#spencer

[ellieheartreid]

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

[lvstfxrlife]

[ink-ami]

OKAY SO I've been obsessed of a Snom Tenna as a little grub, and @ abugsvoice (on twitter) is cooking a whole winter tale like AU with it.

Anyway I'm in my winter arc, and I have tons of doodles, several wips about Frostenna, so EXPECT MORE. I KNOW I WANT.

[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.

[twigsyy]

[blaysreid]

CLOSER - S.R

pairing = cuddly!spencer + cuddly!bau!reader

summary = Hotel booked before flying back home and Spencer couldn't wait to get his hands on you after the long case. He can’t get close enough, not with his arms around you, not with your legs tangled, not even with his hands under your shirt and his face tucked against your chest.

a/n = not the first cuddly Spencer fic </3 I can't get enough sleepy fluff with him. please interact and comment! requests open and check out my account if you enjoyed !!!

The hotel room is dim, only the bedside lamp glowing in soft gold. Rain taps lightly at the window, steady as a lullaby, but neither of you are listening.

Spencer is curled against your side, his face buried halfway into your neck, hair warm and tickling where it brushes your jaw. His long body folds around yours like he’s afraid you might slip away if he isn’t touching enough of you. One arm is tucked beneath your shirt, palm splayed against the soft skin of your lower back, fingertips flexing every few moments like he’s memorizing the curve of your spine. The other arm is curled tightly across your stomach, hand fisted in the fabric of your sleep shirt.

He’s not talking much tonight. Just little hums when you shift. Just breath against your collarbone.

You’d come back from a case that bled into too many days, everyone drained and quiet. But Spencer? He hadn’t let go of your hand since the jet landed. And when you finally got the keycard to the hotel room the Bureau had put you both in, just one bed because Garcia had “accidentally” booked it that way, he had tugged you close with a desperation that made your heart ache.

Now his legs are tangled with yours. You can feel the warmth of him under your thigh, his skin flush against yours. At some point his hoodie had been shed, and you’d slipped into an oversized tee. But now his shirt is rucked up from your wandering hands and yours is pushed to your ribs, his chilly fingertips tucked beneath the hem, holding skin like it grounds him.

You shift just a little, adjusting to get more of him on you, and he makes a soft, sleepy noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whine.

“Too far,” he mumbles against your chest. His voice is thick with exhaustion, muffled and rough. “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here,” you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair.

His hand under your shirt moves slowly, sliding up your spine. Palm warm, fingers gentle. He presses his whole body closer. His knee slides between your thighs, anchoring him even more tightly to you. There’s barely any space left, bare skin on bare skin, cotton bunched around your waists, but it’s still not close enough for him.

You feel him exhale, and his breath is shaky. Like he’s too tired to hide how badly he needs this.

“I can’t get close enough.” he whispers, almost embarrassed.

Your heart tugs.

You pull him in without a word, both arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, dragging him fully onto you until his chest presses flush to yours and your noses brush. His breath catches at the closeness. Then he melts.

His fingers curl into the hem of your shirt and stay there. Not moving. Not asking for more. Just needing to be there, under the fabric, on your skin.

He blinks slowly, lashes fluttering. “You’re warm,” he murmurs.

“So are you.”

He noses into your jaw, lips brushing there like a sigh. “M’tired,” he breathes. “Just… wanna stay here.”

“You don’t have to move,” you whisper. “Ever.”

That earns the softest smile, lazy and crooked. You press a kiss to his temple and feel him let go again. Another inch of tension disappears from his body.

Your hand slips under his shirt this time, resting over his ribs, and the moment you touch him, he shudders softly like he’s never been held like this before. He shifts again, tucking his arms around you so tight he’s practically under you now, your limbs so tangled there’s no telling where you end and he begins.

Minutes pass like that. Maybe longer.

Spencer starts drifting, body heavy against yours. Every now and then he whispers something, half sentences, nonsense phrases, things like “Don’t let go” and “Feels like home” and “Yours” and you don’t say much. You just hold him tighter. Letting him burrow deeper under your shirt, under your skin, under everything.

“I keep thinking…” he whispers, lips brushing your collar. “…you’re gonna wake up and decide I’m too much.”

You tighten your hold immediately, fingers threading through the curls at the base of his neck.

“You’re not too much,” you say. “You’re just… mine.”

He lets out a slow, shaky breath and buries his face in your chest again. And for the first time that night, you feel him let go completely.

You shift again, tucking his legs between yours, pulling the covers tighter over you both. He’s hot against you now, the weight of his body sinking into yours like gravity, like he belongs right here.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your skin, barely audible. Like he didn’t mean to say it, but sleep tugged it out.

You smile against his hair.

“I know,” you whisper, voice gentle. “I love you too.”

And he’s already asleep before you finish saying it.

His body doesn’t move. His arms don’t slacken. Even in sleep, Spencer clings to you like he’s afraid the world might take you away in the night.

But it won’t.

Not when you’re here, wrapped around each other, nowhere else to be.

Not when his hands are under your shirt, and yours are under his, and the only thing either of you wants is more of this closeness.

And even when sleep takes you, finally, you stay tangled. Breathing in sync. Holding on like the world stopped spinning, and this warm, skin-on-skin stillness is the only place it left behind.

tag = @summerobertsvariant

masterlist

[lorenzonuti]

Jill.

Twitter (X) | Instagram | Artstation