Lo

24 ♡ “Spinning In My Highest Heels, Love” 🪩

[seresinslady]

Lo’s Masterlist

Criminal Minds

🌙 Spencer Reid

Curse The Space You Needed

Spencer bails on your birthday for a case. It just may be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Top Gun: Maverick

🪐 Jake Seresin

The Perks

After an eventful night of trick or treating with your daughter, Jake uses bedtime to sneak some candy out of your daughter’s stash and into your room.

Other Accounts:

🎥 TikTok

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Hi!! I wanted to start by saying your writing is so captivating and I’m just in love.

I’m not sure if you are still writing for him but can I request #40 Tentative kisses given in the dark or #50 A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck for Daniel le Domas? If you don’t write for him anymore, can I ask for Art instead? Thank you!

*I'm not currently taking any more requests from this list

Nonnie when I saw the name Daniel le Domas? The gasp I gasped. The scream I scrumpt.

"Take a break."

"I'm not due for a break."

"Take one anyway."

You shot Daniel a sidelong glance before returning your focus to the drink that you were making. You couldn't count how many times you'd bartended for a shindig at the le Domas home. The catering company that you worked for was one of their frequent picks and you were where you always wound up: behind the bar.

Daniel had always been a polite and frequent visitor, but the more often you were there, the more he spoke to you. He was about the only family member that bothered to.

You'd been warned going into that evening that you were supposed to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You just weren't able to warn Daniel. You didn't have his number, and from what you could find, the guy didn't have social media.

It was strange. His life was so glamorous, but seemed so...Contained.

"Come on, go on break," He urged again.

"Daniel, I'm working."

"I can see that. Looks awful."

You glanced toward where your manager was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, watching you closely. You smoothed your smile away, topping off your glass and passing it to the gentleman that was waiting.

"C'mon, take your break," Daniel urged. "Take a walk with me."

"Not now, Daniel," You muttered.

"I know you get twenty minutes, we'll only take ten...Five?"

You jolted at the sound of your name, straightening up as your manager came over.

"Has she served you, Mr. Le Domas?" He asked.

"Yes, she has."

"Is there an issue with your order?"

"No," Daniel's eyes darted between you and your manager.

"Excellent. I will be taking over here," Your manager stepped in pointedly beside you. "Your help is needed in the kitchen."

You nodded your acquiescence, turning away and heading to the kitchen without another word. Damnit, you were worried that this would happen.

--

"C'mere."

"Jesus!" You hissed, whirling around at the sound of Daniel's voice. When you'd finally taken your break, you'd ducked out to the service entrance to get some air, but you hadn't expected for anyone to be waiting for you.

"C'mere," He urged again, taking hold of your hand.

"You're going to get me in trouble again!" You groaned, but you didn't bother to stay put or let go. You followed him unthinkingly, glancing back toward the door nervously to ensure that no one heard or saw you before you lost sight of it.

--

"You're not planning on murdering me out here, are you?" You asked, glancing around the stables.

"No."

"Helluva place to do it, you know, if you did. Use the hay to clean up some of the blood—You probably can't put a horse on trial. Probably."

"Are you trying to give me ideas?"

"I don't think you need 'em."

"I really get you in trouble?"

"A little."

"...What're they gonna do if they find you out here with me?"

"Fire me, probably. I don't know how they'd find us, though. This place is a fucking labyrinth."

You stopped looking around as you felt the heat of Daniel's body against your back. You bit your lip, fighting to keep yourself still as he stepped around you.

"Hey, but if you are gonna murder me, could you do it quickly? I'm not really into the whole edging thing with sex so I'm definitely not gonna find it hot with, like, death—"

You went still as he cupped your face, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. You peered up at him, taking in the sweep of his lashes as his gaze lingered on your lips. You stepped a little closer, nudging your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you. For all of his flirting and teasing at the bar, Daniel seemed almost as nervous as you felt. You slid your hand up into his hair, drawing him closer as he teased his tongue between your lips. His hands settled on your hips, steering you back against a beam. You tipped your head back as the kiss broke, sighing as his lips trailed along your jaw.

"Daniel..."

"Mm."

"I can't be late."

"I'll take care of it."

"But—"

Daniel grasped your jaw, turning your head toward his again, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

"I'll take care of you."

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Wicked Game

Pairing: Daniel Le Domas x Reader

Rating: Explicit- 18+ Only

Warnings: Angst; fluff; infidelity; explicit sexual content—vagina sex, oral sex. Not beta-read.

Notes: You can venmo me that soul whenever

Length: 6.9K

Summary: “Hey,” He murmurs, “You trust me?”

You shouldn’t. Daniel Le Domas has never given you a good reason to trust him. But you find yourself nodding. He gives your hand a squeeze, your arm a tug, and leads you into the trees. 

He thinks about it.

As the others stream into the room, chattering frenetically, he thinks about. He looks at the box, and he thinks about it. If he brought her home—if he brought her in—what would she draw?

Old Maid?

Chess?

Bridge?

Checkers?

Or…

Daniel winces at the thought, turning his head and raising his glass to his lips. He drains the contents, revels in the burn, and shakes his head a little, trying to knock the thoughts away. He’s already let this go on too long if he’s even worrying about this. She’d seemed so damn putout when he’d told her that he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to come home with her for Thanksgiving. 

He couldn’t blame her for her upset. Thanksgiving is no intimate affair for the Le Domas family—so few things are. And he hadn’t brought her home for it last year, either—or for Christmas, New Year’s, the Fourth of July, birthday parties, none of it. He’s been keeping her away from his world, tucked in their own private corner of his life.

Keep reading

[oneofstarkskids]

DIFFERENT

daniel le domas x reader

genre: fluffy

warnings: sexy, but not smut

notes: i'm sorry, but I've been watching horror movies because tis the season, and i have a terrible habit of falling for sad white boys. want to recommend me some more?

he pressed you up against the wooden cabinet, his chest against yours. his eyes lust blown and dark brown.

"I love you," he whispered before trailing kisses up the side of your neck. his lips always seemed to find the spot that made you melt against him without trying.

you let your hands roam until they found his curls. you turned his head towards you, forcing him to kiss your lips instead.

he groaned against you, fingers digging into your hips. "i love you," he said again.

you grinned, pulling out of the kiss slightly to look into those desperate eyes.

"i love you," you said this time, nose brushing against daniel's.

he picked you up, caging your body against his and spinning you around before throwing his head back and shouting, "I LOVE YOU!"

you laughed at his antics, shoving and demanding he put you back down.

though you protested, there was nowhere you'd rather be than in his arms. you'd known daniel since you both were kids. you went to the same private school, a private school you were only able to go attend because your distant aunt owed your parents a favor, and you knew from the moment he gave you his seat at lunch that he wasn't like the other selfish rich boys.

there was a depth to daniel that was hard to find in other people who'd grown up getting everything handed to them.

as if he'd seen the world for what it really was. as if he'd been broken from the beginning.

you'd come to learn much later on, after years of him pushing you away and claiming he felt nothing for you out of fear, that daniel had witnessed evil. the kind that no child should ever have to.

not only that, but he was raised by it. forced into a ritual that made him choose between his family and another human life. if it was truly up to him, he'd choose to be the sacrifice every time. but it never was.

and that darkness sat in his chest. grew with him. the only thing that kept it buried was the booze. until...he found you again. from then on, he'd always told you that you'd made him a new man.

so he made a promise to you. one that he intended to keep. that neither life nor death could separate the two of you...and that he would never marry you.

it was a promise you were grateful for. it meant the two of you could live your lives. together. away from the bullshit. and sure, it pissed his father off and had nearly gotten him cut off several times, but his father never really had that authority.

besides, what else could daniel possibly need when you were his treasure?

you pulled him closer by the tie as he set you back on your feet. sure, the apartment you were living in was shitty. there was mold in the walls and a strange smell coming from the faucets. you weren't going to pretend like it was some perfect paradise.

but you were perfectly in love.

[seresinslady]

my favorite genre of movie is when I google the cast of a Mia Goth movie only to see that she played the older woman and I had no idea the whole time so I go “she’s amazing” and watch the movie again to see if I can tell.

[seresinslady]

Thinking about making boyfriend!Spencer wear this shirt when he drinks

[seresinslady]

I didn’t realize this needed to be said but leaving hate comments on fanfics is weird and you will absolutely be blocked. If you’re a writer, I highly implore you to block lovevalko bc they don’t deserve access to your hard work and imagination.

Reminder that this is all FREE. Fic writers are people with real jobs and real lives that they’re taking time away from to write and post for your enjoyment.

[h0useslut]

SO LONG, UNTOUCHED ˎˊ˗

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 2,9k

warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, p in v, use of sex toys (reader has a vibrator lol), both of them are horny hehe, ANGST in the end!

summary : spencer goes all cell block d during a case, and reader is turned on. she couldn’t help but wonder… when did he get so hot?

a/n : told yall sabrina’s new album would have THIS effect on me.

“…and Reid went a little cell block D on him” Emily told Rossi, shooting the unsub a nasty glare.

Her voice felt far far away. All you could do was lean against the wall, hands folded over your chest.

You couldn’t stop replaying the scene in your head.

You’d been in Iowa the past few days, trying to hunt down that motherfucker who kidnapped little kids.

And that’s how boy genius Spencer Reid dragged you into the nearest park from the precinct - determined you’d definitely see something suspicious.

Boy, you did.

It wasn’t hard spotting him, but dealing with him was. As it always was.

But when that bastard mocked you - saying, “To hell with you” while shoving you…

Spencer couldn’t hold back. He pushed him down, twisting his arms behind his back.

It made you definitely feel some type of way…

“Earth to Y/N! Isn’t that right? He shoved you and Spencer went full on protective mode”

Emily’s voice brought you back, mentally cursing yourself for literally swooning over Spencer and his post-prison hotness.

“Oh? Yeah- Yeah, he did that” You nodded, straightening your shirt before stepping closer to her.

Emily tilted her head, studying you with that gaze that made you feel a little exposed.

“You okay?”

Shit. You couldn’t be horny during work. This wasn’t the place. Nor the time.

Heat crept up the back of your neck. You shifted on your feet, but you knew you couldn’t hide in a room with two profilers.

Two really, really good profilers.

“I’m fine” You reassured Emily, wishing this conversation wouldn’t continue.

You stepped out of the interrogation room, fussing while Emily followed you.

“Sure you’re fine? Did something happen in the park?”

You were about to protest again when Spencer came towards the both of you. You could barely focus on what he was saying. His curls were messy- he was definitely tired but god… he was a sight for sore eyes.

“I hope he didn’t hurt you, Y/N” He told you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

Your stomach did a flip. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because how exactly were you supposed to explain that watching Spencer slam that bastard to the ground hadn’t just made you feel safe. It had left your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear?

The unsub’s shove felt nothing compared to the nerves you were experiencing now.

“I- No- No he didn’t hurt me” You blinked, looking at him and then back at Emily.

She was smirking. Emily Prentiss was smirking at you.

Her smug expression only deepened, like she had caught you red-handed. “Good” she said. “Cause you looked really rattled back there”

Your lips parted, ready to protest, but Spencer’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, grounding you in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “If you’re sure you’re alright,” he murmured, his eyes soft but lingering in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m alright” You croaked out. Fuck me, you thought.

Spencer nodded, giving you a small smile before going inside the interrogation room.

Emily chuckled, and you just knew that she was filing this moment away for later. She leaned in closer, close enough so only you could hear her - voice low and teasing.

“Careful, agent. You’re not as hard to read as you think”

“Emily, come on” You said, heat flooding your face. You could only gape at her as she walked off, leaving you standing in the empty hallway.

Next to the room Spencer was in.

The rest of the day blurred out - filled with lots of paperwork and forming geographical profiles. You tried to avoid Spencer, talking to him only when needed.

He’d noticed you being a little withdrawn, to the point where you couldn’t look at him in the eye when you were alone with him.

Honestly? He found it cute. He caught you staring at his hands - or literally anywhere else but his eyes. He made you flustered, and that was a win for Spencer.

By the time the team wrapped up for the night, your shoulders were stiff from hunching over files and maps - and your mind kept replaying the park scene. The throbbing between your legs hadn’t stopped once, distracting you and making you feel funny.

You’re halfway out the precinct’s door, ready to catch up on some well deserved sleep - when Spencer approaches you.

You tried to avoid him - almost jogging towards the exit. You just needed to go to your hotel room. Have a nice shower. Maybe make a nice use of your vibrator.

What the fuck were you thinking?

To your horror, Spencer got to you before you could even reach your car.

“You know, you can’t ignore me forever”

You froze, keys clutched in your hand, the cool night air biting against your flushed skin. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding so loud you swore you could hear it.

“I’m not ignoring you, Spencer” You said.

“Yes you are. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since the unsub pushed you” He snapped, wishing he didn’t raise his voice.

You knew where he was coming from, you really did. But it wasn’t so simple to say what was going on.

Your throat went dry. He wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t exactly blurt out Sorry, watching you take him down made me so wet I can’t think straight.

“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? Everything is fine. I’m fine. That asshole didn’t hurt me. Go to your hotel room, Spencer” You waved him off, deciding to storm off and go to your car.

Spencer stopped closer, pulling you by your elbow. His touch wasn’t hard - just firm. Firm enough to pin you in place with the intensity of his gaze.

“You think I didn’t notice, don’t you?” His voice softened, but the words still made the heat pooling in your belly worse.

“You looked at me like-” Spencer cut himself off, jaw flexing - as though admitting it would be dangerous.

Looked at you like what? Like I wanted you to pin me down and leave bruises that won’t go away? Yeah, sure.

Your pulse was hammering. You were pretty sure that he could feel it.

“Looked at you like… Like what?”

His eyes searched yours, dark and unyielding. For a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

“You were turned on, sweetheart”

Fuck.

Big fuck.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The word sweetheart rattled through you like a bullet. Nobody called you that. Not him. Not Spencer Reid.

Spencer leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “You think I don’t know what that look means? I’ve read people my entire life. But you…” His voice dropped, rougher now, almost a growl. “You made it impossible to focus on anything else.”

Your knees nearly buckled. “Spence…” you whispered, torn between bolting and pressing yourself against him.

He didn’t let go of your arm. His thumb brushed slowly over the inside of your elbow, gentle in a way that contrasted the storm in his eyes. “Say it. If I’m wrong, tell me. Right now.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your silence said everything.

And that silence made Spencer’s lips twitch into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh, for fucks sake” You said, before locking your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

He didn’t even pull away. He kissed you back with the same force, making you gasp in his mouth. He took it as a permission to slip his tongue inside your mouth - holding your face in his hands.

The sound that escaped him was half groan half sigh, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally let go. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper against his lips.

“Jesus, Y/N” he rasped, breaking the kiss only long enough to drag in a breath before claiming your mouth again. It wasn’t the shy, awkward Spencer everyone knew. This was darker, hungrier.

“If we…” You spoke between kisses, “If we- If we stay here for long, I’ll quite literally tell you to take me right over here”

Spencer let out a low sound - a soft laugh against your lips. His forehead pressed against yours, curls brushing your skin as his chest heaved.

“You have no idea how dangerous it is when you say things like that, sweetheart” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel how hard he was, straining against his pants, and it made your head spin.

“Then don’t make me say it twice” You whispered, dragging him by his tie.

Your fingers were still fisted in his tie when you broke the kiss, your chest heaving. The night air felt too sharp, too public. Spencer’s eyes burned into yours, darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Not here, Spence- For the love of god” You sighed, but your body wasn’t protesting.

His jaw flexed, and for a moment you thought he might ignore you entirely, might just give in and take you against the wall like you’d teased. But instead, he dragged in a shaky breath and nodded. “Hotel. Now.”

The ride there was torture. His knuckles white on the steering wheel, your thighs pressed tight together in the passenger seat, both of you vibrating with want. He didn’t say much—just kept glancing at you, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven.

By the time you reached your room, your hands were already on each other. The door barely shut before he had you against it, his mouth hot and desperate on yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this” he murmured against your neck, hands skimming down your sides, tugging at clothes.

His hands were everywhere. On your waist, your face, sliding down your ass and squeezing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, sweetheart” He rasped, breaking the kiss just enough so he could kiss your jaw, biting slightly at your neck.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me? All day? Seeing you flustered and shy because of me?”

You moaned when his hands tugged at your shirt, yanking it over your head. He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before he bent, sucking a bruise against your collarbone, groaning when your fingers tangled in his curls.

Your bra was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere on the floor, his mouth already closing over your breast like he was starved. You gasped, back arching into him, nails dragging down his shoulders.

“Spence- Bed” you croaked out, voice wrecked already.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Spencer half carried you, half stumbled over the not so soft mattress of your hotel bed - both of you losing more clothes along the way. He crawled over you, lips swollen, eyes blown with hunger.

“Condoms” You breathed, pointing toward the nightstand.

“They’re in the top drawer”

Spencer leaned over, yanking open the drawer—then froze. His gaze lingered not on the foil packet but on the slim pink vibrator nestled beside it. Slowly, his lips curved into something dangerous.

“Well, well” He smirked, holding it up. He pressed the button, the soft hum of its vibrations echoing through the room.

“That’s how you would’ve spent your night?”

Your face burned. “Spencer, come on”

He silenced you with a kiss, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Tonight… you’re gonna show me exactly how you use this. And then…” his voice dropped to a growl, his cock brushing your thigh, “…I’ll fuck you so good you won’t even think about reaching for it again.”

“When did you get so mouthy?” You spoke in between kisses, back arching as he cupped you through your panties.

He laughed against your skin, dragging the toy down the curve of your stomach, letting it buzz over your skin but nowhere near where you needed it.

“When I realised how madly I want you” he rasped, slipping his fingers beneath your panties just enough to tug them down your thighs. He kissed you again, deep and filthy before pulling back to watch your face.

The vibrator hovered at your inner thigh, the vibrations tingling through the sensitive skin. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “tell me how you use it. Tell me where you put it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Spence—please—”

But his smirk only widened as he nudged it closer to your clit, pressing just enough to make you jolt. “Mmh. That’s what I thought.”

The vibrator against your clit wasn’t nearly enough. You needed more. Needed him inside you, desperately.

The frustration of him teasing you with the toy was so evident, you think Spencer would’ve let go. Give you what you wanted.

Your hips bucked, chasing the vibrations, but his hand on your thigh kept you pinned.

“Look at you” Spencer muttered, almost in awe. “So desperate for me” He dipped the toy lower now, near your entrance - before pulling it away. The whimper that tore out of you made his jaw clench.

“Spence” you begged, nails digging into his bicep, “I need you, Spencer”

Before you knew it, the vibrator had clattered onto the mattress - forgotten. He pressed one wet kiss on your mouth again, before he frantically shoved his pants and your underwear down.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, sliding the condom on, his cock thick and aching against your thigh, “you’re about to feel exactly how much I’ve wanted you.”

Spencer lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, to make sure you still wanted this.

And then—he drove into you in one deep, hungry stroke.

You cried out, clutching at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back as he filled you so completely you swore you couldn’t breathe.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place. “Move, Spence- Please”

He pulled out just enough to slam back inside you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the hotel room. His control was gone, completely shredded, each thrust fuelled by weeks, years even of pent up hunger and emotion.

Spencer’s thrusts are wild. No thought. No patience, pure need. You sob his name, hips bucking as he hits your walls just right.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and your body shudders violently around him. He follows immediately, teeth gritted, hands gripping your waist, claiming you with every moan until you both collapse, gasping and shaking, utterly wrecked.

“That was…” You gasp, almost breaking into laughter.

Spencer turns to look at you, lips coming to press a kiss on your forehead. “So good. You’re such a good girl”

You’re both panting, chest to chest, limbs tangled in the messy hotel sheets. Spencer’s curls are plastered to his forehead, lips still swollen from the kisses, and his hands keep roaming over you, as if he can’t stop himself from checking you’re still real.

You press into him, still trembling, and he hums low, brushing your hair from your face. “You okay, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant, but there’s still that rough edge of need.

“More than okay” You reassure him, burying yourself in his arms.

Somewhere in between Spencer’s whispered praise and caresses you fall asleep. You don’t even register the fact that he cleaned you up, tucked you under the covers and gave you another kiss on your forehead.

By the time you wake up, it’s already time to head to the precinct.

You blink groggily, realizing your body is still tangled in the warm sheets, the lingering scent of Spencer on the pillows. Your mind slowly catches up—last night, him, everything—and a faint smile tugs at your lips despite the early hour.

Spencer is already up, dressed in a simple button-down and slacks, hair still tousled, moving quietly around the room. He pauses when he sees you stirring, and that soft, older-bf energy radiates from him even in the light of morning.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle. He comes to the bed, leaning down to press a quick, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You slept okay?”

You nod, still half-lost in the haze of sleep and last night’s intensity. “Yeah… better than okay,” you whisper, curling a little closer as he brushes a hand over your arm.

Spencer studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before giving a small, satisfied nod.

“We should get going. They’re probably waiting for us”

You sigh, content but slightly anxious.

The precinct was quiet, the usual buzz of activity long gone. The team had dispersed hours ago, leaving you and Spencer alone in the dimly lit break room, papers and laptops scattered across the table. You were both exhausted, eyes strained from hours of piecing together the unsub’s movements.

Spencer ran a hand through his messy curls, jaw tight, leaning back in his chair. “I… I don’t think this should happen again,” he muttered, voice low but carrying that edge of irritation.

“What the fuck Spencer?”

He just leaned back in his chair, letting out a low exhale. “We can’t- We can’t do that again. Not with this case. Or with any case, frankly”

[h0useslut]

chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us ✦︎

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 3,5k

warnings : nsfw! sexual explicit content, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, canon-level ANGST, profiling, crying after sex, daddy issues, spencer is a bit of an asshole

summary : spencer profiles reader to impress the new recruits, but takes it too far. after messy apologies and sharp words, he finally knows how to make it up to the one person he shouldn’t have let go.

a/n : ignoring my responsibilities to focus on spencer reid!

It was supposed to be a simple demonstration. A harmless example of profiling, to impress the new recruits and remind everyone why Quantico produced the best of the best.

More specifically, why boy genius Spencer Reid was always the smartest in the room.

You and Spencer joined the BAU almost at the same time - just a few months apart - and immediately clicked together.

He was awkward, spilling facts about anything and everything. Never in a way that made you feel small. If anything, he went out of his way to include you in conversations, like he remembered what it felt like to be on the outside looking.

In those early months, you were inseparable. Late night cases turned into quiet conversations in hotel hallways. You read next to each other on the jet. He brought you hot chocolate after a case particularly hit too close to home. You laughed. You listened.

But then he was arrested. He was in prison, gone from you in the blink of an eye.

You wrote to him, left voicemails. Checked in with Garcia more than you should. You remember asking more than once if you could see him. You missed him, so much.

You never got an answer from him.

But someone did.

It was Emily, or JJ. Someone close enough to him to get through the walls he built. Someone you trusted, until they came back from a visit and quietly pulled you aside.

It was Luke who’d told you. News travel fast don’t they? You’d said back.

“He said he doesn’t want you to come”

You remembered freezing. Blinking hard as if it was a joke. Luke had tried to soften it, saying that it’s better if you don’t see him like that - reassuring you that it was out of protection or shame. All you heard was that he didn’t want you.

So you stopped asking.

And when he came back? You didn’t run into his arms. You didn’t wait by his desk with coffee and a shaky smile. You gave space.

He called you once or twice throughout the day, till he stopped. Mostly because you ignored him.

It killed you to do it, but the space between you was so wide, so hollow - you could fall into it.

You told yourself you were over it. You could survive working with him 24/7 in the same space? Right? Losing your best friend shouldn’t be that bad. Or pretending that the memory of his voice in your voicemail inbox didn’t still echo sometimes.

But then came the morning when Emily paired you two up for a consult. Something low-stakes. Easy. Just the two of you and a briefing room that felt too quiet.

You could barely look at him. That’s what made him crack.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” he asked, trying to sound gentle.

You glanced up from your folder, brows raised as if he didn’t have the right to talk to you like that. “You said you didn’t want me, remember? I’m better off here”

Spencer looked like you’d slapped him. “That’s not-“

“Thats exactly what it was, Spencer” You cut in. “You didn’t want me to see you like that, so you shut me out. You didn’t even give me a chance”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“I begged to see you. I begged, and I hoped and couldn’t sleep at night because I wanted- God, I needed to prove that you were innocent” You snapped. “And you told them that I wasn’t- I wasn’t welcome to see you”

The room went quiet. The only sound was the humming of the fluorescent lights above, sharp and cold - buzzing between you.

You were still clutching the case file like it would crawl out of your hands. If you let go, the floodgates would open.

Spencer stepped closer - approaching you like a wounded child.

“I thought I was protecting you” he whispered.

“Well” You said, breath hitching. “You didn’t”

Whatever words you exchanged that day were minimum. You avoided him like the plague.

But he searched for your eyes like a desperate man, trying to make everything alright. He wished he could change your mind - stop you from resenting him so much. This wasn’t his best friend he left before prison. You were slowly becoming a rival at work.

Fast forward to today - when the tension came to a head. You hadn’t expected him to choose you.

It was supposed to be something light, just to make the newbies get used to what was going on with the BAU.

You watched Spencer step forward, that familiar flicker of nerves in his hands. But he hid it well, launching into facts, psychology and how profiling is a science of empathy, not judgement.

His profiling methods on you were purely ill-mannered.

You blinked at him, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. He didn’t smile back though.

His eyes flickered over you, scanning. You felt your shoulders tense, your body instinctively retreating.

“She dresses in soft tones. Usually blue or lavender. Non-threatening, comforting. Her jewellery looks inherited, not bought. Subtle, sentimental. She doesn’t like attention, but wants to be noticed”

The recruits chuckled, someone muttering a small “accurate”. You didn’t move.

“She bites her nails. Twitches the single scrunchie in her arm. Not out of nervousness, but out of guilt. Regret, maybe. Or shame”

Your heart almost gave out. The air grew tighter.

“She overcompensates with warmth. With kindness. Because if she keeps giving and not taking, no one will notice how afraid she is to ask for anything back”

You tried to look nonchalant. The faint sound of a few pens scribbling brought you back. Someone whispered “damn”. You felt as if he was stripping you bare - and not the good kind.

Emily motioned for him to stop, muttering a small “Too far.”

But he ignored it. He kept going.

“She has abandonment issues. Abandonment trauma, actually. Parental - maybe paternal. Textbook daddy issues. She’s used to being left behind, so she build bridges she knows people will burn”

Silence. Even the recruits were silent now.

Your breath hitched.

And then he said softer,

“She’s also grieving. Grieving a version of someone she lost a long time ago. Someone who let her down. Someone she let in and tore those walls down.”

It wasn’t a profile anymore. It was a confession.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood abruptly. “Excuse me”

You walked before anyone could stop you, before anyone put a half pitying half comforting hand on your shoulder and reassured you that it was okay. Because it wasn’t.

And outside, down the hall- behind the safety of the women’s restroom, you cried. Not because he was wrong.

Because he was right.

He used it anyway. Knowing what this meant to you.

He used your bruises to prove a point. That wasn’t the Spencer you remembered.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to get rid of any evidence that his words touched you. As if that would erase what happened. As if that would help you forget the way he looked at you while he did it. Not entirely with cruelty - but with understanding.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Y/N…?” Tara’s voice.

You hesitated, torn between hiding in silence or letting someone in. The door creaked open.

“I’m not here to make you talk” she continued gently. “Just wanted to let you know that what Spencer did out there, it wasn’t okay. You don’t have to pretend it was”

The tears came again, quieter this time - smaller, but somehow heavier. Because even though you were humiliated, you weren’t alone.

“He’s- He’s an asshole” You whimpered out, hand flying to your mouth. “I trusted him w-with these- these things, Tara” You sobbed, gesturing helplessly like it could make her understand the depth of what he’d used against you.

Tara let you cry it out, a warm hand on your shoulder to keep you grounded. She didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t tell you to breathe or calm down. She just stayed.

Sometimes, that was enough.

When your sobs had died down and softened into quiet sniffles, Tara pulled you in for a hug.

“I thought he knew me” You murmured in her shoulder, voice shaking. “I thought- I thought if anyone did it, it would be him”

She sighed softly, rubbing your back. “He does. He does know you, Y/N. That’s why it hurts”

Eventually, you managed to pull yourself together. You dabbed your eyes with tissue, forced a weak smile when Tara squeezed your shoulder again, and promised her you were okay. Or at least, that you would be.

Back at your apartment, the air felt cold. Maybe it was just you. Or maybe it was the silence, pressing down on your chest the way Spencer’s words had hours ago. You tossed your bag down, hung your coat on a nearby chair, kicked off your shoes and stood in the middle of the room like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You didn’t bother with dinner. The tears had stopped, but the ache hadn’t. You curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over your lap, replaying everything. The sound of Spencer’s voice. The look in his eyes. The way he’d said things only he was supposed to know.

You hated that you still wanted to hear him apologise. Make up for everything that’s been said and done since the minute he was incarcerated.

And then you did. There was a knock on the door. A hesitant knock, as if the person on the other side shouldn’t be here.

It was Spencer. You knew it was him.

The knock came again. Firmer this time.

You hesitated. Maybe if you didn’t move- maybe if you stayed frozen he’d go away. Maybe he already knew you weren’t ready to face this.

But your feet had other plans. They carried you to the door before your brain caught up.

You opened it.

Spencer stood there, soaked from the rain that had just started minutes ago. His hair was a little messy, eyes desperate and uncertain.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped aside and let him in.

He walked in slowly, taking in the space as if it were unfamiliar - like he didn’t know you always kept the small lights instead of the big ones, or that your favourite mug was on the cabinet above the sink, or that you always read cartoon illustrated romance books when you were feeling down. Like he hadn’t once known you like the back of his hand.

He took a tentative step forward, “Y/N…”

“You held me” you said, words slipping out like they’d been waiting all day. “You held me, when I was shaking. When- When I opened up to you about my “paternal issues’” You mimicked him, only this time your voice broke. “You held me and you told me I was safe.”

Spencer froze.

“You remember that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “After Gideon left. After everything with my dad. I told you what it felt like. And you- you said I wasn’t broken.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “And now, you’re standing in front of a classroom, dissecting me like I’m just some example. ‘Textbook daddy issues’ right?”

Tears spilled again. Your chest heaved.

“I would’ve let you say anything.” You paused, noticing how his eyebrows quirked up. “If you were saying it to me. If we were alone”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You started crying in earnest now, breath hitching, and shoulders trembling. Spencer finally moved, not to explain it. Not to fix it.

To hold you just like he did - hoping he could fix this.

Only this time, you weren’t sure this would be fixed.

You didn’t mean to let it happen, not again at least. Maybe it was the way he stepped forward, touching your elbow to gather you in his arms. Nevertheless, your body betrayed you.

“Shh, sweetheart” He whispered, like he’d said it a thousand times before. Like the word never left his mouth during all those times apart.

You shook your head, trying to get away from his grip. “You don’t- You don’t get to call me that”

Before you could push him away, he had already pulled you in his arms.

Not tight, not desperate - just steady.

You let him. You let him put his hand on your head and rub your back soothingly. When your knees buckled, and you almost fell - Spencer caught you. He carried you to the couch, pulling you into his lap.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It wasn’t seductive. But it felt safe.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry” He whispered, pressing kisses to your temple every now and then.

Your hands clutched at his shirt. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t ask you to. He just held you like he did before. Like he still remembered how.

After some time, your tears had slowed down. His hands stayed on your back, tracing soft patterns as you gradually relaxed.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that he was really sorry. That you two could get back from this.

His forehead dropped to yours, barely touching. His breath fanned against your lips, shaky and warm.

What if I just kissed him? you thought to yourself. Against your better judgement, you still felt this- this shift between you.

“Y/N” he whispered, like your name was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You didn’t think. Didn’t move away this time.

Your lips crashed into his, messy, desperate and needy whines coming from you. Your kisses were full of pain, apology and everything else you both hadn’t said.

His hand cupped your face, pulling you closer like a starved man. He tried to make up for all the times he hadn’t held you this close.

And you clung to him like a lifeline. You pulled at his shirt, carded your fingers through his curls- mouth parting against his with a whimper that shattered whatever was left of his resolve.

He had pulled back, just a little- his lips were red, breath heavy and he was looking at you like he could hung up your face in a gallery.

His eyes searched for your own, thumb wiping a few leftover tears on your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me tonight” He whispered. “but I need you to know- how much I’ve missed you”

You kissed him again. Slower this time, more sure. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of him, in the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms.

“Let me show you, sweetheart” he murmured. “Please”

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

He guided you to lie back down gently, your legs parting as you lay on the couch. He placed open mouthed kisses on your jaw, neck - slipping the straps of your dress just a little so he could bite your breasts. He pushed your dress up, hands careful and warm as if you were made of porcelain.

“Spence-“ You whispered, the nickname rolling off your lips like the old times.

Spencer could drown hearing that sound.

“Tell me to stop, honey and I will”

But you didn’t want him to stop. God no.

“Please- Spence”

That was all it took. He kissed you again, slower now - drinking you in, needing to taste your forgiveness on your tongue.

“Lie back for me, baby” He whispered, placing one last kiss on your lips before helping you back down.

Your dress was already bunched around your waist, thighs open and parted for him. His fingers trailed down your legs, touch featherlight as he dipped his hand inside your underwear, finding your clit.

“That’s it” he murmured, his voice nothing but more than a breath against your skin. “Just like that”

You gasped, hips twitching. He looked up - eyes dark but tender. “So sensitive, sweetheart” he said, like he couldn’t believe he was finally doing this. “Been thinking about this for so long”

You choked back a whimper, heart hammering in your chest.

Within seconds, your panties were off and Spencer was now kneeling between your legs, spreading them wide enough so he could press a kiss on your mound.

His mouth met you like he’d done this a hundred times, a soft lick first, then deeper. Harder.

Your back arched off the couch, a moan slipping from your lips as his tongue circled your clit. He groaned softly at the sound, holding your hips down with both hands, mouth relentless and warm.

“You’re so beautiful” He murmured, pressing another kiss to your clit. “I missed you so much, sweetheart. So, so much”

“God- Spence…” You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the cushion.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with precision, like he knew your body. Like he remembered what made you shake. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right - you nearly came undone.

You were a mess beneath him, trembling, whispering his name between curses and half sobs. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was grief, guilt, years of ache melting into want.

When you came, it hit you hard. Your hips bucked, head thrown back, whispering his name like a broken mantra. He didn’t stop until you were pulling at his hair, whimpering from the overstimulation.

He kissed his way back up your body, hand still cupping you gently, like he was afraid you might break.

“Okay?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yes- God- Yes, I need you”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he fumbled with his belt, urgency returning to his hands. You helped him, both of you clumsy and breathless as he finally shed the last layer between you.

He lined himself up, looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“Tell me you still want me” He commanded, lining himself up - looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“You never- You never gave me the chance to stop”

His breath stuttered. One hand cradled your cheek, the other steadying himself at your hip.

When he slid inside, slow and deep - you both gasped at the feeling. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth still agape.

He stilled inside you, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re doing so good for me, so good”

He moved then - slow thrusts, deep and aching. Each roll of his hips was apology, every moan from your lips was forgiveness. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t filthy. It was desperate. Raw. Like coming home after too long away.

You clung to him—legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, lips at his ear. “I missed you so much,” you breathed.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I missed you too. I never stopped.”

He came with a quiet groan into your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair. He held you afterward, still inside you, hands smoothing over your skin like you were something sacred.

You stayed there for a long time. Silent. Holding onto each other like it meant something.

Because it did.

Afterwards, you were curled up into his chest, legs still trembling. He reached for a blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. Spencer’s lips found your forehead again, and that’s when it happened.

A single tear had rolled down your cheek. Then another.

“Sweetheart…”

You didn’t mean to cry. But after it was over, after all the tension snapped and the two of you were tangled up in each others arms, it came without warning. The tears were silent at first, sliding down your cheeks while you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, hey sweetheart” he whispered, already cupping your jaw gently. “You’re okay. I got you”

You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was hold him tighter, chest shaking as the weight of everything : the weeks of distance, the pain, the softness of his touch collapsed over you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, but he was already shaking his head.

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t apologise,” he murmured, kissing the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re so good. You’re perfect. You hear me?”

His hands ran down your back slowly, grounding you. One on your spine, the other cradling your head.

“You did so well for me,” he whispered. “You were incredible.”

You sniffled, curling closer.

“I didn’t think this would… us” you whispered, voice barely there, gesturing to the small space between you.

“I’m the one who burned us down” He said, pressing a wet kiss on your lips.

“It’s not what I meant, angel. I don’t want- I don’t want to lose this with you” He croaked out, his own voice breaking.

You swallowed, fingers curling into his chest like an anchor.

“I don’t wanna do this without you, Spence”

He held you tighter. No promises. Just breath and skin and the quiet hum of two hearts finally beating in time.

[h0useslut]

i’ll miss borrowin’ yours books to read the notes in the margin ꪆৎ

pairing : spencer reid (post prison) x fem!reader

w/c : 2k

genre : ANGST. with a happy ending i’m no sadist

warnings : mentions of emotional distress

summary : spencer reid came back a different man— quiet, closed off, like the parts of him you loved were locked away. but you never stopped waiting. never stopped reading the dog-eared pages and the ink he left behind. and when he finally lets you in, it’s soft, slow and everything he thought he didn’t deserve.

a/n : i had another fic in mind, ended up writing this at 3am… will post the one i had in mind eventually!

It’s been a month and three days since the day Spencer got out of prison— and somehow, it settles like dust in your chest.

Light, but impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been dating long when he was framed—meeting him in a grief group a few years ago, followed by a run-in at a bookstore.

He handed you a copy of your favourite book, Jane Eyre with notes and commentary: half analysis, half personal tangents.

For a person so awfully shy and awkward with women, he found himself confident enough to say,

“I think you’ll like this”

You fell for him there, in the ink. Spending countless nights reading the books he’d given you, or grabbing one from his home library and shyly asking him if you could borrow it. Hoping to understand his mind. His view on many aspects of life.

You’d never felt so happy. He was there, and suddenly a part of your life was a little brighter than others.

Until he wasn’t there.

His letters stopped— not because he didn’t want to write, but because they wouldn’t let him. Until you had to hear about his bruises, or how you couldn’t visit him anymore.

This left you wondering whether the parts that made him annotate books were still intact—still there for you.

Now it’s been a month. He’s home.

But not entirely.

You catch glimpses of him— when his fingers hover over your books, not quite touching them. When he involuntarily flinches at your touch, whispering hushed apologies. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want to be like this with you.

You started re-reading the Jane Eyre copy he gave you the night you realised Spencer was gone.

It was still on your nightstand, paperback having grown rusty and worn out from how many times you’d picked it up.

He pretended he didn’t see it whenever he was at your place.

Tonight though, he doesn’t pretend.

You’re in the kitchen humming, making dinner for the both of you. Something warm, easy. You thought he was sleeping.

You were proven wrong as he stood in the hallway, a book in his hands. Not just any book— Jane Eyre.

Turning the stove off, you approach him. You didn’t mean for that to happen— For him to hold the book with shaky hands and be unable to meet your gaze.

Dinner is surely long forgotten by now.

“You know, I—“ You started, but the lump in your throat felt heavy. Spencer was still not looking at you.

“I just— I started reading it after you…”

Silence fell upon you. He looked at you, finally. The hurt and amusement in his eyes could almost make you cry— or wrap your arms around him.

God, you wanted to do that for so long.

“You kept it” He spoke, voice barely above a whisper. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to say anything at all.

You nod, your lip caught between your teeth. It’s hard for you to explain why— And he should know. He’s a damn profiler for god's sake.

He knows you. He knows that you probably read the book over and over again because it reminded you of him. But it wasn’t just that.

That part he doesn’t know.

You sit in silence that night. Not entirely uncomfortable, and that’s just because you’d managed to get a smile from him. Even if it was wobbly and almost tearful.

A few days later, he’s shut you out again.

Not in the obvious way— he still comes over and spends time with you. He still kisses your forehead goodnight—But there’s a distance. A distance that wasn’t there before.

You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.

You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.

You want him to yell— to say anything. You hate this silence— this chill that has settled upon the both of you.

It gets harder when he cancels your plans.

You always invited him over. You knew his home didn’t feel safe for him anymore, and he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone.

It’s hard for you to understand why he keeps pulling away, especially when he needs someone right now. You wonder if it’s you— if you’re not right for him. If your presence doesn’t bring him comfort.

The thought makes your eyes sting with tears.

You’d shut down that night as well.

Lying on the bed, the copy of Jane Eyre in your hold, blankly staring at it. It’s a hard night. And you don’t feel like holding it in.

Spencer leaves calls, but your phone is on silent. He feels like an ass for pushing you away— canceling your plans.

The silence from your side makes it only worse. He can tell that something is wrong.

It’s like he doesn’t even know himself anymore. He doesn’t understand why he keeps pushing you away— why he has you at arm's length when in reality, you’re his favourite person.

It’s never been you. You were never the problem. But the closer you get, the more he retreats. It’s like he doesn’t want you to see the broken parts of him, the ones that are beyond repair.

Spencer knows you deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t flinch every time they feel vulnerable.

He hates how prison has changed him. How he put up these walls around him and drove you away.

So Spencer sits on his couch, phone in his hands as he struggles with the thought of calling you again. He feels like he doesn’t deserve your voice right now. Not after tonight, or the night before.

He wishes he could tell you that prison didn’t just steal time from him—it stole pieces. Pieces he doesn’t know how to get back. Pieces you used to fit into so easily.

You were probably one of the few people— if not the only person who made him feel seen without judgment. And now, he’s terrified you’d seen too much.

Spencer Reid hopes that another person he cherishes so much hasn’t given up on him yet.

You’re still in bed when you hear the knock on your door— soft, hesitant. Barely there. At first, you think you must’ve imagined it, but it comes again. Three gentle taps.

Spencer.

You move slowly, heart thudding against your chest as you don’t know whether you should feel hope or fear.

Spencer’s already standing there when you open the door. His shoulders are tense, his jaw sharp and expression hard. He prepared for the worst.

Not this.

The sight he was met with— made his face fall entirely. You looked absolutely spent.

Eyes red, rimmed with tears. Your hair was in a messy braid, loose pyjamas on you. You looked as if you’d spent the entire evening in bed.

Which you did.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. The look in his eyes is something you hadn’t seen in a while— But you’re sure you’re imagining it. Especially after all those days spent of him pushing you away.

Until he speaks.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me? Come on, baby”

You’re terrified to meet his gaze. You’re so sure for a moment you’re hallucinating. You must be.

He tries to reach for you— grab your wrists. But he’s truly horrified when it’s you who flinches. You’re the one to take a step back— stumbling away from him.

His breath catches, hands falling limply to his sides like he’s just being struck.

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—“ He attempts, but the words crash and tangle on his tongue, useless.

He takes another step closer to you.

“Angel—“ He calls gently, the pet name making your eyes tear up again. You hadn’t heard him using those sweet names in such a long time.

You’re still silent.

“You flinched” He says again, voice low.

Bottom lip trembling, you couldn’t meet his gaze yet. You hadn’t meant to flinch— you hated that you flinched. You felt as if you shouldn’t be the one to break down.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me” He speaks softly. “Not ever, not you”

There’s a pause so thick, you could fall right into it. But he stays still now. He doesn’t dare touch you again, even if his whole body aches to.

“I’m not— I’m not afraid of you”, you whisper finally— wiping your tears frantically.

“I’m afraid I’ve already lost you”

It comes out broken. You wanted to curse yourself for falling apart.

In three quick strides, you’re pressed against his chest. One of his hands goes to your head, stroking your hair. The other is on your waist, pulling you tighter as your muffled cries fill the room.

You’d hugged him when he got out— hugged him a few times after that as well. But now, it was different. The feeling of his arms was something you were so sure you’d lost— Something you weren’t used to anymore.

But here he was, holding you.

“No, angel— you haven’t lost me. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” He whispered, over and over again.

Your cries only intensify, to the point where your knees almost give up. Spencer holds you up, guiding you to the touch where he pulls you in his lap.

“Shh, I’m here” He soothes, peppering kisses on your temple.

“Do you know why—” You started, but the sob in your throat caught you off.

Spencer doesn’t push. He just cradles you closer to him, kissing your forehead again. He decided by then that he’d never let you go again. He didn’t want you to be like this because of him.

“I kept borrowing your books and re-reading Jane Eyre because—“ You paused, taking another shuddering inhale.

“Because reading the notes in the margin made me believe I could understand you”

Your words physically hit him. His grip on you tightens, firm— not painful in any way. He’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you close.

“I never wanted you to feel like you had to read between the lines”, he murmurs— voice rough.

“It was the closest I could come to reading your mind” You continue, the trembling of your lips not being unnoticed.

“Oh, sweetheart” He coos, guiding your head to rest on the crook of his neck again.

He doesn’t realise when— or how, but you’d fallen asleep on him after crying.

It’s the first night you lie tangled up in each other's limbs— The first night he doesn’t wake up plagued by his nightmares.

Small steps.

The next morning, he wakes up before you. He gets your favourite coffee and tries to cook you breakfast but fails miserably so. For someone with an eidetic memory, he sure as hell made you wake up by the smell of burnt toast.

“Spence?” You croak out, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. You’re tired— events from last night hanging on you heavier than they should.

“Hey, baby,” He says softly, pulling you in for a hug. He hates how you tense at first. He hates himself for causing this to you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, and murmured, “Sorry for the smoke alarm symphony”

You chuckle amidst your sleepiness, arms locking behind his middle. “It’s okay, you tried. That’s what matters”

Spencer feels as if something clicks back into place. There, in the soft morning light— with you in his arms again.

He reads to you for the most of the day— Jane Eyre. The book that brought him to you.

And this time, he’s not reading to escape— he’s reading to stay.

[tangledinlove]

— just friends!

PART TWO

contents: spencer reid x fem reader. childhood best friends who are idiots in love!!!!! and a brief mention of clothes sharing bc im weak

notes: you will never guess who i just childhood best friendsified… also i picture mid seasons spencer during this but i just had to use this gif hes sooo cute

The second Penelope steps out of the bar, her hands fly desperately to her phone. She needs to text the only person who would enjoy the new information she has as much as she does.

ARE U HOME???? Sent 10:34 pm.

Spencer’s contact photo smiles back at her. It’s one of him from his early college days, which places him at about fourteen. He smiles sweetly at the camera from behind thick frames. It looks like he’s ready to correct someone who’s said something stupid.

Reid’s response doesn’t come nearly as quickly as she had hoped, seeing as she’s already standing outside his front door, her spare key in hand.

Yes, why? Are you ok? Received 10:40 pm.

It would be proper to knock and ask to be let in, but Penelope is a little past tipsy, and… it’s just Spencer. He trusted her enough to give her an extra copy of his house key, and with the information she has that’s just waiting to be freed from her mind… she knows he won’t mind.

It takes her a few tries to get the key into the slot, scratching the doorknob a few times before she can finally turn it. But then she’s spilling into Reid’s apartment, squinting into the darkness.

All the lights are off, and Penelope is just about to shoot him a very angry text about lying about being home when she picks up on the sound of the TV. She ditches her favorite pink pumps by the front door and hurries quickly into his living room.

During her rather difficult trip to the next room over, Penelope decides she’s going to have a serious talk with him about keeping the hallways clear. His house is a very clear health hazard.

With the serious lack of light, she bumps into what feels like a suitcase and nearly trips over a pair of sneakers before she even catches sight of the television.

The outline of Reid’s frame sticks out very quickly against the brightness of the TV. She doesn’t recognize the movie playing, but can hear him mumbling quietly to himself, and she giggles a little.

Reid makes commentary on movies out loud even when he’s all by himself. How cute.

Penelope grows sick of the darkness very quickly. Grumbling under her breath, she taps around the wall before flicking on the light.

“Reid, you’ll never guess who I just— Oh!”

The one big blob that Penelope had assumed was Reid comes into focus. Now bathed in the bright overhead lights, she watches in horror as the blob splits into two different people.

Penelope shrieks.

The blob on the left — the one that’s actually Reid — turns to face her, confusion and slight fear on his face.

“Garcia!” he says, his voice cracking up half an octave. “What are you doing here?”

The words pass in through one ear and out the other. Rubbing her dreary eyes, she squints at the half of the blob that’s sitting on the right.

It’s… a girl.

A girl. In Spencer Reid’s apartment.

Alone. With him!

The lack of space in between you both becomes very obvious the longer she stares. Spencer’s side is against the arm of his couch and you’re sitting next to him, leaning half against his chest. A patchwork blanket is thrown haphazardly over your laps, barely an inch of space between you.

“I— oh!” Penelope's eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees the arm he has wrapped around your shoulders. “Hi, hello, Reid. I didn’t know you had a guest.”

He gives her a sheepish smile, and the two of you untangle from each other. Spencer goes to greet her while you search for the remote to pause the movie.

Penelope stares without shame. You give her a sugary sweet smile while you fold the blanket up on the couch, looking exceptionally cute in what looks like Reid’s pajama pants.

“Garcia?” Spencer says, waving a hand in front of her face after what’s probably a moment of silence. “Are you okay?”

She swats him on the shoulder, whispering in what she hopes is a quiet tone. “Spencer Reid. Introduce me to your girlfriend!”

The blood rushes to his face. “My what? No… um. She’s not my girlfriend, Garcia—”

Spencer gets bowled out of the way when you nudge him to the side, a wide smile on your face.

Penelope almost awws out loud. You seem amused at his embarrassed stuttering but come to his rescue nonetheless. So cute.

You give her your name and your hand to shake, and she takes it in her own, shaking you around wildly.

“Are you Penelope?” you ask, ten seconds into the handshake Garcia still hasn’t stopped. Reid plucks your hand free from her grip, and you squeeze his wrist once before letting your hand fall down to your side. “Spencer talks about his team all the time. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Penelope soaks up every single detail of the way you interact with Spencer.

Spencer Reid, always so finnicky with physical contact doesn’t seem bothered by your closeness at all. The two of you are standing so close together your sides brush while you breathe. You’re wearing his pajamas and Reid’s hair is messy and unbrushed.

She’s never seen Spencer look so… domestic.

“Reid,” she says, turning to face her friend. “I think I’m hallucinating.”

She ends up on his armchair some time later, a tall glass of water in her hands given to her by Spencer in an attempt to sober her up. The both of you also assure her that you’re not a hallucination, and you even let her pull you into a hug just to make sure.

“Did you walk here from the bar by yourself, Garcia?” Spencer asks, the two of you blinking at her from his couch. He looks awfully concerned.

She waves him off, taking a nice sip of water. “Oh, relax. It’s barely a block from here, you know!” He doesn’t look too comforted, but she continues on. “I just— I had to come and tell you who I saw on a date there. And I know I should’ve knocked, so I’m sorry for that, but…” She points at you. “I didn’t realize you’d be on a date, too, Spencer!”

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and you snicker from your spot next to him.

“This isn’t a date,” you say, prodding at Spencer’s side. “Me and Spencer are just friends.”

Penelope is far from convinced. “But… you were cuddling on the couch when I walked in.”

The two of you exchange a look.

“Cuddling?” you repeat. Penelope can’t tell if you’re a great actor or if there’s genuine confusion on your face. “We weren’t cuddling.”

“We were watching a movie.” Spencer shakes his head, his big brown eyes going comically large. “Definitely not cuddling.”

Are you two… trying to gaslighting her?

“But the blanket! And the hugging and the touching! I saw it. I am seeing it,” she insists frantically, water threatening to spill over the rim of the cup. “Why else would two people need to sit that close during a movie?”

Spencer gestures to the TV screen, still lit up. “I was just translating the movie for her. It’s in Korean and it’s only just been released, so it hasn’t been subtitled yet. We were sitting close because I don’t like translating too loudly during movies. I enjoy listening to the actors speak.”

His quiet mumbling earlier hadn’t been him talking to himself. It’d been him talking to you.

Ohh, Penelope thinks, and she says it aloud too.

There’s beeping from the direction of the kitchen and you get up, but not before squeezing Spencer’s shoulder on the way out. His eyes follow you until you turn the corner, like he’s reluctant to let you go ten feet to the next room.

When he turns back to face Penelope, she’s grinning.

“Just friends,” she muses, taking another long sip of water. “Are you sure?”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure, Garcia. Why?”

“I don’t know about you, Boy Genius, but I don’t keep any of my friends a secret.” Penelope is sure her eyes are gleaming with excitement. She has a real life love story on her hands, whether Spencer wants to admit it or not. “I also don’t look at any of my friends like that!”

He smiles at her ribbing, looking at his lap. “I don’t look at her in any particular way, Garcia. And she’s—she’s not a secret. I just haven’t had the need to bring her up.”

“‘Cause you have a big fat crush on her?” she offers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “And you’re too scared to talk about her because you get all starry eyed and mushy whenever you do?”

“No, I do not have a crush on her. She’s visiting from Vegas. We’re close because she’s my childhood best friend.” He says it so quickly the words mesh together.

Penelope gives him a disbelieving mhm, and he rushes to defend himself.

“It’s not like any of the team talks about their friends from when they were kids. It wouldn’t make sense to bring her up.”

If Penelope was sitting close enough, she would swat at him again. “Well, you should’ve, since the two of you are absolutely not just friends—”

“Penelope, do you wanna stay for the rest of the movie?” you ask, appearing in the doorway with a big bowl of popcorn in your hands. “It’s almost over, but Spencer says the ending is crazy good.”

When you sit down on the couch again, you lean into Reid’s side and his arm goes around your shoulder almost automatically.

For translation purposes, she’s sure.

The two coworkers exchange a very loaded look.

This conversation is not over, Penelope’s eyes say.

We are not bringing this up ever again, Spencer’s silence replies.

Penelope gives you a wide grin. “Oh, I’d absolutely love to stay!”

She’s already looking forward to the future conversation between Derek and Spencer about his secret girlfriend who’s definitely, totally not his girlfriend.

notes: me giving spencer the childhood best friend he deserves because i cant imagine him going through all That alone…. my baby my baby….. also i fear i may be rusty at writing!!!!! lmk if u enjoyed !!!

[seresinslady]

Curse The Space You Needed

Summary: Spencer bails on your birthday for a case. It just may be the straw that breaks the camel's back. WC: 3,244

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of child kidnapping.

AN: This is the first fic I've written and posted in like 3 years, I think. Writing a fic is kind like going through TSA. You know you don't have a gun but now you're wondering if you do... writing a fic is like... I know I speak english, but now I'm wondering if I do. 🩵 Anyways, I did proof read this but it's also 3:30am where I am so who knows atp.

_______

Spencer’s nerves have been building since the little grey letters that spelled ‘Read 7:45am’ under his text first appeared. Minutes tick by and he forces himself to focus on the case. Work had always been an easy distraction for him. Each investigation requires his full attention, letting him get lost in what he feels most comfortable in — numbers, facts, and puzzles. But how can he do that when the only number he can think of is the number of hours since you read his text, the only fact he can focus on is the fact that you haven’t texted him back, and the only puzzle he wants to solve is 800 miles away celebrating a birthday alone?

Despite his head being in the clouds, the team wraps the case in a few hours and brings the missing little girl back to her parents. It’s a happy ending.

“Reid!” Spencer hears Emily shout through the low hum of the plane engine, pulling him from his faraway stare.

“What?” He asks casually. Turning his attention to the pair sitting across from him. Emily laughs.

“We’ve been calling your name for the last ten minutes.” Derek says.

Spencer looks around the cabin to see Rossi sitting beside him filling out a crossword puzzle, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, and JJ leaning in from behind Emily’s aisle seat, also staring at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

He looks back to Derek. “We haven’t even been in the air for ten minutes.” He points out.

“What’s been up with you, Spence?” JJ asks. “You’re usually our resident computer but you’re…glitching today.” She jokes lightheartedly with a chuckle.

“Sorry…” Spencer mumbles, picking at the thread on his coat. He hesitates before being honest. “It’s Y/n’s birthday today and I bailed last minute.”

“For the case?”

“Yeah, we had a bunch of plans but I didn’t make it to any of them.” He confesses quietly.

“Spence, you could’ve taken this one off. You know Hotch is really understanding about our personal lives.”

“I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go and that little girl died.” 

“You can’t save everyone, Reid.” Emily says gently.

“I can try.”

“You can’t lose yourself trying.” Rossi chimes in. Spencer glances at him.

“Did you give her a heads up?” Derek asks.

“I left before she woke up but I sent her a text.” He explains, glancing at his phone again. “She hasn’t messaged me back.”

“It sucks when plans get canceled at the last minute but surely she understands. I mean you guys have been together for two years. She knows how it goes.” Derek comments bluntly with a shrug and Emily rolls her eyes.

“She understands but I don’t know… it feels like something else.” Spencer mumbles, still deep in thought.

“You think she’s cheating on you?”

“What? No. Why would you say that?” Spencer defends, slightly annoyed by Derek’s brashness.

“Derek, you’re not helping.” JJ scolds. “Don’t put those thoughts in Spencer’s head. Y/n would never do that.”

Derek holds his hands up in defense.

“Ignore him. What makes it feel different?" Emily asks, nodding her head up. Spencer is aware that you and Emily are close so he knows her questions about you are always genuine.

“I missed our anniversary dinner last year. And a few months ago I missed Valentine's Day because of the Kentucky case.”

“So, a few rainchecks don’t hurt. An unpredictable schedule is a casualty of the job.” Derek argues again.

“It’s only truly unpredictable for so long. Then it becomes predictably unpredictable and takes over your life.” Rossi adds again, not looking up from his booklet as he presses the blue ballpoint pen into the thin gray page. “Four letter word for German wine?” 

After a quiet moment, Spencer says “hock.”

Emily’s phone buzzes and she glances at it. She has a good enough poker face for everyone else but Spencer is a Las Vegan. She types on her phone and then avoids Spencer’s gaze for the rest of the flight.

After two hours of nothing but turbulence, they land with tired eyes and day old clothes. Spencer is the first one to stand and exit the plane. The tiny space has been growing tinier and tinier with each mile closer to the airport.

The bright tarmac lights illuminate like Christmas all around the ground crew. Men and women in orange reflective vests work to cart luggage and wave light-up wands to communicate with the pilots. The breeze catches his brown curls and Spencer pushes his hair out of his eyes before checking his phone again. The screen shinning onto his worried face.

Nothing.

He opens the message bar under your name, his fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment until his eyes catch sight of those grey letters again and he huffs before shoves his phone back in his pocket. 

From behind him, he feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns around. “Reid, I know it’s not any of my business but I watched my job destroy my marriage for years. If I could go back, I’d do anything Haley needed from me to fix it.” Hotch says.

The cold air bites at Spencer’s skin. “Would you have left the BAU?”

“Yes but Y/n would never ask you to do that.” Hotch answers plainly and looks over Spencer’s shoulder to see the team chatting as they walk out of the plane. He lowers his voice. “The first few months after returning to the BAU, I almost quit. It felt impossible to do this job properly while raising Jack but I realized that it’s not about every second of your life being in your control — nobody in the world has that. It’s about using the time in your control in the right ways. When you can do that, being away from home isn’t so hard.”

“But how do I do that?” Spencer mumbles.

“You’ve gotta ask her.” Hotch walks away, lingering behind the team.

The metro ride from the airport to his usual stop down the street from your shared apartment is empty and quiet. He spends the shaky, fluorescent bleached ride replaying his conversation on the tarmac with Hotch. He wasn’t sure where to start. His eyes ache with a longing for sleep or better yet, something to rest them on — you.

Eventually his tired feet bring him straight to the door he’d walked out of this morning. The metal key in his fingers clinks against the scratched door. He slips into the apartment fully expecting you to be asleep. He’d planned to crash on the couch but as his sock covered feet slip out of his shoes, he hears rustling in your shared bedroom.

For a second, he lets Derek’s off handed comment about you possibly cheating, get the better of him. With a scoff, he refutes the idea and hangs his work bag on the hook by the door. You would never do that. Spencer knows that for certain.

A small smile grows on his face, happy you’re awake and ready to take Hotch up on his advice. Making the time he has control of matter more than the time he doesn’t.

The hinges squeak with age as he swings the bedroom door open. Spencer is wearing a careful grin but his face falls when he sees you standing by the bed, next to a half packed bag. The only lights on are the small lamps next to the bed.

“Y/n?” 

You jump, clearly very frightened. You hadn’t even heard the apartment door open.”Spencer!” You shout in fear.

“Why are you packing?”

“I didn’t think you were coming home until Wednesday.”

“We finished early.” He mumbles, looking back down at the pile of clothes on your side of the bed. “Why are you packing?”

In a small, nervous voice you reply “I think I need some space…” You look away, too scared to see the look of devastation he must be wearing.

Spencer’s whole body feels numb. 

“In the closet?” It was a stupid question, Spencer knows that but his heart still skips a beat when you shake your head.

“From me?” His voice cracks.

Your heart drops to your feet and tears prick at your eyes. Your jaw feels heavy and your teeth feel too big for your mouth as you admit “from us.”

The knot in Spencer’s tie digs into his neck. “From us?’ His voice trembles with impossibly more devastation. “Why?”

“Spencer… you know why.” You say quietly.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Shock over takes your features and you flinch at his accusation. “Are you serious?!” You say louder than necessary. Spencer curses himself for letting Derek get in his head. 

“I’m sorry.” he says softly and earnestly. He steps forward. “I’m sorry.”

Your hard expression softens. “For what?” The sharp edge that was in your voice is gone but your spine stays stiff.

Spencer takes too long to answer and you humorlessly chuckle.

“I’m not gonna apologize for taking the case, Y/n. The first 48 hours are crucial. We needed to be there as soon as possible. We were working the whole flight over. You have to understand that it was an emergency.” Spencer has a bad habit of thinking emotions can be explained away, he knows this.

You shake your head, offended that he would even think you don’t understand the severity of the situation. Your body drifts closer to him, your weapons down. “Spencer, there is no reality in which my birthday dinner is more important than finding a missing 12-year-old girl alive, I know that. And I love that you have decided to use your limitless genius to help people. The way you care for these victims is more than just extremely attractive — it’s admirable. Everything about you is admirable. But…” You take a deep breath, almost ashamed to say your next words out loud. “I am constantly comparing the best days of my life to someone else’s worst day of theirs. And I never win. It sounds so selfish and petty but just because I understand the importance of your job doesn’t mean my feelings go away. It still sucks to cry in the restaurant by myself on my birthday.”

“You cried?”

You ignore his question. “We’ve missed Valentine’s Day two years in a row, you flew out on Christmas in the middle of opening presents and you didn’t get back until the new year, we never made up our anniversary dinner, and last week you bailed on our first scheduled date night in three months because you guys got a case.”

Spencer sighs. He’d never realized how much he was missing. 

“All I could think about today was what I would tell our child if they were asking where Daddy was on Christmas morning, or their birthday, or their soccer game.” The mattress sinks as you sit on the end of the bed.

Spencer’s heart hitches at the news that you think about having a family with him. Tears well in your eyes and he joins you on the edge of the bed, sitting carefully next to you.

“I don’t want my job to hurt you.” He states. It’s not defensive, it’s honest. It feels like he’s trying to break ground on an open conversation. He turns to face you and places a hand on your knee.

“And I don’t want you to feel like I’m mad at you for doing good in the world.” You say tearfully.

“I don’t feel like that, baby.” Spencer shakes his head. “I just wanna know how to fix this.”

“I think… I just need some space to figure out if this is what I really want.” You confess and a tear falls directly off your bottom lashes, onto Spencer’s hand.

He swallows a lump of nerves and the sudden urge to vomit at the thought of being not what you want. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You cry quietly, your posture giving away more as you sniffle and wipe at your wet eyes.

Spencer shakes his head and the wrinkled covers on the bed shift as he moves closer. His arms wrap around your crumpled frame. “Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize.” He repeats.

“I love you.” You remind him, one of your hands resting on his arm.

He kisses the top of your head. “I love you, baby.” He says earnestly, afraid this might be the last time he’ll ever get to say it to your face, holding you in his arms. His eyes glass over but he blinks the tears away. He kisses your hair again and holds you tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” You say again and sniffle.

“Stop that.” He feels you pull slightly and he loosens his hold on you. You sit up and he catches a glimpse of your stricken face — eyes red and watery. He pushes some tear soaked strands of hair off of your feverish cheeks. You look up at him and through his pained expression, he offers you a small smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get through this, Y/n. Okay?” 

You nod with low energy, closing your eyes for a moment and taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm your shaky hands.

Spencer rubs your back, trying to comfort you but his kind gesture only makes everything so much harder. His other hand pulls your hair neatly off your neck and he places a chaste kiss against the skin of your shoulder.

You sigh heavily and use every ounce of strength left to raise to your feet, pulling yourself out of Spencer’s arm. The loss of contact is devastatingly heavy.

“I’m gonna stay with Emily for a while. She’s picking me up.”

Spencer’s throat bobs as he gulps. His eyes fall down for half a second, then back up to you. He nods. “Sergio will be happy to see you.” It’s an olive branch in the hurricane.

You chuckle quietly. “Yeah…” You agree.

Neither of you could make eye contact while you put a few things in a small bag. With a mixture of not wanting to smother you and not wanting to be smothered by the godawful thick sadness in the air, Spencer stepped out of the room. He sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, his muscles tense — ready to stand at any moment. The bones in his fingers ache from the nonstop wringing of his hands and his bottom lip stings from his teeth chewing it raw.

The sound of drawers opening and closing, your padded footsteps across the tattered rug, the zipping of small cosmetic bags, plastic racks clicking against each other as you shuffle through the closet. He tried to keep his eyes trained downward but every so often — at a new noise — they would flicker up to your moving figure as you paced around the room then he’d blink hard and look away again.

Each second that ticks by on the clock mocks him. The longer you take to pack, the longer you must be planning to be gone. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and runs his hand over his face. He can feel a migraine coming on.

“Spencer?” Your quiet voice calls from the open bedroom door. 

His head jerks up and he stands to his feet immediately. “Yeah?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. 

“Do we have extra toothpaste?” You mumble.

He slouches a bit. “Um, w-we don’t have any. Just take the one we share. I’ll get another one.”

“I’m sure Emily has extra.” You politely try to dismiss his offer.

“You need the one for sensitivity. Please take that one.”

You shuffle awkwardly. “Okay.” You whisper before disappearing back in the bathroom.

Spencer doesn’t sit back down. His knees feel like they’re locking and his lungs feel like they’re shrinking.

“Okay…” You announce quietly as you step back through the threshold, this time with a full bag.

You want to shrink yourself away under Spencer’s longingly stare. Leaving a bad man is rewarding. Leaving a good man is remorseful. Leaving a man like Spencer — the most beautifully layered, thoughtfully loving, good hearted, gentle, patient, and perfectly everything man — feels impossible. Even if you manage to pick your feet up off the floor and drag your beat up sneaker bottoms to the old wooden apartment door, the look he’s giving you will still haunt every room you enter for the rest of your life. Every morning coffee you’ll make, you’ll reach for his dorky chemistry pun mug too. Every time you laugh, you’ll look to your left hoping to see him there. Every hard night will feel heavier without his gentle reassurances and soft kisses. Every book will smell like him and every record scratch will sound like his quiet humming along to an old James Taylor song. Spencer is part of your life no matter what you decide to do during your time at Emily’s apartment. 

He watches you like his soul wants to leave his body and attach to yours.

You move towards the door and Spencer mumbles something about helping you but you politely decline, telling him that you’ve got it.

He steps in slow pace behind you.

The dimly lit space near the door feels claustrophobic, like being trapped in a raging sea of white water at night.

“I’ll do anything…” Spencer confesses, heartbreak lacing his words. His eyes flit across your face.

His heart slows for a second as you drop the bag at your feet and step forward. He melts into you as you wrap your arms around his neck and embrace him tightly. The soft material of your shirt brushes his skin as his arm snakes around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head. He buries his distraught face into your neck, a few of his tears slide down the strands of your hair. Your bodies are flush against one another and he hears you softly say “me too.”

A moment passes and you pull back. You brush his hair back, gazing into his tearful eyes. He leans into your touch as your thumb wipes the glistening streaks of tears off his flushed cheeks.

“I’ll do anything.” He repeats. “Just tell me.”

“I’ll tell you what I need when I figure it out.” You whisper. He nods against your hand before turning his face and placing a kiss against your palm.

His hand reaches up and grasps yours, pulling it into his chest between the both of you. His eyes stay locked onto yours, afraid that even with an eidetic memory he’d forget them.

Your hand slides off his sweater vest clad chest as you step backwards, closer to the door. Your interlocked hands slowly and delicately pull apart. Spencer watches you pick up your bag and before you can talk yourself out of it, you open the door.

With a few minutes left in the day, Spencer quietly says through choked back tears “happy birthday, Y/n.” 

Your heart can’t take anything else. You quickly step into the hallway and close the door behind you. Both of you pretend to not hear the other cry from the other side.

[ravenclaws-stuff]

Nurse Spencer

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Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer unexpectedly calls out, how will the team react? What will they find when they go check on him?

Tags: established relationship, secret relationship revealed, fluff, BAU gets worried, fluff,

Spencer M List | Join My Taglist

“Where's Reid?” Derek asks, eyes glued to the unusual empty desk. Emily looks up from her paperwork, glancing at the empty desk before looking at her watch. “Yeah where is Reid? He's never late.”

“Hey Hotch, where's Reid?” Derek shouts as the unit chief walks out of his office, heading to the break room. “Sick.”

Derek and Emily share a look. Sick? Spencer Reid, the team's renowned germaphobe, sick? Weird.

By lunch, the entire team was worried for the boy. No one was able to get in touched, messages left on delivered, and the calls went straight to voicemail.

“We should go check on him.” Penelope suggests as JJ and Emily stand up, ready to go. “It's not like Spencer to not answer his phone.” JJ nods. “Let's go.”

Emily knocks on the door, knuckles raps against the wood before she steps back. Penelope shuffles, holding a container of Spencer's favorite soup and medicine. “I hope he's alright.”

The door swings open, revealing a normal healthy looking Spencer in a pair of comfy clothes that looked foreign on him.

“What are you guys doing here?” The girls share a look before rambling, voices mixing together. “We were worried about you.” “You called out sick.” Penelope frowns, stepping forward. “You don't look sick.”

Spencer shrugs sheepishly as he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually around 30% to 57% of employees have admitted to calling in sick when they're actually fine.” JJ’s eyes narrow. “Sure but Spencer you don't.” Spencer stutters, trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

“Pence?” He spins at his name, finding you walking into the living room, plaid blanket wrapped loosely around your frame. Your nose red from what they can assume tissues.

“Honey,” Spencer coos, crossing the room, forgetting about the girls. “you're supposed to be in bed.” He carefully leads you to the couch. You smile weakly at him, thanking him.

The girls share a look, faces scrunched in surprise. “Honey?” Emily whispers, as JJ shrugged. Penelope smiles. “He looks happy.”

Spencer reappears, hand resting on the door. “Thank you for stopping by and really it's great seeing you but I need to take care of her.” Emily reaches out, hand resting against the wooden door.

“Reid who is that?” Spencer looks over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That,” he says, turning back, looking lighter than any of them could remember. “That is my girlfriend.”

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Taglist: @winter-solstice24 @Fernanda

[simpforrooster]

twenty-one.

spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer coaxes reader into playing blackjack with him on the way home from a case. the buy in is just what reader needs.

t/w: allusions to smut. good ole fashion flirting.

you can’t tear your eyes away from the way spencer shuffles the deck of cards between his fingers. those long, gorgeous fingers. it should be illegal how good it looks.

“blackjack, who’s in?” he asks, ready to deal cards.

“nah man, i learned my lesson last time,” morgan says from the seat next to you, putting an earbud in before leaning back and closing his eyes for the flight back to quantico.

spencer raises a questioning brow at you. rossi shakes his head next to spencer. “don’t do it, kid.” spencer cocks his head, giving your those puppy dog eyes that would bring the vilest unsub to their knees.

“what’s the buy-in, dr. reid?” the question comes out more flirtatiously than you meant.

“ah, for you? first game is free,” he winks, shuffling the cards between his deft fingers one more time. he deals you a card face up, holding eye contact, then himself. he deals your next card, a seven. he deals himself a ten. you have a seven and a ten. a solid seventeen.

“hit or stay?" he asks.

"i'm going to stay, doc," you reply, deciding seventeen is too high to take a chance on getting four or less.

"a seventeen is perfectly respectable. i'm going to hold as well."

you gesture to his facedown card. those long slender fingers flip the card over with such finesse that the finest dealer in vegas would be jealous.

"twenty-one," he gloats at the ace of spades. a cocky smirk spreads across his face as he looks at you. he looks delicious.

"i told you," rossi says to the novel in his hands.

“again?” he asks, shuffling the cards again. you almost don’t hear him ask with how focused you are on his hands. your mind going through other uses for them. he murmurs your name, and that snaps your attention back to him. a knowing smile sits on his lips.

“you said the first game was free, what’s this one going to cost me?” you ask. rossi’s brows raise at your blatant flirting, but he doesn’t say anything. spencer leans over the table separating the two of you. he crooks his index finger. you lean over, meeting him, your heart beating out your chest.

“you come home with me tonight,” he murmurs. he leans back in his seat as if he didn’t just send your body haywire.

“deal me in,” you tell him.

your first card is a five. his first card is facedown in front of him. the next cards he lays down is a five for you and a ten for him.

“hit me,” you say. spencer holds your gaze and you’ve never been so turned on playing a game of blackjack. he deals you a ten. he deals himself a one.

“you’re at twenty,” he practically purrs across the table. “gonna hold?”

“yeah,” your voice is barely a whisper.

“me too,” he says, matching your volume.

“let’s see what the house has,” you tell him. spencer flips the card over revealing another ten. he doesn’t look away from you as he says, “twenty-one.”

your breath hitches at the back of your throat. he’s cool, calm, and collected, sitting across from you and you’re a complete mess over a seemingly innocent game of cards.

except nothing with spencer can be categorized as innocent. he tucks a long curl behind his ear before returning the cards to the deck box. that sexy nerd knew just what he was doing. he’s from vegas for god’s sake.

“he counts cards, you know,” rossi pipes up from his novel.

holding spencer’s gaze, you respond, “i know.”

two can play that game.

[pr3ttyinfall]

[mytherapyisreading14]

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

Part 2

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

-

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

-

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

-

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it. 

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

[as-sweet-as-a]

Heyyyy I absolutely love love LOVE your work and I saw this thing that @mandarinmoons posted and it said “Spencer Reid is the type of person to bend down and tie your shoelaces and then give you a kiss on the knee once he’s done.” I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something like that

AHHH omg!! tysm!! i hope this meets expectations :]] (also stalked checked out the account you mentioned and fell in love)

strawberry laces - s.r.

summary; you're meeting diana for the first time and literally could not be more nervous contents; reader is a nervous wreck, spencer is the best boyfriend ever, fluff words; 549

You had just finished fixing your hair, finally deciding how to style it after about 97 different options. Spencer drifted past. He paused behind you to put his hands on your shoulders.

“We’re going to be late.” He reminded softy. His hands gently rubbed your shoulders, trying to calm you down. You were meeting his mother for the first time today and Spencer couldn’t tell who was more nervous about it. But, he figured out a while ago that the best way to calm himself down was to help you calm down.

“I know, I’m sorry. Does my hair look alright?” You asked, fiddling with a few strands. Diana knew you existed. Spencer had told her nothing but good things about you. Yet, you were so worried you’d mess it up.

“It looks perfect.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, careful not to mess your hair up. When you first did your hair, Spencer made the mistake of saying it was ‘fine’. You’d been spiralling since.

You nodded and stood up. “And my outfit?” It was a casual meeting, Diana would be meeting them with her carer at a coffee shop. However, it was hard to judge ‘casual’ when your boyfriend wore cardigans, ties, and shirts everywhere he went.

“Mhm, really encapsulates the whole meeting my boyfriends diagnosed schizophrenic mom for the first time thing.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

“Spencer, I’m being serious.” You scolded.

He walked forward and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to him. Your arms came around his back, the sleeves of the cardigan you borrowed far too long. “I know, I’m sorry.” He rested his chin on your head. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks… I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” You mumbled into his chest.

He nodded and took one of your hands, bringing it over his quick heart. “I am too. But it’s going to be fine, I promise.”

You took a deep breath. You let yourself linger in Spencer’s loose embrace a moment longer before nodding. “Okay… yeah, I’m ready.” With your newfound confidence, you headed to the bedroom door.

“Shoes.” Spencer reminded.

You turned around and walked back to him. “Shoes.”

He was holding the pair of Converse you had laid out and got down on one knee, tapping his leg. You chuckled and put your foot on his thigh as he helped you into your shoe. Your laugh brought a smile to Spencer’s face. He tied the laces in a neat bow and pressed a kiss to your knee. He patted the side of your leg.

“Next one.” As instructed, you swapped which foot you were balancing on Spencer’s thigh. He gave it the same treatment, an even bow and a kiss on your knee. When you were back standing on both feet, Spencer rubbed your legs with his palms soothingly. “It’s going to be fine.” He repeated. You smiled down at him and cupped his face.

He stood up and gave you a quick kiss. “Now, come on. Before she starts wondering where we are.” He smiled and took your hand. You grabbed your bag and headed to the door again.

You glanced down at Spencer’s mismatched socks and grinned. “Shoes, Spence.”

He nodded and turned around. “Shoes.”