.”
Spencer grabs the file like it personally offended him.
You grab yours like you’re ready to whack him with it.
As the team disperses, he mutters, “Try not to slow me down.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Try not to talk at me like Google in a sweater vest.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
Morgan watches you with delight.
“You two are gonna get married,” he sings
“We’re not!” You both snap.
On the road, the silence is… unbearable.
Spencer breaks it first.
“The victimology suggests—“
“I know what it suggests,” you cut in, flipping through your version of the file. “I already got there.”
His jaw flexes. “You could let me finish a sentence.”
“You could talk like you’re addressing a human and not a college lecture hall.”
He stares out the window.
You stare at him staring out the window.
And then, because you’re both hopelessly self-sabotaging, you say:
“I’m not trying to fight with you.”
His head turns a little. Not all the way. But enough.
“…I’m not either,” he murmurs. “I just don’t know how to talk to you.”
That throws you.
“What do you mean? You correct me every five seconds.”
“That’s because I don’t know how to talk to you.”
You blink. “Spencer, that makes no sense.”
He fiddles with his hands. “It’s just… you’re very smart.”
Your heart stutters. “So are you.”
“Yes, but you’re smart in the way that’s—”
He stops.
Brows furrow.
Searches for a word.
“—intimidating,” he finishes softly.
You stare at him, stunned.
“You think I intimidate you?”
He nods, cheeks a little pink.
“You’re the smartest person in the room half the time,” he says. “It’s disorienting.”
Something warm blooms in your chest. Something dangerous.
“…Thanks,” you whisper.
The SUV feels smaller. Warmer.
More dangerous.
Spencer clears his throat like he can hear your heartbeat.
You divide the tasks without even discussing it—like you’ve been working together for years.
You kneel beside the victim’s desk. Spencer stands over your shoulder, observing, analyzing.
When you say, “The angle of entry suggests the unsub is left-handed,” he replies at the same time:
“The angle of entry suggests—”
You look up at him.
He looks down at you.
The same thought.
The same conclusion.
The same moment.
It shouldn’t feel intimate.
But it does.
“Stop that,” you mutter, pretending your pulse isn’t jumping.
“Stop what?” he asks, pretending he’s not blushing.
“Thinking the same things as me.”
“It’s not my fault you keep stealing my thoughts.”
You glare at him.
He smirks.
It’s infuriating.
…And kind of hot.
Back at the hotel, the team decides to eat together.
You reach for the last portion of pasta.
Spencer reaches at the same time.
Your hands brush.
Both of you freeze.
“Take it,” you say.
“No, you take it,” he says.
“You need the carbs.”
“You need the—”
He stops.
Frowns.
“Actually I have no logical argument there.”
You laugh. You actually laugh.
And Spencer looks like he’s being rewired in real time.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask suspiciously.
He blinks innocently.
“I didn’t know you laughed.”
Your jaw drops. “I laugh all the time!”
“Not with me.”
You freeze.
Neither of you speaks for a second too long.
Then you shove the pasta at him. “Take it before this gets weird.”
“It’s already weird,” he murmurs under his breath, but he takes the bowl anyway.
Your cheeks burn the whole dinner.
You leave your room to get ice.
He’s standing in the hallway like fate itself placed him there.
When he sees you, he stops like he wasn’t expecting you at all.
“Oh. Hi.”
You hug your arms to your chest. “Hi.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
Stupid.
“Spencer,” you breathe, “why do we do this?”
He swallows. Looks at the carpet.
Then at you.
“Because I don’t know how to be around you without…”
He cuts himself off again.
“Without what?” you ask, stepping closer.
His voice drops to something soft. Something helpless.
“Without liking you.”
You freeze. Air punched out of your lungs.
“I don’t want to like you,” he whispers, “because you make me nervous. And you challenge me. And you argue with me. And you—”
He exhales shakily.
“You make me feel things at work.”
Your heart is a runaway train.
You step closer.
Close enough to feel the warmth from him.
“Spencer.”
His eyes flick to your lips.
Then back to your eyes.
“I don’t want to like you either,” you murmur.
“But I do.”
He chokes on a surprised breath.
And then you’re both just—standing there. Two geniuses. Zero emotional intelligence.
“What do we do now?” he whispers.
You bite back a smile. “We stop pretending we hate each other.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
“And maybe…” You take a risk. “…maybe we try being nice for once?”
He huffs a laugh. “I can do that.”
“And maybe,” you add, “next time we think the same thought, we don’t freak out about it.”
“Deal.”
You linger.
Closer.
Closer.
He leans in—not fully, not even halfway, just enough that your foreheads almost meet.
“Can I…?” he whispers.
You smile.
“Yeah.”
He kisses you—gentle, tentative, warm.
His hands hover at your waist like he’s afraid to touch you too much too soon.
Your fingers touch his cheek, and he melts into you like gravity doesn’t apply anymore.
When you pull back, he looks dazed. “…wow?
“Maybe you’re not that bad when you’re not arguing” you tease.
“You’re not so bad when you’re not trying to beat me to every conclusion,” he fires back softly.
You roll your eyes.
He smiles.
And for the first time ever, you’re both on the same page.
The next morning, you walk into the briefing room with behind you.
Morgan looks between you two. Smirks. “So when’s the wedding?”
You both groan in perfect sync.
But Spencer’s pinky hooks around yours under the table.
And neither of you lets go.
author’s note: thank you for reading, don’t forget to like and repost!!!!
hiii i have a request for Spencer Reid x speech impediment reader (cluttering) maybe reader has to often times slow down and repeat sentences
#storyofmylife
“take your time”
pairing: fem!reader x reid
summary: prompt :3
warnings: cluttering, fluff, slightly social anxiety, friends to lovers
a/n: I really liked to write this fic, ty for your request! hope you like it 🩷
You don’t like speaking in front of the team.
It’s not that you’re shy—God knows you’re not. It’s that your words have a mind of their own. They rush out too fast, tumble over each other, twist together until they stop making sense. Sometimes you need to repeat yourself. Sometimes you need to breathe and go slower.
You’ve learned to deal with it. But dealing with it isn’t the same as liking it.
And today, you’re having one of those days where your brain is running a 100-meter dash and your mouth is trying to keep up.
Of course it’s today—a briefing, a big one, Hotch staring, Garcia zooming something in, Morgan cracking his knuckles, JJ waiting with her pen poised…
And Spencer Reid watching you with that intense, quiet attention that makes you feel both seen and naked.
You stumble halfway through your update.
“I—so the, uh, the unsub—he—wait—sorry, let me—just—”
You shake your head, words slipping away.
“One more time, um… the—”
Morgan opens his mouth, probably to jump in.
But Spencer speaks first.
“Take your time,” he says softly. Not loud, not pitying. Just calm. Steady. Solid.
You blink, exhale, and try again—slower.
Spencer nods along every step like you’re saying the most important thing he’s ever heard.
Hotch continues the meeting. No one makes it weird. But Spencer’s gaze stays gentle.
Later, by your desk, you’re typing a report when someone stops beside you.
“Hey,” Spencer says, voice low like he’s afraid to startle you.
You look up, half expecting him to correct something you said earlier.
He doesn’t.
“I liked how you explained your theory,” he says instead.
You blink. “I… didn’t explain it very well.”
“That’s not true,” he counters. “You explained it clearly. You just needed an extra moment to line your thoughts up with your words. That doesn’t make it less smart.”
Your face goes warm. “You don’t have to—be nice about it.”
He tilts his head. “I’m not being nice. I’m being accurate.”
You stare at him. He means it. He actually means it.
Spencer shifts, then adds, “If you ever want to practice talking things through with someone… I’m good at listening.”
You huff a laugh. “Yeah. You’re also good at memorizing everything anyone’s ever said.”
He smiles. “That too.”
Hours later, the team splits up to canvass. You and Spencer end up walking a quiet street, interviewing neighbors.
You do fine with the first few people—slow, rehearsed, clear.
But then one man interrupts you, talks over you, says “Spit it out” with an eye roll that stings more than it should.
You freeze.
Spencer steps in instantly, voice firm in a way that surprises even you.
“She was speaking. You just weren’t listening.”
The man shuts up quick.
You finish the interview, shaky but steady.
When it’s done, Spencer turns to you, eyes soft again.
“You okay?”
You nod, though your throat feels tight. “I just—sometimes it’s embarrassing.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he says. “You communicate differently. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”
You kick a pebble on the sidewalk. “It is when people lose patience.”
Spencer stops walking. You stop too.
“Not with me,” he says softly. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”
Your breath catches. His expression doesn’t waver.
“Spencer…”
“Really,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice warm like sunlight. “You could take five seconds or five minutes to get a sentence out and I’d still listen to every word.”
Your chest does something stupid and fluttery.
“Why?” you whisper.
He shrugs, hands slipping into his pockets. “Because it’s you.”
It’s late. You’re in the lobby, waiting for the elevator, and Spencer appears beside you like he’s been searching for you.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“When you get excited… your words get faster, right?”
You laugh quietly. “Very.”
He smiles. “Would you show me?”
You blink. “Show you?”
“I want to understand,” he says, cheeks a little pink. “Not just what it looks like—but how it feels.”
You swallow. No one’s ever asked that.
So you try. You let the speed build, let the rush happen, let the words blur into each other—and halfway through, you trip over your own sentence and stop.
Spencer nods.
“Does it feel like… your thoughts are sprinting and your mouth is walking?”
You look at him, startled. “…yeah. Exactly.”
He exhales, relieved that he got it right.
“Then,” he says, “maybe I could help you slow down. When you want to. Not because you have to. Because it might make things easier.”
You stare at him, warmth blooming in your chest.
“You actually… care.”
He meets your eyes, voice dropping to a whisper.
“I really do.”
The elevator dings.
But Spencer doesn’t step in.
Not until you do first.
Not until he knows you’re okay. He walks you to your door, hands in his pockets, heart practically visible through his sweater vest.
“Thank you,” you say, before your words can tangle again. “For today.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me for caring.”
You smile, shy and real. “Goodnight, Spencer.”
You turn to unlock your door—but he stops you with a soft, hesitant:
“Wait.”
You glance back.
He’s blushing. Hard.
“One more thing,” he murmurs. “If you ever… want someone to practice talking to… or to talk fast to… or to slow down with…”
He swallows.
“…I’d really like to be that person.”
Your heart stutters.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that too.”
His smile is small and hopeful.
“Goodnight,” he says softly. “Take your time.”
He waits until your door fully closes before stepping away.
You lean your head against the wood, breathless.
And somewhere down the hall, you hear Spencer exhale like he’s been holding it in all day.
author’s note: thank you so much for reading! don’t forget to like and repost the post 🫶🏻
Hi! I’ve been reading all your stuff for atleast an hour straight lol I love your story’s!! I was wondering if you could do a Spencer x reader where they act like they hate each other (and Morgan is obviously teasing both of them lol love him!) but Spencer gets hurt during a case and the reader is with Morgan working on something else when they get a call about it and she starts kinda panicking etc etc!! Whatever you want lol I just think that as a part of a story would be good! Also happy ending lol I need to not cry🥲 thank you!!! Love your stuff again!
“don’t dare you”
pairing: fem!user x Reid
summary: prompt:)
warnings: enemies to lovers, fluff, teasing, these two being a cuties
a/n: this is so short (sorry) 😓 I hope you enjoy it anon!!!
You and Spencer Reid don’t get along.
At least… that’s what you tell everyone.
He corrects your statistics.
You correct his attitude.
He rolls his eyes.
You roll them harder.
Morgan watches the two of you bicker and mutters, “Y’all should just make out and get it over with.”
Which only makes you both snap, “We don’t even like each other!”
Sure. Right. Totally believable.
New day, new case.
The BAU splits into two teams.
Spencer goes with JJ and Rossi to follow up on a lead across town. You stay with Morgan at the precinct, combing through hours of grainy surveillance footage until your eyes feel like sandpaper.
Morgan nudges you after your fifteenth sigh.
“Kid, you’ve been checking the clock every three minutes.”
“I’m waiting for the suspect to magically appear on the screen,” you lie.
Morgan hums. The I don’t believe you but I’m too tired to argue hum.
You pretend not to care that Spencer isn’t here—that the room feels too quiet without the sound of his rambling, or his gentle tapping on his tablet, or the way he unconsciously leans toward you whenever he explains something.
You pretend a lot of things about Spencer Reid.
You’re halfway through a new camera angle when the door slams open and a uniform rushes in.
“Agent Morgan? There’s been an incident—one of your agents got hurt.”
Your head snaps up instantly.
Rationally, it could be anyone.
But your stomach drops before the officer even continues.
“It’s Dr. Reid.”
Your heart stops.
It’s ridiculous—your brain knows that—but your body reacts before you can think. Everything inside you goes cold and hot at the same time.
Morgan instantly sees the panic in your face.
“Hey,” he says quietly, squeezing your shoulder, “we don’t know anything yet, okay? Let’s go.”
You nod, but your hands are shaking.
You don’t speak on the drive. Your chest is too tight. Your thoughts are too loud.
He’s fine.
He has to be fine.
He promised—no, he didn’t promise you anything, why would he?—but still, he has to be fine.
Morgan keeps glancing at you like he’s worried you’re going to pass out.
JJ meets you in the waiting area. The moment she sees your face, something softens in her expression.
“He’s stable,” she says immediately.
Your knees nearly give out. Morgan steadies you again.
“It was a close call,” JJ continues gently. “Bullet grazed his side, nothing vital hit. He’s medicated and awake.”
You breathe for the first time in ten minutes.
“Can I…?”
Your voice cracks. You hate that it cracks.
JJ nods. “Go. He asked for you.”
Morgan smirks so hard you want to punch him. “Told you he didn’t hate you.”
When you step into his room, he’s propped up in the hospital bed, hair messy, eyes heavy but warm.
He looks up, and his whole face softens like you hung the moon.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
YOU okay??
HE got shot.
“You idiot,” you whisper, because your voice won’t cooperate. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His brows furrow. “I… did?”
You sit at the edge of the bed because your legs won’t stop shaking.
“I thought—”
You swallow hard.
“I thought it was worse.”
Spencer watches you carefully, like he’s solving you the way he solves equations—gently, patiently, piece by piece.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is so soft it cracks something deep inside you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You did,” you breathe out. “A lot.”
His gaze flicks down to your trembling hands, then back up to your eyes.
“Come here,” he whispers.
You don’t even think. You lean in. He lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he’s memorizing it.
“You don’t hate me,” he murmurs, almost smiling.
“Shut up,” you mumble, cheeks burning.
“You were panicking.”
“Shut up, Spencer.”
“You like me,” he says, and it’s so gentle you can’t even be mad.
You look into his stupid, beautiful, too-smart eyes and whisper, “Okay. Maybe I do.”
His smile goes soft and dizzy, and he tugs you closer until your forehead rests against his.
“For the record,” he says, “I like you too. A lot.”
You can’t help it—you laugh, half crying, half relieved.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’ll try my best,” he promises, squeezing your hand. “But if I ever get hurt again… I want you to be the one waiting for me.”
You kiss his forehead, because you’re too overwhelmed to aim anywhere else.
“Deal.”
In the hallway, Morgan’s voice echoes:
“I KNEW IT!”
You and Spencer both groan.
But neither of you let go of the other’s hand.
author’s note: thank you so much for reading! don’t forget to like and repost the post 🫶🏻
summary: Spencer totally forgot about the hickeys you have left last night so when he walks in the bureau everyone starts to question him until he spills the tea.
a/n: omg hii, this is my first fic ever so don't expect that much lmao
You’d never intended to leave evidence. Spencer had spent the night at your apartment, books scattered across the floor in a half-hearted attempt to “teach you” quantum mechanics before one thing led to another. And another. And—well, you’d lost count somewhere around midnight. You woke up late, panicked about being late for work, and Spencer had practically sprinted out the door with his messenger bag and a half-tied tie. He didn’t look in the mirror. Of course he didn’t. Which is how you both ended up walking into Quantico like nothing happened… except, well. The marks.
It happened fast.
You were sitting at your desk, pretending to read through case files, when you noticed JJ staring at Spencer across the table. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a smile. Prentiss leaned closer.
“Reid… you know you’ve got something on your neck, right?”
Spencer blinked at her. “What?”
Before anyone could elaborate, Morgan strolled in, caught one look at him, and practically doubled over. “Ohhh, no way. No way!” Spencer looked between them, panicked.
“What? What is it?”
Morgan leaned in, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “My man, you’ve got a battlefield of hickeys all over your neck.”
Your stomach dropped. Oh no.
Garcia chose that moment to burst through the doors, tablet in hand. One glance at Spencer and she gasped loud enough to draw the attention of half the floor. “Sweet Baby Genius! You’ve been compromised!” Everyone was laughing now.
JJ tried to shush Garcia, Prentiss covered her mouth to hide her grin, and Morgan was clapping Spencer on the back so hard he nearly choked.
Spencer’s hands flew to his collar. “They’re not—It’s not—You’re mistaken!”
“Oh, we’re not mistaken,” Morgan teased. “Question is: who’s responsible?” You ducked your head, praying no one noticed the way your face was heating up.
Of course, that’s when Hotch walked in. The team went silent, except for Garcia’s muffled giggle. Spencer froze, looking like a deer in headlights. Hotch glanced at the scene, then at Reid, and then—to your horror—his eyes flicked briefly toward you. It was a split-second, barely noticeable, but you felt it. Finally, Hotch said, “Just… keep it discreet. Please.” And then he kept walking.
The room exploded. “Oh my god,” Prentiss gasped, “Hotch knows.”
“Knows what?” Spencer squeaked.
“That you’re finally not a monk,” Morgan teased. Garcia was nearly in tears. “This is the greatest day of my professional life.” You buried your face in your hands.
For the rest of the morning, the team wouldn’t let it go. Morgan started making not-so-subtle comments about “Reid’s mystery woman.” Prentiss openly speculated about who it could be. Garcia threatened to run a full database search just to “narrow down the suspects.” And through it all, Spencer was a mess of stammers, flushed cheeks, and terrible attempts at deflection. You thought maybe—just maybe—you were in the clear. Until lunch.
The team had gathered around the round table, files spread out but mostly ignored as Morgan leaned forward. “C’mon, pretty boy. Who is she? You can’t keep a secret like this forever.”
Spencer fidgeted, his hands twisting together. “It’s… private.”
Prentiss raised a brow. “So there is someone.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Your neck said it for you,” JJ smirked. You were doing so well staying quiet, sipping your coffee, pretending not to exist—until Garcia suddenly gasped and pointed at you. “Wait a second. Wait just a hot minute. Why is Y/N the only one not laughing?”
Your heart stopped. Five pairs of eyes snapped toward you. Spencer made a strangled noise, half-cough, half-scream.
“No! That’s not—” But Morgan’s grin was spreading like wildfire. “Oh. Oh! it all makes sense now.”
Prentiss leaned back, smirking. “Wow. Our own in-house scandal.” JJ’s jaw dropped, though she was clearly fighting a smile.
“You two? Really?” Garcia fanned herself with her tablet. “This is even better than I imagined.”
Spencer groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “I hate all of you.”
You muttered, “It wasn’t supposed to be public.”
Morgan slapped the table, laughing so hard his chair nearly tipped over. “Too late now!”
Later, when the laughter finally died down and everyone was pretending to work again, Hotch walked past your desks. Without looking up from his file, he said calmly, “Next time, remember concealer exists.” Spencer whimpered. You wanted to disappear into the floor. Hotch didn’t stop walking.
“Oh god.” you mutter and covered your face once again in the day.
By the end of the day, the teasing hadn’t stopped, but it had softened into affectionate jokes. Morgan promised to “give you two privacy,” which you knew was a lie. Prentiss muttered something about starting a betting pool on how long you’d kept it secret. JJ smiled warmly, and Garcia swore she was already drafting “best couple” certificates. But when no one was looking, Spencer reached under the table, his pinky brushing yours.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?” you asked softly.
“For… getting caught.” His ears turned pink.
You smiled despite yourself. “I think I like them knowing.” He looked at you then, shy but proud, and you knew it didn’t really matter who else knew—because it was real, and it was yours. And if Morgan wolf-whistled from across the room? Well. That was just the price of dating Spencer Reid.
author's note: thank you for reading! pls don't forget to like and repost. I also have requests open!
omg i just saw your post asking for requests.. i've had this angst to fluff idea in my head where the reader adores Spencer, but feels dumb and insecure and somewhat unimportant when Spencer does his intelligent rambling bc, if Spencer knows everything, then why is the reader there? Spencer remembers every little detail, but reader forgets silly things- y'know? i'd love to see how you interpret this idea!!
“insecurities”
pairing: fem!reader x reid
summary: the prompt:)
warnings: angst, insecure!user, fluff, Spencer is a cutie
a/n: HIIIII AGAIN!! I am so so sorry for disappearing for almost three weeks, I had my finals and also collage is killing me 🥹 I hope you like this short but cutie request <3
It starts on an ordinary morning.
Sunlight slips through the blinds in skinny little lines, warming Spencer’s shoulders where he’s leaning over the counter, pouring hot water into his mug. His hair is messy in the way it gets when he falls asleep on the couch reading, sticking up just enough to make you smile.
He doesn’t notice you staring.
He almost never does when he’s thinking.
“There’s this fascinating study from 1972,” he says, voice soft but excited as he stirs his tea, “about olfactory cues and episodic memory storage. Basically, certain scents can trigger—”
You’re listening. You always do.
You love the way he talks, the way his voice lifts just slightly when he’s sharing something he finds interesting. You love how alive he looks in those moments.
But somewhere between “olfactory cues” and “episodic memory,” something in your chest sinks.
Just a tiny bit.
It happens every now and then, like a flicker you can’t control.
That whisper: He knows everything. Why are you even here?
You don’t want to think it.
But it’s there.
You reach for your mug— and your hand knocks it right over.
Hot tea splashes. You gasp.
Spencer’s eyes snap up immediately, worry hitting him fast.
“Hey— are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Yeah, I just— slipped.”
He’s already grabbing a towel, cleaning the mess before you can blink.
And somehow, that makes you feel worse.
He remembers obscure scientific papers from decades ago, and you… can’t hold a mug properly today.
You joke sometimes about how clumsy you are, how forgetful you get. But today it feels heavier. More… true.
You turn to the fridge, thinking maybe you’ll grab something for breakfast, and the moment you open it — your mind goes blank.
What were you even looking for?
You stare at the shelves like the answer might magically appear.
You close the fridge slowly.
Spencer notices. Of course he does.
“You seem… quiet,” he says softly.
“I’m fine.”
He tilts his head in that gentle, analytical way. Not judging. Just trying to understand.
“You’re never this quiet in the mornings.”
You swallow. “Just tired.”
He takes a small step closer.
“Did I do something?”
The question hits too hard. Because no — he didn’t do anything.
He’s perfect. Kind. Brilliant. Caring.
And you feel like a cracked cup next to a museum piece.
“It’s not you,” you whisper.
“Then what is it?” he asks, voice warm and careful, like he’s touching something fragile. “I want to understand.”
You shouldn’t say it.
It’s silly. Embarrassing. Stupid.
But Spencer looks at you like the world pauses until you answer.
So you breathe in, shaky.
“I just…”
Your voice wavers. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for you.”
He freezes.
You keep talking before you can stop yourself.
Words spill fast — too fast — like you’ve been holding them for months.
“You remember everything, Spencer. Literally everything. Every detail, every date, every study, every… whatever. And I forget things all the time. Little things. Important things. I can’t keep up with the things you talk about. I just—”
Your throat closes.
“I don’t know why someone like you would want someone like me.”
Silence.
But not cold.
It’s soft. Heavy.
Meaningful.
Spencer steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently taking your hands in his. His fingers are warm.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me?”
You do. Barely.
His eyes are wide and earnest — not pitying, not confused. Something deeper.
“I need you to hear this,” he says, voice steady even though his hands tremble just a little. “I don’t want you thinking that. Not ever.”
You bite your lip.
He squeezes your hands.
“You think I don’t forget things?” he continues gently. “I forget to eat. I forget to drink water. I forget entire days because I’m caught up in work. I forget birthdays unless someone reminds me. I forget to take breaks, to sleep, to… be human.”
Your breath catches.
“And you,” he says softly, “you remind me. You ground me. You help me live in the present instead of inside my head.”
He steps even closer, foreheads almost touching.
“You don’t need to know what I know,” Spencer whispers. “I don’t love you because you’re like me. I love you because you’re you. You’re warm and kind and curious. You laugh at the things I say even when I’m rambling. You ask questions because you want to understand, not because you’re trying to prove anything.”
His thumb brushes your cheek — so gentle it almost breaks you.
“You make me feel… safe,” he admits. “Which isn’t something facts or data have ever done.”
Your eyes sting.
Not hard. Just enough to blur him a little.
“And,” he adds, cheeks turning faintly pink, “I like that you forget things. It means I get to remind you. It means I get to be… part of your days.”
You laugh. It’s tiny and watery, but real.
Spencer smiles — that little crooked smile he never gives anyone else.
Then, softly:
“Can I hold you?”
You nod before you think about it.
He wraps his arms around you, tucking your head beneath his chin, holding you like you’re something precious and solid and needed. His heartbeat thuds softly against your ear — a warm, steady rhythm.
“You’re enough,” he murmurs into your hair.
“More than enough. For me… you’re exactly right.”
You melt into him, letting the warmth sink into every anxious corner of your chest.
He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
Then another.
Then one to your temple.
And just like that, the morning feels lighter.
You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers back.
And you believe him.
For the first time in a long time, you really do.
author’s note: thank you so much for reading! don’t forget to like and repost <3
i didn't have time to write until now, so sorry for you all guys but I'm working in requests and personal ideas i had!! as a gift here a edit i made yesterday ♡
The one where everyone forgot his birthday, except his girlfriend.
Word Count: 3.5k (give or take)
Warnings: explicit smut, piv, grinding, riding, F! reader (Established Relationship), threatening y/n with a gun
If you are under 18 do not interact with this post, I will block your account.
Also it'll switch between third and first person cause I'm lazy and don't want to change things. + Ignore any typos loll
check out my CM masterlist for more!
———————————————————————————————
Spencer has had a long day at work. A difficult case that lasted a week in a different state, strenuous workload, and on top of it all, none of his coworkers remembered his birthday today. It was a rough day. As Spencer trudged up to his apartment door, he was completely unaware his girlfriend had an extra special surprise ready for when he walked through the door.
They aren’t living together, per se, but she does have a spare key for emergencies…and today seemed like a pretty big one. Spencer had called her on the phone, complaining about how his coworkers completely forgot his birthday. He understood, being the empathetic guys he is, but it still hurt her heart hearing the way he talked about being ignored. So, here she was now, holding a cake in her hands, confetti covering the floor, balloons bouncing off the ceiling, and standing in front of the door in his favorite lingerie set. The purple see-through dress one. Yeah, maybe it was pretty cliché, but she thought it'd make him happy.
As Spencer insert his key into the lock, he can hear muffled sounds coming from inside the apartment. He pauses, his brow furrowing in confusion. Not sure what to expect. Spencer grabs the gun in his holster just in case. As the door creeks open, Spencer points the gun at- his… girlfriend?? Spencer stops dead in his tracks, stunned by the sight in front of him. As soon as the door bursts open and the gun is pointed at her, she screams, almost dropping the cake in her hands. "STOP STOP DON’T SHOOT" Spencer looks utterly confused, and she hesitates before slowly and awkwardly speaking. "…h a p p y… b i r t h d a y…?"
Spencer lowers the gun, staring at his girlfriend in disbelief.… "Y/N… what are you doing here?! How’d you even get in here?" Spencer runs a hand over his face, clearly overwhelmed from the sudden surprise and lack of sleep. A small smile creeps onto her face, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. "I just saw my life flash before my eyes, Jesus…" She looks up, awkwardly smiling at him. "It’s your birthday! I had to do something to celebrate…and after this past week? …you deserve to celebrate something." Y/N pauses, hesitantly "But- I mean if you’re exhausted I can-" she set the cake down on the counter, grabbing balloons in case he wanted her to leave.
Spencer watches as his girlfriend hesitates, expecting him to reject the birthday surprise. He’s exhausted, yes, but seeing her efforts and the worry on her face makes him relax. He drops his gun on the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. Y/N is now holding a handful of Balloons when she turns to see her boyfriend slowly walking over. Did she cross a line with this little surprise she made?
Spencer looks at y/n, his expression softening. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stands there taking in the sight of her in the lingerie set he loves, the confetti on the floor, and the cake she brought. Finally, after what feels like ages, he mumbles out her name. "y/n..."
Spencer stares in disbelief at the effort his girlfriend went through for his birthday. Despite his exhaustion, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Spencer's eyes roam over her figure, appreciating how much effort she put into everything. "Did you really think breaking and entering was the best way to surprise me?"
Y/N smiles, rolling her eyes, slowly letting go of the balloons, causing them to bounce against the ceiling. y/n takes a step forward towards her boyfriend. "Hey you gave me a key, so that's on you...plus, I really don’t think any breaking happened, just entering.." She steps into his personal space, wrapping her arms around the back of Spencer's neck with a soft smile. "I missed you…" she hums out.
Spencer chuckles softly as his girlfriend closes the distance between them. He breathes in her perfume, feeling his heart rate slowly returning to a normal pace. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you," he murmurs into her hair, partially to himself. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her snugly against his chest. "I missed you too, y/n" he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "How long have you been waiting here?"
y/n shuts her eyes as Spencer kissed her head. It was comforting, and she didn't feel as bad anymore. She smiled softly and let out a soft laugh. "I guess I am…" She sighed as Spencer moved to hold her closer, her chest against his. "Long enough…" she glanced up, kissing Spencer on his collar bone. It was 9:30 now, and she had 'broke in' to his apartment an hour earlier. She wasn't alone for too long, but still, she missed her boyfriend when he went on these week-long trips.
Y/N somehow stepped closer to Spencer, her body entirely pressed against his as she started leaving kisses around his neck and jawline. She normally wasn't so clingy, she just missed him. Bad. The day he left for that case, they were planning on spending the day together wrapped up in her bed. And then he got the call from Hotch. "Ugh I missed you so much you don't even know.." She mumbled out, hearing Spencer begin to laugh. It always made her day whenever she could make him laugh.
"Clearly" he teased, running his hands up and down her waist, before eventually leaning in, kissing her softly. Y/N smiled, quickly kissing back, butterflies finding their way to her stomach. They took a beat, pulling away from each other and looking into each other's eyes. They stood there, quietly in the center of the room, before Y/N quickly leaned back in, opening her mouth as she kissed him. Spence's eyes fluttered shut, following suit as his hands roamed further down her waist. Their tongues were quickly intertwining, making out intensely. Y/N let out a soft sighing noise as they kissed, arms still glued to the back of his neck.
As they French kissed, things became more...heated. Filled with more passion. y/n was moving her arms, gently pushing Spencer backward, taking small steps before they hit the couch in the living room. Now normally, Spencer liked routine and comfort, so more often than not the two of you would end up fucking on his bed. But, today was different...it was his birthday, and y/n wanted to spice things up...and Spencer was ok with that.
As they reached the couch, y/n broke the kiss for only a moment to shove Spencer. He landed on the couch, legs apart. Y/N looked down at him, seeing how flustered he seemed to be. She let out ragged breaths, smiling as she watched him. He looked desperate, and it drove her crazy. "You know...you look so cute like this..." She slowly moved onto the couch, straddling Spencer as his hands roamed over her body. Her shoulders. Her back. Her lower back. Her thighs..."Shut up..." He mumbled out, smile apparent on his face.
Y/n and Spencer quickly started to make out again, this time more messy, unorganized, and sloppy. y/n's hands slowly found their way to Spencers hair, gripping it gently. Spencer let out a whimper as she ran fingers through his hair, holding it gently. While they made out, y/n began rolling her hips against his. She blushed, continuing to kiss Spencer, only for him to make more noises, mumbling out sweet nothings. You sighed, continuing at a slow pace.
As you rolled your hips on top of him, you could feel how excited he was getting for this. It made you blush, pushing away from the kiss to start attacking his jawline. You could hear Spencer continue to let out noises, opening his mouth as he gasped. You tugged at his shirt, quickly trying to get him to remove his clothes. "Ugh why do you always have to wear so many layering pieces..." You mumbled against his jaw. He was the only person she knew that would wear a sweater vest, a dress shirt, a scarf, and a cardigan all for one outfit. It was really a pain when it came to getting undressed.
Spencer laughed, tossing his scarf aside, and trying to hurry to take off his cardigan. He looked at her, smiling."What? It's a crime now to look nice for work..?" Y/N rolled her eyes, helping him remove the cardigan and sweater vest. "It is when it takes a solid 10 minuets to get all your clothes off..." Spencer laughed softly, finding y/n's annoyance endearing.
Spencer gently held y/n's waist, looking her up and down and pursing his lips. He was starting to forget why today was even frustrating. "Hold on I've got you..." he spoke softly, carefully moving her off his lap to get up off the couch. Y/N turned around, looking up at him with a soft gaze. she watched as he removed his tie and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. For once in under 10 minuets, Spencer was undressed- at least the top half anyway. His chest was one of y/n's favorite features of Spencer- he was toned- not ripped, but muscular enough that you could see faint abs. He also had a happy trail, something you could only notice if you weren't staring at the soft v-line he had.
Y/N blushed, eyes glued to his body. She smiled, seeing him step closer to the couch and fidget with his belt buckle, his long slender fingers undoing his belt. "Wow..." She mumbled out, making Spencer laugh out of embarrassment. He knew she meant well, but having someone stare at his body always felt a little awkward. "Ok get it together..." He rolled his eyes, blushing, as he watched y/n laugh.
Y/N rolls her eyes, smirking as she reached her hands up, helping him undo his pants. They drop, surprisingly easy, and now Spencer was standing in front of her in his boxers. They both smiled, admiring each other, before Spencer leaned down to kiss you passionately. The moment was sweet, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your head, as he slowly stepped forward. You blushed, shutting your eyes and shifting so you could lay down on the couch. Spencer followed suit, trying not to break the kiss as he slowly climbed on top of you.
He was being careful, as the two of you started making out. One of his legs by your knee, the other slowly inching forward, hitting your core. You gasped, suddenly feeling his leg against you. You barely batted your eyes open, just briefly seeing the smirk crossing Spencer's face. You rolled your hips against his knee, trying to start some friction.
And it clearly worked. Y/N was whimpering, letting out mumbled noises as Spencer gently pushed his knee further up, giving her more to work with.
It didn't take long before y/n and Spencer were both fully undressed, rummaging in the couch cushions and pants pockets looking for a condom. They were...very careful about these kinds of things. "Oh! Yes!" y/n spoke, finally finding an un-open condom in the couch cushion. She bit her lip, smiling as she tossed it towards Spencer. He shifted off of her, rolling it onto himself quickly before turning back to face her.
He looked at his girlfriend, happy. The gory, difficult case long gone from his mind as he leaned back in for another kiss, this time sloppy, and unorganized. As they kissed, Spencers' hands found themselves gripping y/n's thighs, spreading her legs further apart, and pushing them up so he would have an easy entrance.
As y/n made out with Spencer, she heard a hissing noise Spencer let out. While she lay there, questioning what that noise and others could in-tale, something cut through her off. "Y/N? Did you hear me...?" She blinked rapidly, looking up at her boyfriend "hm? what was that?" "I said...are you...y'know...ok if I start..." Y/N's brows raised, a small smile growing on her face. "Oh! Yeah Yeah....I'm ok if you want to start" And there was a brief silence before she suddenly felt something thrusting into her. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, adjusting to this feeling. They both took a moment to collect themselves, until Spencer started going back and forth slowly- almost tortuous.
He heard y/n, and the noises coming from her mouth. She was blushing, her eyes shutting slowly. It made him pick up the pace, holding you close as your bodies moved together. Spencer leaned down, leaving kisses that slowly became hickeys across your neck. He always loved the way you looked during this...so...desperate.
It wasn’t perfect — there were tangled limbs, awkward angles, and an uncomfortable couch beneath them. But for right now, after a week of not seeing each other, this moment is all they needed.
It didn't too take long before Spencer started speeding, letting out soft whimpers and quiet moans into the nape of your neck, where his head lay. His eyes were shut now, and his brows furrowed, a crinkle appearing across the bridge of his nose, showing his age just the slightest bit.
And y/n? She was a mess. She was gripping onto his shoulders, letting out noises she didn't care if the neighbors heard. She could tell Spencer was getting closer, and she suddenly started shoving Spencer's shoulders, mumbling soft words out. "Wait...Wait Spence.."
Spencer groaned, slowly and somewhat reluctantly batting his eyes open, though there was no malice or annoyance behind them. What was apparent was his concern. He sighed, almost stuttering through his sentence. "w-what..? Are you okay...? A-Am I doing...o-okay...?" Y/N is somewhat surprised, until putting it together that Spence clearly thought he hurt her.
Y/N shook her head quickly "no! Oh my god no- no it's just..." She trailed off. Eyes slinking away from his, smiling awkwardly. "I um...I wanted to try something...new? Kind of...as another birthday present..." She slowly turned her gaze back towards his, ands immediately saw how flustered he look, a faint pink blush apparent on his face. "Really...?"
You smile, letting out an airy laugh, as you kiss him quickly on the nose, the kisses slowly trailing further across his face. His forehead. His cheek. All the way to his ear, where you started to whisper something dirty. Spencer's eyebrows slowly raised higher on his forehead, his expression blank and shocked. He pulled away to look you in the eyes.
"Really? You're sure you wanna try it out...?" And all you did was smile, nodding and taking a beat before as you leaned in to kiss Spencer on the lips. They continued to kiss, slowly turning into making out as their tongues danced across one anothers. Spencer's hands slinked toward her hips, and Y/N's to his shoulders. Almost as soon as they held onto each other, Spencer rolled them, flipping the two so Y/N was now on top.
Finally, when Y/N was on top, the kiss broke. She slowly sat up, knees on either side of Spencer's hips. She watched as his loose curls fell in his face, and he looked up at his girlfriend in disbelief, a dopey smile crossing his face. And before Spencer could even get a word out, Y/N smirked, and spoke up as she slowly shook her head. "Shut up" and all Spencer could do was laugh. She knew him too well.
Your hands slowly found their way to his waist, and there was an awkward moment. You had never really...'rode' Spencer before, per se, but you wanted this Birthday to be memorable for him. "Let me know if this hurts.." You spoke up, just in case. When you got the nod of approval from Spencer, y/n slowly started rolling her hips, watching for any reaction Spencer could possibly give her.
It took some time adjusting to being on top for y/n, but as soon as she found her rhythm, she kept with the pace, focusing on her boyfriend. And was that a good decision. His head was throw back, clearly already close to the edge. He bit his lip, whimpering as his eyes glued shut. It just made you smile. y/n let out sighs and quiet moans, hands moving further up Spencer's chest, keeping her balance on top.
Spencer grunted, hips twitching the slightest bit. "s-shit..." he mumbled out, his arms quickly coming up to grab your hips, keeping you in place. For once in his life, he couldn't form a single coherent thought. The two of you mumbled out strings of noises, both so close to being pushed over the edge. You quickly gasped, head falling back as he started thrusting upwards into you at a quick, uneven pace.
You let out a somewhat loud moan, not used to this new angle for the both of you. You quickly picked up the pace, moving and rolling your hips with purpose. The apartment was filmed with noises, and the sound of squeaking furniture. You could feeling the heat in your stomach growing, making you bit your lip.
"shit fuck oh- ugh shit shit shit" Spencer, someone you rarely heard swear, couldn't stop cursing, the words rolling off his lips with ease. His eyes were glued shut and he grit his teeth as he froze deep inside you. He finally finished, with one last somewhat weak thrust inside you. You gasped, knowing you'd be following suit in just a matter of time. You continued bounce on top of him and roll your hips, hearing Spencer mumble and groan.
Spencer sighs, body relaxing, muscles not tense anymore. The heat in Y/N's stomach slowly becomes too much. Her legs shake just the slightest bit, keeping Spencer in place with her thighs. As more noises escape her, she throws her head back, finally coming not far behind Spencer. As y/n climaxes, she arches her back, groaning loudly. "Oh...Spencer! Oh my god..."
For a long moment afterward, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing and the pounding of your hearts. y/n smiled, slowly getting off of his hips, and laying down comfortably next to him. running fingers through his hair, brushing away some loose strands.
"Happy Birthday, Spencer" y/n mumbled softly.
In this moment, Spencer truly felt loved. He sighed, laying his head against hers, the two of them intertwined like this for what felt like ages. Normally, he didn't like to acknowledge his birthday- didn't want to celebrate it. But today...being here with you...may have just changed his mind for the better.
The pair cuddle on the couch, falling asleep on one another. They stay like this- comfortable and safe, for a half hour. But, eventually the drooling and heat from their bodies pressed together became too much, and the pair finally left the couch, clothes coming back on.
Y/N trudges over to the kitchen, still exhausted from their session, but just enough energy to do one last important thing. Spencer followed suit, sitting in front of the kitchen counter on a stool. "Alright shut your eyes Spence..." Spencer smiled, quickly obliging. The light behind his eyelids dimmed, clearly indicating y/n was shutting the lights off.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Spencer, happy Birthday to you!"
Spencer's eyes slowly peaked open, almost immediately grinning as he saw the '30' candles in front of him, on a chocolate cake. "Make a wish babe!" y/n smiled softly at Spencer, radiating excitement from her side of the counter. She was so pretty. Spencer just admired her, seeing the candles accentuate all her features. Spencer blushed softly, all of a sudden acting like a sap. He felt a need to fill the silence, suddenly speaking up. "Y'know...The tradition of birthday celebrations with cakes and candles is thought to have roots in ancient Greek culture, where moon-shaped cakes were offered-"
"Alright Alright cmon don't let the wax get all over the cake.." y/n felt a little bad cutting him off, but she knew how this usually started. He'd feel awkward or overwhelmed, tell her a fun fact, and ramble for ages. It's not that she didn't like that about him, but she really wanted to have a slice of cake with her boyfriend. Spencer smiled softly, shaking his head. "Ok I know I know..." He laughs breathlessly, glancing up at the woman he loves, before blowing out the candles.
Y/N cheered, setting the cake down to grab a knife and two plates. "What'd you wish for babe?" y/n spoke, back turned to Spencer. In all honesty, he had wished he could marry her. But he wouldn't say that out loud. At least not now. Not when they've only dated for only so long.
"um actually...there is a germanic tradition of a candle-adorned birthday cake, known as Kinderfest... The wish was to be kept private, and if the birthday person blew out all the candles in a single breath, their wish would be granted...." he paused, a grin forming across his face. "So, long answer short, no, I am not telling you- ...in your dreams!"
Y/N laughed, bringing two pieces of cake over, setting one down in front of Spencer. She sat next to him on another stool, and she nudged Spencer, slowly beginning to eat the cake. "Ok whatever you say Spencer..." She looked at him, taking a bite of the cake with a smile.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
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BONUS:
The team had forgot his birthday. Quite literally until everyone went their separate ways for the weekend. Garcia was at home, baking when she suddenly remembered, calling up Derek. They needed to do something before it was too late! Spencer was turning 30, after all. That is a big birthday to miss. Derek and Garcia threw on party hats, driving over to his apartment, with freshly baked cookies in Tupperware being held by Garcia.
Man they felt so bad- their pretty boy shouldn't have to spend his birthday alone! They hurried up to his floor, preparing to knock on his door until- they realized someone apparently felt the same way as them. All that could be heard from the other side of the door was moaning- a woman moaning, more specifically. The faint sound of furniture shifting back and forth...back and forth...back and- Derek and Garcia looked at each other, genuinely shocked.
Did Spencer have...a woman over right now?? They heard a loud groan from inside the room, and their eyes went wide. Derek let out a shocked laugh, as Garcia hurried over to Derek, gently pushing him away from the door. "Go! Go! Go!" Dereks laugh only grew as they hurried down the stairs, trying to give their friend space. Derek would not forget to bring this up Monday.
(ik this isn't the JJ story but I thought y'all might be interested in this loll)
Also shout out to @ithinkreidknows for inspiring the freaky part of this story- I am still learning how to write freaky scenes properly and your fics helped a lot loll
