#{reid

[josketches]

copy, moon joy!

[ellieheartreid]

it's not a "hear me out" IT'S A HOLD ME BACK.

[lipstickstainedreid]

He’s so boyfriend

[mariasont]

a very compelling definition of beginning

the first night in your shared apartment, and spencer reid is fairly certain he owes the universe a significant debt he has no way of repaying.

bet u wanna meet the reader! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fem!reader, bimbo!reader, pp!reid, established relationship, suggestive content, domestic intimacy, light alcohol consumption, thigh kissing, spencer reid being down horrendous, fluff galore, implied smut, future family thots

wc: 1.5k

It’s hard to fathom how Spencer ended up here. 

He’s thought about it, the way he thinks about everything, which is to say obsessively and at inappropriate hours, usually at 2:17 a.m. when his brain refuses to power down, insisting instead on rerunning every decision he has ever made since 1993.

He keeps arriving at the same conclusion. 

Either he was exceptionally virtuous in a previous life or the universe made a clerical error. There is no third option.

Perhaps he rescued endangered species in this other life. Donated kidneys anonymously. Solved minor geopolitical conflicts in secret. 

Something substantial enough to justify this cosmic return on investment.

Because nothing in his thoroughly documented, unimpressive personal history adequately explains you.

There is a version of his life, one that felt inevitable as recently as three years ago, where he is alone tonight in a different apartment with beige carpeting and questionable lighting, eating takeout from the container over a stack of unopened mail.

That version still exists in some alternate probability stream.

It just… does not exist here.

Here, there are boxes everywhere. Each one labeled in looping pink markers with titles like “Kitchen-ish” and “Spencer’s Nerd Things.” A lamp casts warm strokes of gold across the room and over the generous stretch of skin visible beneath the hem of your pajama shorts as you stand in the middle of it all, refilling your wine glass.

A treat, you had announced, for all your hard work.

He made a very conscious decision not to point out the distribution of labor involved in getting those forty-three boxes up three flights of stairs. You looked so pleased with yourself. The wine was fine. He would herniate a disc tomorrow if it meant seeing that expression again.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, navigating the minefield of boxes with your wine glass lifted like some glittering, irresponsible Statue of Liberty. “I have decided that we are not unpacking anything else tonight.”

Spencer watches you attempt to cross the living room (barefoot, triumphant, entirely unconcerned with structural stability) and feels a very specific kind of anticipatory dread that he has learned is uniquely attached to you. 

You fold yourself into his lap on the floor with far more confidence than coordination, knees bumping a box labeled “Bathroom??? Maybe” on the way down. 

The wine punishes you for it, a thin, cold ribbon sloshing over the rim and catching your thigh on the way down. 

You make a face.

He considers explaining inertia. He decides against it.

“Fortunate,” Spencer says mildly, “that we’re still waiting on the couch.”

“That couch.” You jab a finger toward his chest. “That couch is why I deserve wine. Do you know what I did to get that couch?” 

He opens his mouth to say something. 

You do not allow it.

“Crate and Barrel. End of season sale. I set an alarm for four a.m., Spencer. Four. And I got it for half price because there was a scratch on the leg. You can’t even see it, honestly, and I just —”

He has heard this story before. Twice, technically. He does not mind hearing it again. He likes the way your voice sharpens with pride at the word half, like you personally outwitted late-stage capitalism.

What he does instead is lift your leg at the ankle before pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh where the wine has cooled.

Your words, predictably, dissolve into a soft, startled inhale. He feels the warmth return to your skin under his mouth.

He leans back. 

“Sauvignon blanc?”

“I don’t remember,” you admit, blinking at him.

Flustered is a rare state for you. He revels in every second of it, setting your leg down gently to reunite with his own, fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary because self-control is a muscle and his is fatigued.

“That’s concerning,” he notes, “given that you spent forty minutes in the wine aisle.”

You had. He knows because you FaceTimed him at minute twelve to debate label aesthetics versus vineyard credibility, and again at minute twenty-eight because one bottle had a “super cute watercolor fox.” 

He had launched into a thoughtful comparison of tasting notes, sugar content, and regional soil composition. You had nodded very seriously. You chose the fox.

“Well, it needed to be perfect,” you insist, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s the first official drink in the our new apartment. That’s special. You don’t just grab whatever for something special.”

“You’re right,” he says finally, and there’s no teasing in it now. “It is special.” Then he adds, “I would’ve thought it was perfect either way.”

“Even if it tasted bad?”

“Especially then,” he replies.

“It’s just,” you continue, a little softer now, tracing the line of his collar, “this is the first night of our life here. Like the beginning beginning.”

“The beginning beginning,” he repeats.

“Well, yeah. Because we’ve had beginnings before. Like when we started dating. Or when I basically moved in without calling it that. But this is the first time we both signed something and we’ll put our stuff in the same closet. That’s different.” You gesture vaguely around the room. “And tomorrow morning we’re gonna wake up here and brush our teeth here and argue about where the coffee machine goes. That’s the real start.”

He doesn’t respond right away because he’s busy picturing it.

Not just tomorrow, but after that. 

The long stretch of ordinary days stacked on top of each other. Holidays here. You insisting on decorations that clash with his sensibilities. A bigger place eventually. A dog, almost inevitable given your documented ability to pass one without emotional compromise and what he privately suspects is a pre-installed savior complex.

A backyard. You barefoot in it. A smaller bedroom painted some color he would never choose and would nevertheless defend if anyone dared mock it.

Marriage, his mind supplies before he can stop it.

He has never been particularly sentimental about the institution. It is, in his estimation, a legal reinforcement of intent. A contract acknowledging what already exists. Love should stand without witnesses, without the state stamping approval on it.

But then he imagines a ring on your hand. Light catching on it when you gesture too enthusiastically. You shoving your hand under Garcia’s nose and announcing it like you’ve secured a Nobel Prize. You calling him your husband.

He adjusts you in his lap before any of that leaks into his expression.

Damage control.

His hands slide to your hips, grounding himself in something tangible, lifting you closer until you’re fully pressed against him, warm and real and very much not hypothetical.

You squeak out a startled giggle, clutching at his shoulders. “Spence —”

He buries his face in your neck for a second, partly because you smell good and partly because he needs a moment to collect himself.

“That,” he murmurs against your skin, “is a very compelling definition of a beginning.” 

He pulls back just enough to see you, but not far enough to lose contact. His hands stay firm on your hips, holding you like he’s afraid he might slip into some alternate version of his life if he loosens his grip.

Your eyes search his face.

“I am,” he says, mock-serious now, “prepared to engage in all foreseeable coffee-related disputes for the remainder of my natural life.”

You look at him suddenly with that particular glint. The one he has spent an embarrassing amount of time attempting to categorize, because it defies clean classification. 

It isn’t quite mischief and it isn’t quite innocence and it occupies some theoretically impossible overlap between the two, like a Venn diagram drawn by someone who didn’t fully understand the assignment.

Spencer’s pulse adjusts accordingly.

“I mean… I can give you another very compelling definition of a beginning, if you’re interested.”

“I’m listening,” he replies, immediately, without a single second of deliberation, which tells him everything he needs to know about how much self-preservation instinct he has left where you're concerned. 

The answer, for the record, is none. The answer has been none for quite some time.

Your fingers find his chest, tracing the slow topography of muscle and fabric and the involuntary rise and fall of his breathing, which has, it should be noted, become considerably less even in the last thirty seconds.

His brain makes a valiant attempt to remain operational.

“Well,” you say, gaze steady on his, “if this is the real start… we should probably christen the place properly… The bedroom specifically.”

His gaze drifts, helplessly, to your mouth.

“Historically,” he begins, “christenings involve breaking a bottle against the hull.”

You watch him, patient, faintly delighted. “And?”

His thumb presses into your hip.

“And,” he says, eyes darkening in a way that has nothing to do with lamplight, “I would strongly advise we skip the glassware.”

He stands in one smooth motion, lifting you with him, wine glass somehow removed from your grip in the process because despite everything, he is still capable of problem-solving under pressure.

“The bedroom,” he agrees quietly.

You were right, as it turns out. Nothing else gets unpacked tonight. Well — one thing gets unpacked. 

Thoroughly.

Several times.

you can find my spencer reid masterlist here!

[qlossytbh]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ signed in lipstick - spencer reid x bomshell!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 a dazzling new face struts into the BAU, mistaken for everything you aren't—until you shatters expectations, cracks patterns no one else can, and leave the team reeling in your wake-- specifically a fellow genuis.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 bombshell!reader here we COMEEEEE, spencer's a mess, social anxiety is afraid of reader (a first!), typical cm violence, morgan is lowkey a little sexist.. but its for the plot trust, just a lot of flirting from reader's side

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3.3k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i have SO MANY ideas for these two. buckle up and enjoy the ride cus its gonna get GOOD

𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

the BAU bullpen hummed with its usual quiet chaos—phones ringing, coffee steaming in the corners, papers rustling. a silent tension roaming every corner quietly as the conference room buzzed.

the bullpen wasn’t quiet often, but it definitely was now.

everyone was following a routine— their routine. schedules carefully crafted into a safety net for many, and a distraction for others

the first thing they noticed was the sound— the click of heels across the polished floor, steady and unhurried, like a metronome demanding attention. then came the silhouette: dotted satin shirt nipped at the waist, skirt that barely toed the line of professional, lipgloss glowing like a warning sign. 

you moved like the space was yours, like you’d been there a thousand times before, even though no one had ever seen your face.

you didn’t carry files. you carried some form of coffee in a dotted porcelain cup (of all things), lipgloss that had transferred on the rim.

the kind of impractical luxury that screamed high-maintenance. you set your things on your assigned desk— definitely not unaware of the rest of the team's curious eyes. 

“secretary?” morgan was the first one to break the silence of their gazes, smirk tugging at his mouth. he turned to emily “she’s gotta be new.”

“obviously she's new,” emily shot him a look but didn’t fully disagree. “if she’s a secretary, she’s the most overdressed one I’ve ever seen.”

jj hid a laugh behind her coffee.

spencer didn’t say anything when you walked in. or after morgan’s teasing and the rest of the team's teasing.

he just watched.

quietly, observingly— one could maybe even think he was judging although truthfully, he wasn't. 

at first, he easily assumed you were another visitor— a new admin, maybe, or someone lost on their way to the conference rooms. but you didn’t move the way most new transfers did. therefore, the possibility of you being a new secretary was high.

secretaries (especially in the bau) loved to shine through polish and wax. they performed with looks, seeking reactions just like the ones you were obtaining now. 

and the way you set your cup down like it was a claim, was a little jarring if he was being completely honest.

maybe you thought you needed the confidence for the first day. 

he found himself watching longer than he meant to. 

“what are we—” garcia’s bubbly voice died almost immediately. “holy smokes— who is this stunning specimen of a human being walking through our door like they just stepped out of a magazine cover?”

“new secretary,” jj mumbled. 

spencer spoke for the first time since you appeared. his voice felt foreign. “she’s very... put-together.” 

“and that, my darling genius, is a crime all on its own, how is anyone supposed to be that flawless and still act like they’re not aware of it?” garcia whispered to spencer, eyes twinkling

and put-together wasn't half of it. there wasn't a single hair out of place, your clothes looked almost painted on— not a single wrinkle in sight, your makeup was soft. you looked clean and polished, prim and proper.

you wore a black skirt that stuck elegantly over your legs, paired with black kitten heels, and a white silk dotted shirt that caught the light with every subtle movement. your hair, shiny and curled to perfection, was held half up, half down, framing your features in a way that was a little daunting.

there wasn't a single thing about you that didn't seem ethereal.  

morgan was already half out of his chair by the time you placed your purse on the empty chair at your desk, easy grin in place, hands tucked into his pockets like he owned the room.

“you look a little lost,” he said smoothly, lowering his voice as if he was doing you a favor. “need me to show you to HR? or your desk?”

you turned and the team watched the interaction from the sidelines. your face was blank while you blinked at him.

for a beat, you were genuinely confused— a nervous yet silky laugh bubbled out.  

“my desk?” you echoed, tilting your head.

“yeah,” morgan said, grinning wider. “new secretary, right? i can help you find your spot. this place is a maze.”

secretary. 

he thought you were a secretary. 

a breathy laugh left your lips as your gaze fell to the floor. you could feel something bubbling under your ribs, warm and prickly, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep anything from spilling out.

“oh..!” you said finally, scoffing humorously. “right! my spot. how thoughtful.”

morgan nodded, a charm oozing from him— far too familiar for someone like yourself. “hey, no problem. we all had a first day once.”

you merely hummed, watching his stance with a sharp eye. “well it’s much appreciated,” 

just as he opened his mouth to speak, you were already turning your back. 

“i hope to run into you more often,” you turned your attention to the case files, leaving him blinking— half-amused, half-unsure. 

morgan strolled back over to the others with that signature grin. he dropped into his chair, stretched out, and shot emily a look.

“see? still got it. helped the new secretary find her bearings.”

jj raised an eyebrow over her coffee cup. “secretary?”

“mm-hm,” morgan confirmed, leaning back like he deserved a medal. “first day’s rough. place is a maze. lucky for her, i’ve got a good sense of direction.”

emily’s lips twitched. “and ego.”

spencer glanced up from the file he’d been pretending to read, brow furrowed. “so she’s the new secretary?” 

he was asking as if the question would give him more to work with. 

morgan shrugged. “pretty thing in heels with the coffee cup? yeah. secretary.”

jj shook her head behind her mug, and emily outright laughed. spencer didn’t say anything else, but his gaze narrowed just slightly, gaze flicking toward where you stood at the table, rummaging through your bag. 

“trust me,” morgan said, clearly pleased with himself. 

—

“we’ve got four victims so far,” hotch said, tapping a tablet with precise patience. “no clear connection between them— professionally or socially.”

“except the notes,” jj interjected, her voice cutting through the murmur. “each one has that number sequence… whatever it means.”

morgan leaned back in his chair, folding his broad arms over his chest. “reid? he’s usually the guy who spots the crazy patterns no one else sees.”

spencer opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, hotch stood at the head of the table, hands folded, gaze scanning the room.

“this case is unlike the typical profiles we see,” he said, calm but firm. “the victims appear unconnected. at first glance, there’s no discernible pattern. but the notes left at each scene contain number sequences and symbols that suggest a deliberate psychological signature.”

“we’ve reviewed the timelines, the evidence, even preliminary behavioral patterns, but standard methods aren’t giving us a clear picture.” he paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “this is a criminal who’s intelligent, methodical, and likely testing us. we need a fresh perspective.”

morgan was the first to speak. “so… an outside consultant?”

“yes,” hotch said, eyes steady. “someone who can decode the patterns in ways we haven’t considered yet. we called in an expert in behavioral neuroscience, forensic psychology.”

looks were shared amongst the table. “she’s got experience interpreting complex psychological signatures. she’s someone with a proven record in cases like this. her name is agent—”

the door opened, rather abruptly, slicing through the hum of the room. a pair of heels clicked against the floor, soft but deliberate and all too familiar, echoing in the sudden silence. all eyes turned.

you stepped in.

“sorry i’m late,” you said, voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of authority, forcing the room to still itself. “i had to check a few preliminary patterns before showing up–”

“besides, this place is a maze,” your eyes cut briefly towards derek. “wouldn’t want to waste anyone’s time”

everyone blinked. mainly because two seconds ago they were categorizing you as the new secretary and now they’re finding out just how off their assumptions were.

that you were in fact the type whose mind could navigate the labyrinthine depths of a criminal’s psyche. and offer assistance to them. 

derek looked mostly speechless, and entirely embarrassed. 

you looked around the table, catching the puzzled gazes with a tilt of your head. “do i have lipstick on my teeth or something..?”

spencer tried to focus on the case and less on your grand entrance. tried to ignore the way the faint scent of vanilla infected the room, wrapping around him, making his thoughts tangle.

he tried to ignore the way his eyes had tried not to take in any and every detail about you— and failed spectacularly.

bold, upfront, unafraid. your audacity irritated him, like a sudden note in a symphony that doesn’t quite belong. and yet, the irritation had a pull, a gravity that made him unable to look away.

hotch cleared his throat, undeterred by your teasing. “she has a PhD in forensic psychology and experience in behavioral neuroscience. she’s consulted on cases that involve complex psychological patterns and cryptic behavioral signatures—cases similar to this one.”

the faint, almost imperceptible looks shared around the room was familiar to you.

a room of stunned profilers was far more stimulating than one of silence and empty assumptions.

let them see the firecracker version of you— it’s easier that way, safer. better to serve them the image you choose than allow them to fill the gaps themselves.

turning back to the board, you continued, voice measured but keen. “these sequences escalate in complexity. whoever devised them isn’t merely committing crimes; they’re testing us. every step we take is anticipated. every inference we make is observed. it’s a psychological signature in its own right.”

spencer listened, mind scribbling down frantically and racing through probabilities and patterns. “testing us… deliberately leaving patterns for investigators?”

“yes,” you said, flipping through a file with a practiced grace. “and the more predictable you are, the easier it becomes for him to manipulate outcomes. a criminal of this caliber thrives on logic exploited without foresight. that’s why i think we must anticipate, think two steps ahead, and never let ourselves be cornered.”

“huh,” morgan muttered. your gaze landed on him, and you cocked your head to the side. 

“you look a little lost,” you said, quoting him for the second time since you walked in. “do you need me to rephrase anything?” 

secretary.

of all things. 

derek opened his mouth to speak, before deciding that it would be best not to respond. guilt clawed at his insides.

when he shook his head you smiled sweetly, the kind that promised both competence and intrigue. you turned to hotch, who could already tell just how insane you were going to drive him. 

“shall we see where this trail leads?”

hotch nodded, clearly not surprised in the slightest as to why you were recommended to him. “let’s get to work, then.” 

and with that, the room shifted into motion, the hum of anticipation replacing discussion.

— 

after hours and hours of visiting crime scenes and looking through evidence— you found yourself perched on a small stool beside the interrogation room at the local sheriff’s office, legs crossed comfortably over one another.

you had your small pocket-sized mirror on you and were reapplying your lip gloss with grace and fluidity.

you felt a pair of curious eyes glued to the side of your face from across the already limited room. without directing your own gaze toward him, you closed the mirror and smiled.

“i might have to start thinking you’re staring at me for reasons that aren’t intellectual, doctor.”

you turned, watching him fumble and freeze at your comment. “i-i wasn’t—”

you were smiling. you caught the pink tint on his cheeks and, for the first time since you arrived, you allowed yourself to actually indulge in the fellow so-proclaimed genius.

lanky frame, hair a little too messy for someone who seemed so precise, eyes that darted as though forever chasing thoughts faster than words could catch.

you noticed the intelligence instantly; it clung to him like static, sharp and unrelenting. but there was something softer too, something almost fragile in the way he held himself, like he was both entirely certain and utterly uncertain all at once.

intriguing to say the least.

“for a genius, you’re awfully easy to fluster.” a pedicured hand raked through your hair as you stashed away your small mirror and lip gloss.

“i’m not flustered, i just—” his words ran thin, and you tilted your head, batting your eyelashes almost methodically. “do you talk like that to everyone?”

“you mean do i flirt with everyone?” 

spencer was taken completely off balance by your boldness and for some reason he found his brain turning into mush.

there was no way of comprehending how his brain just scrambled the second you spoke. he had the theory it's because he never worked well around— statistically and objectively speaking— beautiful women. 

when he gave no answer, you raised a teasing yet questioning brow.

“would you want the answer to be no?”

“what?! i didn’t say—” spencer found himself growing frustratingly anxious. he clamped his mouth shut and didn’t answer, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, looking as if he were praying to some god to put him out of his misery. he only grew pinker, if even possible.

“don’t tell me you blush this easily.” poor guy couldn’t catch a break. you were almost starting to feel bad.

almost.

you looked him over once more. he didn’t occupy the space most men did. or at least the one most men tried to. those who attempted to keep up with you and tried to win you over by boasting, acting larger-than-life, and playing saviors to all your problems.

spencer didn’t really seem like that type of person.

he just stood there, and sure he looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but he allowed not only himself but you to exist within that reality of his.

and then you started to feel bad. so you huffed a laugh and jutted your chin toward him.

“i was told you’ve been obsessing over the numbers.”

“i… i try to analyze timelines and behavioral patterns—not obsessively.” he clarified, caught off guard by his shaky voice and hands.

he was fidgeting with his fingers. why was he fidgeting?

you pursed your lips. “hmm… interesting. four victims, unrelated professionally, yet each note carries a numeric code. most would dismiss it as random, or perhaps the signature of a sadistic mind.”

you tapped your arm, referring to the sequence. “but the numbers correspond to psychological triggers—specific fears, stress responses, deeply ingrained vulnerabilities. whoever orchestrated this knows human behavior intimately.”

spencer’s eyebrows shot up. “wait—so you’re saying the sequence itself—it’s a behavioral profile? embedded within the numbers?”

you straightened, nodding in his direction. “exactly. most agents focus solely on physical evidence or timelines. but a criminal this meticulous? he’s leaving breadcrumbs of his own psychology, a trail of thought for anyone perceptive enough to follow.”

he nodded to himself, mumbling a small huh in its way. 

“you don’t agree?” your voice was light, though there was a sharpened edge beneath it, an invitation for him to step into the ring.

spencer shifted, eyes darting to the floor before returning to yours. “i just think—” he hesitated, fingers twitching again, “it’s unusual for someone outside the bureau to catch that. most people… they don’t see patterns the way we do.”

you tilted your head, smile curving just enough to unsettle him. “good thing i'm not like most people.”

his lips parted like he wanted to respond, but no words came. instead, he blinked at you, as though you were another puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve too quickly.

you’re name was called by hotch, pulling you out of the little bubble you created. you cleared your throat, looking up at him. “we need your assistance,” 

you turned back to Spencer, masking your discomfort with a smile that could kill many. “see you later doctor,” 

—

the day had been long but, thanks to your help, the case had been solved.

papers were filed, evidence bagged, and the echo of late-night exhaustion lingered in every corner of the baus office. agents packed up with the mechanical efficiency of people too used to closing horrors neatly into folders.

you slipped your phone back into your bag, the last trace of yourself gathered before you left.

the job that brought you here was finished; technically, so was your place in it.

a large part of you was pleased. you didn’t like spending more time than necessary in one place, leaves too much space for people to actually see you— make assumptions and figure you out. so leaving was probably for the best, although emily and rossi are great at holding conversations. 

“hey—“ you didn’t make it three steps down the hall before morgan intercepted you. his grin was sheepish, his tone softer than you’d heard it. “look— i owe you an apology.”

your brows arched, amused. “for what exactly? assuming i was here to file paperwork and fetch coffee?”

“yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “i misjudged— you proved me wrong. hell, you helped close this thing faster than we could’ve without you. i should’ve given you that credit from the start.”

you let the silence hang for a beat, watching him squirm, before offering a small smile. “apology accepted, agent morgan. just don’t make it a habit.”

you felt a certain fondness towards morgan. he looked like he hid a lot inside beneath all the charm and flirtatious attempts. 

a part of you understood all too well. 

he chuckled, relief flickering across his face, and tipped his chin in a gesture that almost looked like respect. “fair enough.” with that, he left you to the hallway.

spencer was there when you turned, lingering in the glow of the fluorescent lights. he looked tired, shadows carved under his eyes, but still sharp in that restless way of his— like his mind refused to settle, even when the work was done.

“so,” he said lightly, almost too lightly, “i suppose this is goodbye…?” 

you tilted your head, a teasing smile ghosting at the corner of your mouth. “try not to miss me too much.”

the flush hit his cheeks faster than you expected, and you nearly laughed at how easy it was. but instead, you let the silence breathe, softer this time, not so sharp-edged as it had been before.

“you were… helpful,” he finally managed, and for all his brilliance, it sounded like he’d stitched the words together clumsily, afraid of what they implied.

“careful, doctor,” you murmured, stepping past him with a brush of your shoulder. “keep giving me compliments and i might start thinking you want me around.”

he went still, completely undone by the suggestion. you didn’t look back— though you didn’t need to. you could feel his stare trailing after you, the weight of it lingering like static long after you pushed the door open and stepped into the night.

and though the case was closed, though you’d technically said goodbye, something in your chest told you it wasn’t the last. you knew, as surely as you knew your own reflection, that you’d see him again.

[girllblogging777]

hey!! ive thought about this for a while, what about s1 or s2 spencer with a long time girlfriend? they have been together since high school and the team meets her, or their dynamic living together while she's still in college and he's already working

thanks pretty girl muah, kisses

“oh my god oh my god oh my god, are my beautiful eyes betraying me or are you actually here ?!” exclaimed a sweet voice as you entered the familiar bullpen of quantico’s behavioural analysis unit.

it wasn’t your first time here, no. over the years, you’d become used to visiting your boyfriend at work. used to the strong smell of coffee that was probably embedded in the carpeting by now, and the constant buzzing of the several computers in the room, a reminder that rest and peace weren’t words anyone was familiar with here.

but the welcome you got, this sort of half squealing, half screaming, followed by a bone crushing hug, wasn’t even from your boyfriend. no. it was from penelope garcia, the lovely technical analyst who had a soft spot for anything shiny and bedazzled and - well, you.

“nope, your beautiful eyes would never lie” you giggled, embracing her warmly in return, as you always did. “i’m here”

she let you go about a solid minute later, allowing the rest of the team to welcome you. you quickly waved, all of them somehow too engrossed in their respective roles to point out the fact that you seemed to spend as much time here as they did. emily blew you a kiss, jj winked at you from the coffee machine and derek joked about “pretty boy’s pretty girl” being around once again.

and that’s pretty much how it always went.

you coming over here to drop pick up spencer from work, or drop off some lunch to make sure he’d get something to eat. on the good days, you’d even bring some of your baked goods to the team, which definitely earned you an insane amount of compliments from all of them.

after all, none of them could recall a time where you hadn’t been around. and you couldn’t either.

which is why when his hands wrapped around your waist from behind, gentle and steady like they belonged here, you immediately softened at the feel.

“hey there,” spencer smiled, trying to keep a respectful distance between the two of you - because he could practically feel the half a dozen pairs of eyes on him, and it didn’t exactly make him feel comfortable.

you grinned in return, and he bit his lip.

“you got here earlier than i thought... which is great, i’m glad to see you. but i’m still in the middle of paperwork, because i estimated your time of arrival would be around 7:24…”

“it’s okay… i can wait, i just really missed you…” you shrugged nonchalantly.

when you told him that, muttering it softly in hopes that no one else would hear, you swore you saw him melt. and professionalism be damned, he couldn’t not say it back.

“i missed you too, darling. you have no idea”

“okay, you two. this is getting absolutely obscene” warned morgan, who had apparently heard all of it. “get a room, seriously”

he faked puking in the trash can by his feet and apparently, he wasn’t the only one to be in a teasing mood. jj and emily rolled their eyes, and rossi winked at you in a knowing way.

“i was really just driving by,” you retorted, spencer’s hand squeezing your hips a bit harder as he nodded. “and i wanted to say hi.”

all of them raised their brows. “to you, and to everyone, of course” you rectified with a chuckle. “because apparently, being in a relationship with one BAU member means i’m involved with the whole unit”

─── ⋆⋅ 𝜗𝜚 ⋅⋆ ───

back home, a couple of hours later, a quiet squeaking sound of the wooden door pulled you out of your thoughts. the greyish light of the september sky bathed your apartment in a just-bright-enough glow, allowing you to study from the couch.

you’d been waiting for him for a while now, but didn’t bother moving. the blanket draped around your shoulders was keeping you trapped in a warm comfort, and he was already striding to the living room anyway.

“i’m back,” spencer said, eyes roaming over your bundled body, curled up on the sofa like a cat.

he sunk on the couch next to you, careful not to touch any of the multiple piles of paper surrounding you. “studying again ?”

you nodded with a sigh, and put the last pile on your legs as a sign of defeat.

“yup. again. i’ve been at it for hours and yet i feel like i’ve learned nothing.”

“don’t say that, love. i’m sure you’re more than ready”

the thing with spencer, apart from the fact that he was unmistakably the brightest person you knew, was that his intellect didn’t exactly match yours.

not because you weren’t smart, no. in fact, he never made you feel less than his equal. he admired your diligence and work ethics, and celebrated all of your achievements like his own.

but he was spencer reid.

with three PhDs in his name, and years of working experience in the federal bureau of investigation.

and you, well… you were a college student, still unsure about the future and what would come after you’d receive your diploma.

“hey, look at me” he ordered- no, begged, pleadingly with warm eyes that could make you melt. “you’re amazing, okay ? my smart girl, the smartest one…”

you involuntarily let out a giggle, that made his face soften.

“there you go, that’s better…. now tell me, when do finals start ?” he asked, as if he didn’t have all of the dates jotted down in his agenda down to the exact minute.

“five days…”

your lungs tightened a bit at the words, the blanket suddenly making you hot. finals were always a stressful moment to you due to the academic pressure you put on yourself, and spencer knew it more than anyone else.

“okay, that’s okay.” he put an arm around your shoulder, gently pulling you closer so that he could murmur against your hair.

“five days leaves us plenty of time to get prepare you for it. i’ll help you study, we just need a plan and some extra coffee for you. maybe we’ll even stock up on the pumpkin spice one-“

“spencer-“

“just saying, if it helps you study then we can get that… but for now, you need a break” he said, pulling away a bit to look at you in the eyes. “you look like you haven’t gotten up from the couch in ages”

technically you hadn’t. but now wasn’t the time to tell him that, so you grabbed all of your documents and your laptop, and put them away.

seeing you agree so easily surprised him, but he wouldn’t complain. “how about some cuddles for now ?” he suggested, and he was quick to trap you in his arms before you could even answer.

“mhmph” you mumbled against his chest, “thirty minutes”

“thirty minutes,” he echoed, knowing you’d probably still be there in two hours.

“you know, you could study more efficiently if you didn’t come by the office everyday,” he whispered against your ear in a playful tone.

“shut up.”

his hands began rubbing patterns against your back and you relaxed, watching the world outside the window. you couldn’t help but notice that the leaves were almost all turning a familiar shade of orange already, but you didn’t mind.

no, time passing wasn’t scary. at least not when spencer was by your side.

a/n : happy september, my loves !!! i’m sooooo excited for this new season, may autumn treat you all wonderfully :))

[mggsangel]

"𝓑aby, 𝓘t's 𝓨ou.ᐟ"

5 ways Spencer Reid hints at his feelings pt. 2♡ !!

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

ⓘContent warnings + tags⋅˚₊‧ pt 1 is not super important to story (but recomended to read !!), very fluffy, blurb-ish, s1/2 Spencer in mind, Elle mentioned♡, kisses !!! Not proof read.

Divider❀ @♡cursed-carmine

Note𝜗ৎ title from Beatles song 😚 part 2 has been collecting dust in my drafts but here it finally is♡

"Pretty boy has a crush!"

"I don't!" Spencer felt his face burn red as he shuffled to give the appearance that he was doing paperwork.

Derek scoffed but before he could speak up, your voice cut through the room.

"Good morning," You spoke, dropping your bag flat on your desk, feeling the eyes of coworkers scan you from top to bottom.

"What?" You urged, both Spencer and Derek avoiding your eyes.

"Oh, nothing," Derek sighed. "Y'know she is pretty, Reid."

"Who?" You blurted out before you could think.

"Morgan," Spencer groaned, eliciting a chuckle from the other man.

"It's nobody," He mumbled.

"Nobody," Morgan made a show of throwing his head back against the office chair as he laughed.

"C'mon, Spencer, it can't be that bad," Your words poured out of your mouth in a tone that could have been a tease, but even if it was Spencer loved; much more than Derek's antics anyway.

Spencer's mouth went dry as he stayed silent, watching your expression change into something more sly.

"It's Elle isn't it!" You said like it was already decided.

"No!" Spencer exclaimed.

"JJ then," You countered.

"It's not JJ,"

"So there is an 'it'!"

"Yes," Spencer admitted, almost shamefully. "But," He paused. "She's not JJ, or Elle,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

"Well, then who is it?" You pressed obliviously.

"It's sort of a—" Spencer muttered something incoherent before clearing his throat (in an attempt to stall out the conversation), and opening his mouth to speak again. "It's sort of a secret."

"A secret? Oh come on, Spence." You slumped in annoyance, when the idea so dumb that it was smart, hit your head.

"If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine,"

"You have– yours?" The words got caught in his throat, as you hummed an agreement. Of course, he knew it wasn't uncommon for people to like a coworker (he sure wasn't a stranger), but a sense of jealousy spiked in the pit of his stomach; uncomfortably so.

"Mhm," You hummed. "On one condition," You spoke up again.

"Yes?"

"Derek has to go." You gestured to the man, who was then pretending to file through paperwork as if he wasn't eavesdropping on your whole conversation; if he wasn't butting in.

"Okay," Spencer cleared his throat. "Derek, can we have a minute, please?" Derek huffed a laugh as Spencer awkwardly pushed his palms into his pants.

"Spencer?" You whispered before Derek could speak. "I was thinking we could go somewhere," You paused. "Private." You looked at him sincerely, watching his face go through the emotions of shock, confusion, then acceptance, as he nodded; not trusting his own voice.

"Good luck, pretty boy,"

────୨ৎ────

The closest door clicked behind you as it shut. When you said 'somewhere private,' Spence imagined an office or maybe even the parking lot, definitely not an old file closet.

"Hi," You uttered under your breath; breath that Spencer could practically feel on his neck from how close you were.

"Hi," His voice came out cracked and a higher pitch than he would have liked, but all you did was hush him with a soft laugh.

"So, are you going to tell me your secret?" You murmured.

Spencer waited just a moment before he spoke, just to see if the entire team was hiding somewhere just to trick him or if you had anything other than honesty in your voice.

"Ilikeyoualotandiwaswonderingifyouwouldmaybewanttogoonadatewithme?" He kept his eyes glued to the floor as you let a smile fall across your face. You stayed silent for awhile too long, which was evident as Spencer had doubt written all over his face before you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Spencer tried to keep his arms stiff by his sides but he just couldn't help but lay his hand across your waist when you were just so close.

The kiss was short and somewhat awkward, which seemed favorable considering the conditions you were in. "Spence?" You spoke against his mouth.

"Mmm?" He hummed a reply.

"I would love to go out with you sometime," You paused with a smile. "And I like you, a lot, too."