OH HES SO CUTE FHEJAKAKAL 🥰

No One is Alone

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis: Spencer realizes you guys might have more in common than he thought when he finds out your parent also has schizophrenia.

Category: Angst, mostly Fluff

Warnings: poorly written one-shot (sorry y’all), crying, reader’s father has schizophrenia, concerned spencer, reader tells a story about her father having an episode, reader’s father is a violent schizophrenic but this does not reflect on those who have schizophrenia! reader has semi-daddy issues, reader has hair but hair color and length is not mentioned! spencer being such a sweetheart! <3

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! back at it again with another lil fanfic one-shot? so i wrote this one to be kind of a personal one since my own parent has schizophrenia and honestly it’s one of the reasons i relate to spencer so much. i’m sorry if this affects anyone, but i wanted to write this one for myself :) i don’t know too much about schizophrenia, i only just know what i was feeling so a lot of this is just reader feeling a lot of feelings and spencer comforting them! i hope you like this one nonetheless! <3

You were constantly checking your cell phone. Every two minutes and ten seconds, you kept checking. And after that, you’d sigh in relief, rub your temples and go right back to work. You’d repeated this for over an hour and a half.

And Spencer had been watching it. Watching you. Of course, not to be creepy or anything. He’d just happened to notice and he was concerned.

You’d joined the BAU a little over less than a year ago and still not one person knew anything about you. Except Spencer. You often kept to yourself but somehow opening up to him was just easier. He never judged, never pried. Some might say that maybe that’s because he had a bit of a crush on you and you wouldn’t exactly deny the fact that you thought he was cute.

Spencer had looked away as he went to focus back on his work and then your phone started to vibrate and you quickly picked it up, nearly knocking over your coffee off your desk — and walked away from your desk.

“Hello?” You’d asked a little frantically as you marched out of the bullpen.

Spencer had looked around before leaving his desk, deciding to follow you out of the bullpen to see what you were up to. He’d followed your voice to an empty office and peeked in as he saw the back of your head.

“So you’re both okay?” You’d asked and waited for the response on the phone. Your tense shoulders sank in relief as your head bowed down and you nod, “That’s good. And Dad’s back on his medication?” Medication? Spencer furrowed his brows as he watched you nod along to the conversation.

“Okay, that’s good. And you sure you’re gonna be fine?” You asked and waited once more. “Okay, well, I’m at work, so I got to let you go.“ A small pause. “Okay, I love you, Mom. Bye.”

You hang up and put your phone back in your pocket and you take a minute. Your head bows down once more and Spencer all of a sudden sees your back bouncing up and down and he can hear you crying. He frowns, he hates seeing you cry.

Spencer decides to back away, going to leave you alone since it seems like you need it right now. But the floorboard creaks underneath his shoes and you turn around with a gasp and you finally see the man with a guilty look on his face.

“Reid…” You turn away quickly as you begin to wipe your eyes and your nose. “What are you—?” Spencer shakes his head and holds his arms up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just… I saw you kept checking your phone and I was worried so I just wanted to… check on you.”

Spencer walks into the room more and he can see just how puffy and red your eyes are and his heart aches at that. “Are you okay?” He asks in a small voice and you take a deep breath and nod your head but your eyes say it all.

“I just… I don’t want to bother you with it.” You say in a hoarse voice and Spencer wonders if your voice has sounded like that all day.

He walks into the room fully and shuts the door behind him as you sit on the floor and Spencer’s heart breaks even more as he sits next to you on the floor.

“You are not bothering me with anything,” Spencer tells, placing an arm around you to comfort you. Granted, he’s a little awkward when he does it but he still does so. “Will you tell me what’s the matter?”

You sniffle and look down as you fiddle with the ends of your sweater. “Uh… it’s my dad.” Spencer sighs, thinking that something may have happened to him. He didn’t know that he wasn’t far off from his hypothesis. You didn’t talk about your family much, just that you had parents that were still together and that you had a fairly normal childhood.

“He’s, uh,” You sniffle once more. “He’s not… well.” From your sentence, Spencer would’ve assumed that maybe your dad was physically ill but the way your tone sounded, something was off.

“What do you mean ‘not well’?” Spencer asked and you looked down at your hands, avoiding any and all eye contact. But nonetheless, you decide to rip off the band-aid. “My dad, uh, he has… schizophrenia.”

“And he had one of his episodes because he forgot to take his medication. And my mom called me and she was scared because he keeps thinking that there’s a family living in our basement. Or that I’ve been kidnapped by them. And my mom was so scared he was gonna hurt someone. And… he…” You pause and try to hold it together. “He… threw a knife at my mom.” You wipe your eyes once more. “They’re at the hospital now and he’s medicated and my mom is okay. But the way she sounded, she was so scared, Spencer.”

“He… he’s usually violent when he has his episodes. And the medication… the medication helps. On the medication, he’s normal. But he’s… forgetful sometimes. He was, uh, diagnosed when I was ten. I can’t tell you how many times I had to lock myself in my room when he got like that.”

Spencer looks at you with wide eyes. And it was like his childhood seemingly flashed before his eyes. He’d been through the same thing with his mother. Hell, they probably shared the same story at one point. He had no idea you went through that, too. And suddenly all he could envision was a young you, going through the same thing with your dad and his heart broke again.

“It’s like… sometimes, I can’t escape it. And it’s like I’m a kid again and… sometimes, I fear I may… end up like him.” You start to sob again and this time, Spencer pulls you in close and holds you as he cry into his dress shirt.

You stay like that for a good thirty minutes until you finally pull away. Your eyes have gotten even more puffier and you wipe them with the ends of your sleeve.

“You must think I’m such a wreck.” You attempt to joke. But Spencer shake his head and pulls a strand of hair behind your ear and rests his hand on your shoulder. “I definitely don’t. In fact, I understand.”

You nod at him, knowing his own history with his mother having schizophrenia. He was open about it but you never felt like talking about it, in fears no one would understand. And you never told Spencer because he had his own fair share of “crazy”, you didn’t want to burden him with that.

“I wish you would’ve told me this sooner so that you weren’t dealing with this all by yourself.” Spencer tells, he strokes your arm with his hand as you shake your head, “I didn’t want to bother you with it.” You reveal.

Spencer shakes his head at you, “You could never bother me. I understand this subject all too well. Do you know how many times a day I fear the fact that I may receive the schizophrenic gene? Let me tell you, Y/n, a lot.” You look down and Spencer looks at you, “I just want you to know that you’re not alone. No matter how much you think you may be. You’re never alone.”

With a nod, you grab his hand and hold it and he rubs his thumb against your knuckles, as if it’s serving as a reminder that he’s here, with you. And he understands.

“Can we just stay here for a minute?” You ask, quietly — almost wanting to kick yourself in the head for even suggesting it in case he didn’t or had other things to attend to.

“We can stay here as long as you need.” Spencer assured and you smile at him and thank God that he was the one that followed you and not anyone else.

You handled things by yourself since you were a kid. You’d always been independent and that meant you were so used to being alone and dealing with your dad’s schizophrenia, you didn’t think twice when you decided not to talk to Spencer about it. But he’d made it clear that you could talk to him if needed.

And maybe for once, you didn’t feel alone. And maybe somebody else could understand.

MICHAELA ATE !!! 🙌🙌🙌

because i liked a boy - spencer reid x fem!reader

somehow a reporter finds out about reader's relationship with none other than her coworker, dr spencer reid and shames her for it during a press conference

genre: flangst wc: 1355 warnings: medialiaison!reader established relationship, slut-shaming, feminism talk, upset spencer, morgan mention, mentioned case involving children

"This is a rough composite sketch of the UnSub. If anyone sees him, please call us using the number on the screen. Any questions?" you speak clearly, eyebrows raised and back straight.

It's a tough case this time, not that any are easy. The ones involving children–like this one–are the worst. You know that. It’s yet to hit you this hard, though. You're used to being in front of a camera all fake smiles and airbrushed to look porcelain but you're struggling to hold it together today. It’s never been easy to see grieving parents begging for their kid’s life on national television.

It also doesn't help that you haven't seen Spencer much these past two days. Ever since HR found out about you two, he’s been trying to keep his distance for professionalism’s sake. You appreciate it, of course, but you wish everything could be normal again. You miss working alongside him, sneaking tiny waist pinches every little while. Maybe you’re codependent.

One of the male reporters holding a microphone asks plainly, like it isn’t rude, “how do you expect this case to go to trial with your ongoing relationship within your team? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Now, how did they find out about that?

Luckily, Hotch steps in before you need to form a response. You’re left flushed and out of sorts, needing some water or something. It’s not like you’ve never had a bad press experience but nothing that came after you specifically. Why do they even care in the first place? Are you really that interesting? Is your love life really that interesting? His mustn’t be.

To Hotch, he spits, “it’s a valid question, Agent, you can’t expect no one to comment on one of your unit’s members sleeping her way to the top or… sleeping her way to getting a case dismissed.”

You want to stay, fight, cry, maybe even guilt him into apologizing, but, to your dismay, you’re pulled away by Morgan who looks just as upset as you do. If there weren’t a room full of people stopping him, you’re sure he would’ve hurt the guy. You don’t want to be dragged away by the action figure that is Derek Morgan so you try to pour your feelings into words. “The conference– the case–!”

Morgan stares at you in a way that very clearly says are you done? And, yes, you guess you are. You sigh, nodding reluctantly.

“Hotch will figure it out,” he assures softly but firmly.

You’re escorted to the break room where you watch the television only to see that very same reporter, spewing his nonsense again. Low and behold, he’s still stuck on the topic of you.

“An anonymous source discloses the identities of two FBI agents with the Behavioural Analysis Unit that are in a relationship of hidden rendezvous.”

The pitter-patter of your heart is louder than usual as he reads out your names along with the loving message, “I guess this proves that women really can’t be trained. What a shame, she’s certainly got–”

With that, you shut off the disgusting noises coming from someone claiming to be a man. You’ve never been good at taking insults but this was something else entirely. Your chest burns. You’re being perceived as a person you’re not. Everything you’ve tried so hard to build could all come crashing down at this very moment if you let it.

All because you liked a boy?

It feels ridiculous, like a step in the wrong direction for all womankind. That’s dramatic, you’re sure, but this is so twenty years ago. What happened to feminism, for fuck’s sakes? You wouldn’t give Spencer up for anything less than solving world hunger, but you wish this whole ordeal could’ve never happened. What if you lose your job? What if you lose this case because you’re too sensitive to male attention for your own good? Unfortunate circumstances led here and you wish it could be simple. It’s a tall order, but you wish UnSubs and all the people who enjoy pinning others down would simply cease to exist. You wish Spencer was here.

As if reading you all the way from canvassing the neighborhood, he’s suddenly visible, walking towards the doorway with quick Converse-sounding steps, Morgan’s hand on his shoulder. He looks worried. What worries you, though, is that he looks guilty. That hurts.

Familiar arms wrap around you as he kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Spencer whispers, lips pressed into the fabric covering your shoulder.

You ponder the question for a moment before nodding. You’re not quite sure how you feel, if you’re being completely truthful. Criticism was never something you’ve taken well. Not ever. Maybe you deserve it, though. After all, you are sleeping with a coworker. You’re an agent, it’s not appropriate of you in the least. You should’ve kept to yourself, been the good girl the world wanted you to be. Female agents in the big bad FBI are already seen a certain way. You just happened to worsen it with wide-eyed affection.

How he always does, he mutters an explanation, “people like that don’t have anything going for them, you know. They report on others because their own life is insignificant.”

It’s wildly the wrong time to laugh but you do, flushed cheeks plumping from a happy smile. He pulls away and your hands find his face like they always seem to do. “I know.”

He nods. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

He’s so unbelievably pretty that it almost makes you want to cry. Those same somber eyes that you’re sure mirror yours stare deep.

“It just sucks… you know?” you say so very quietly.

Nodding, he chews on his lip. “I know.”

“It’s like… I thought slut-shaming was over,” you laugh bitterly.

You can tell he feels bad. It’s not like this is his fault. You know he believes it is, anyways.

“It should be. It’s ridiculous. This isn’t your fault. That useless guy should be spending the night in a cell for harassing an agent not on the ten o’clock news airing out our personal matters.”

It’s really not often you see him like this, upset and wielding pain-filled threats. It never fails to amuse you. You’re not sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of his usual sweet demeanor and this annoyed ranting one, you suppose.

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

You smile and nod, your thumb tracing his lower lip. “A little. We’re the most enthralling news in all of small-town-Colorado.”

While Spencer doesn’t find it quite as giggle-inducing, he mimics the pull of your mouth’s corners and shows his reluctant agreement with a bob of his head. “That is… silly, I guess.”

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

In honest disbelief and certainly awe for your ability to brush off the event with humour, he shakes his head, curls falling out of place. Your fingers rush to correct it. The golden eyes you love stay stubbornly put on your own. Breaths mix together in the close proximity despite you not recalling how you got so close. It’s proven difficult to care when his plush lips find yours. Carefully and with love, he kisses you. With no intent, no desire other than to make you feel better. It breaks stickily, the shimmer that once was on your lips now ghosting around his mouth. You grin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer tenderly mutters.

Gently, you answer, “I’m sure. I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

You believe yourself. You’d never doubt your relationship with Spencer. It just sucks that they had to poke holes in your safe place. That safe place being Spencer. Your home. You know because of your profiler-by-association background that he was right about the reporter being not fulfilled enough in his own life that he had to insert himself into yours. That didn’t make it drastically better, anyway. Perhaps your personal life should be kept away from work.

But it’s not your fault that work happens to include Dr. Spencer Reid.

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ATE ONCE AGAIN!!

THE PERFECT FIT • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY : In a tense, overworked precinct, the team grapples with the challenge of an elusive suspect and considers an undercover operation. Rossi identifies a perfect candidate for the task, trusting her experience and ability to seamlessly blend into the unsub's world.

PAIRING : fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n : hi it’s me again! so obviously this is just the first part of a hopefully long series ? i have a lot planned but if you have any suggestions pls send them my way!

i know the use of 3rd person might bother some people but I’m struggling sm writing in 2nd or 1st person so i’m sorry in advance for that

you will learn so much about the reader along the way so rest assured the mysteries will soon all be revealed.

english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry for the mistakes!!

wc : 3.2k

tysm to my sweet angels @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id for your insights and help on this first chapter<33

══════════════════

In a precinct nestled within the city of Los Angeles, California, the air was heavy. The scent of stale coffee was persistent along with the monotonous hum of an overworked fluorescent light. The room buzzed with urgency, its walls plastered with boards full of frantic scribbles and blurred photographs — each a crucial piece of the puzzle in their elusive case. The table was a chaotic landscape of empty coffee cups and half-eaten takeout cartons, remnants of their unwavering dedication. The BAU team gathered around, eyes laden with fatigue and spirits running low, as ten days of chasing an elusive lead had left them both weary and resolute.

JJ leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "We've got nothing. Ten days and nothing."

Morgan tossed the file he was reading onto the table with a frustrated sigh. "This guy's like a shadow," he grumbled, his tone thick with annoyance. "No prints, no DNA, no camera footage. Garcia, is there any way to bypass his loops and get to the raw feeds?"

Garcia's image flickered on the video call screen, her expression determined. "Oh, I've been down the rabbit hole with this one. Our guy's not just looping the traffic feeds — he's gone full Hollywood on us, splicing scenes together like a pro editor. He's got a digital cloak of invisibility, and trying to untangle that mess is like peeling an onion, layer after layer of encrypted nonsense. I'm working on a backdoor algorithm to slip past his smoke and mirrors, but this dude’s playing hardball with the big leagues. It's a serious code tango, and he's leading."

As Garcia spoke, Rossi sat at the table, his eyes scanning the chaotic room, taking in the exhaustion on his team's faces. When Garcia finished, he leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "We need to think outside the box here. This guy's clever, but he can't be perfect. There's always a mistake, something overlooked."

The team absorbed Rossi's words, a collective silence settling over them. Meanwhile, Reid stood by the map pinned to the wall, absorbed in his own world. His fingers traced lines between cities, a maze of interconnected thoughts. The map was a mosaic of colored pins and scribbled notes, each representing another victim. Brunettes in their mid-20s, lured from dimly lit corners of strip clubs, where the unsub's charm and confidence masked his dark intentions. Each victim shared a haunting similarity—small stature, easily overlooked, but deeply missed by those who loved them.

Hotch turned to him, noticing his intense focus. "Reid, what about the geographical profile? What are you seeing there?"

Reid, still deep in thought, replied, "He's moving in a logarithmic spiral pattern, starting from urban centers and expanding outward. I've calculated the average distance between abductions to be about 7.3 miles. By applying this pattern and factoring in the time intervals, I could probably estimate his next move with some degree of accuracy. It's a bit like plotting a Fibonacci sequence across the map." His team listened, trying to grasp the complexity of his deductions.

Morgan, eyebrows raised, said, "Alright, genius, break it down for the rest of us."

Reid nodded, using his hands to illustrate the pattern in the air. "Basically, he's moving in a way that covers more ground over time, making sure he doesn't hit the same spot twice," he explained, tracing a wide spiral with his finger to show the movement. "If we look at how far apart the abductions are and how often they happen, I can make an educated guess on where he might go next."

Prentiss leaned in, her voice thoughtful but with a hint of urgency. "If we can predict where he'll be next, maybe we could set up an operation to catch him in the act. We've got the patterns, the locations, and we know his type."

Morgan nodded, his expression serious. "If we do this, we need to be crystal clear about the risks. This guy's not just smart — he's a genius. High IQ and extremely cautious. He knows how to stay two steps ahead and cover his tracks. If he even senses we're onto him, he could vanish without a trace."

Prentiss continued, her mind racing through possibilities. "We need to think this through, consider every angle. An undercover operation is risky, but it might be our best shot. We need someone who can blend in seamlessly, someone who wouldn't raise suspicions or tip him off."

Hotch glanced around the table, weighing the risks. "An undercover operation could work, but none of us fit the victim profile. We need someone who matches his usual targets."

JJ nodded, her voice bringing a sense of determination to the room. "It has to be someone who can handle the pressure, someone with the right look and demeanor. We need to find the perfect fit, someone who can walk into that world and not get noticed until it's too late for him."

As the conversation unfolded, Hotch noticed Rossi sitting quietly, lost in thought. There was a hint of something in his eyes—mystery, perhaps a plan forming. "Dave, you've been awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”

Rossi looked up, a sly grin forming. "I think I’ve got someone who fits the profile perfectly. She’s got the right look and experience to navigate his world without raising suspicions."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a touch of concern in his voice. "You sure she can handle it, Rossi? This is a big operation, and the unsub is dangerous."

Rossi nodded confidently. "She's more than capable. She's tackled the toughest cases. And, she owes me," he added with a grin.

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing through the implications. "Dave, this is critical. We're talking about a case that could easily go sideways at the slightest misstep. The stakes are higher than ever, and we can't afford any mistakes. I need to be sure that whoever we bring in is not only skilled but also completely reliable. Are you absolutely certain she's the right person for this? Because if anything goes wrong, it won't just be on her. It'll be on all of us."

Emily chimed in, "Hotch, we don't really have many options. If Rossi trusts her, maybe we should give it a shot."

Rossi met his gaze, his expression earnest. "I trust her, Aaron. She's proven herself time and again, and I wouldn't call her if I didn't believe she was the perfect fit. I know how much is riding on this, and I'm telling you, she can handle it. She's exactly who we need."

Hotch thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, Dave. Make the call."

Rossi stood and reached for his phone, stepping into the hallway. The team watched him dial, anticipation hanging in the air. The phone barely rang once before she picked up, her voice playful and teasing. “David Rossi, you never call just to chat. What’s up your sleeve this time?”

Rossi chuckled, a warm sound amidst the grim atmosphere of the case. “I need to cash in that favor. Think you’re up for a mission?”

She laughed softly, exuding an air of confidence. “A mission? Sounds intriguing. You know I can never say no to you.”

“Great. I’ll have my technical analyst send over the files and the location details."

Just before they hung up, Rossi's tone shifted to serious. "And kid, it’s a bad one."

The change in mood was palpable, and her response was immediate, filled with determination. "I’m on the next flight."

Rossi returned to the room, his expression resolute. "She's in. Let's get to work."

The team gathered around, the tension in the room shifting from frustration to determination. They were tired, yes, but they were also resilient. And they wouldn't stop until they caught their ghost.

══════════════════

Meanwhile, in New York City, the BAU’s soon to be guest star had just ended the call with Rossi. Excitement and apprehension danced within her as she stood in her cluttered apartment. Her eyes landed on the half-unpacked suitcase spilling clothes onto the floor. With a sigh, she muttered, "No rest for the wicked, I guess." The room, filled with personal photos capturing laughter and love, wrapped her in a warm embrace as she took it all in.

Rossi's call had reignited a sense of purpose, pulling her from the comfort of her home into action. It had been a long time since she'd seen Rossi, and much had changed in her life. The thought of reconnecting with him brought a flutter of anxiety.

As she began packing, her phone vibrated on the table. She paused to check it, noting the incoming files and a plane ticket to Los Angeles. A quick glance at the clock revealed only an hour before boarding. A flutter of nerves settled in her stomach.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit was renowned for its sharp minds and unparalleled expertise in profiling and solving the most complex cases. She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the thought of working alongside such a distinguished team. The prospect of engaging with these brilliant minds was both thrilling and daunting, as she wondered if she would measure up to their exceptional standards.

With her bag packed, she reached for her gun, the final piece of her preparation. She carefully checked the safety, then holstered it securely at her side, feeling the familiar weight against her.

She headed down the corridor and knocked on her neighbor's door. The elderly woman opened it, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my goodness, I cannot believe my eyes! What a lovely surprise," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "When did you even get back? I didn’t even hear you."

"I just got back last night," she replied with a smile. "How have you been Mary? It's been too long."

"Oh, things have been alright. But I see you've gotten some color! Where have you been then?" the neighbor asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Her mind flickered to places where the sun blazed hot and secrets ran deep, but she simply replied, "Oh you know, just around."

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Her tone turned apologetic as she continued, "I actually need to leave town again, and I feel terrible asking, but would you mind keeping Meow Meow for a little longer?"

"Of course, I can keep Meow Meow. He's been such a delightful guest," Mary replied. "I'm just glad you're okay. You take care, and stay safe out there."

After saying their goodbyes, she stepped out into the bustling city streets. As she walked, she pulled out her professional phone, feeling the familiar pang of guilt as she noticed the barrage of missed calls. Pausing for a moment, she stared at the screen, conflicted. The calls were a reminder of the obligations she was leaving behind. With a deep breath, she typed a quick, almost cryptic message, "I'm sorry," and tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin, the action feeling both liberating and heavy with consequence.

With her personal phone in hand, she continued toward her destination, ready to face whatever awaited her with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Los Angeles.

══════════════════

The airport was packed, a sea of people surging forward, each caught in their own whirlwind of departure or arrival. She, however, felt detached from this chaos, lost in her own thoughts as she navigated the serpentine security line. Her mind was razor-sharp and focused, yet there was a persistent irritation gnawing at her. It was more than just the grumbling about long lines or the seemingly endless wait. It was the silent anxiety that came with carrying a gun through security.

She understood the necessity, of course. The world was a precarious place, and security measures were there to protect, not to inconvenience. But the knowledge did little to quell the discomfort as she watched the TSA agents meticulously inspect every item in her bag. The process felt invasive, as though she were under the spotlight for a crime she hadn't committed. Each moment seemed to stretch, a slow-motion parade of scrutiny and suspicion.

As she reached the front, she handed over her documents, her concealed carry permit perched atop the stack.

The agent, a young man with weary eyes, examined her papers closely. "Ma'am, I'll need to check this permit with my supervisor," he said, his tone apologetic yet firm.

She nodded, forcing herself to remain composed. But a flicker of anxiety sparked within her. She'd left her former job only yesterday, a position that granted her the right to carry. Could her departure really have been processed so quickly? It seemed unlikely, yet the worry lingered in the back of her mind.

"How long will it take?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with impatience.

"Not too long, I hope," he replied, though his uncertainty did little to ease her mind.

Time seemed to stretch, each moment heavier than the last. Her thoughts raced with possibilities. It was improbable that her resignation had already worked its way through the system, wasn't it? The agent returned, looking apologetic. "We’re having some trouble with the system," he explained, "but we're working on it."

Her patience was wearing thin. "I have a flight to catch," she reminded him, a sharper edge to her words.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We're doing our best," he assured, motioning for her to step aside.

She complied, though the wait felt eternal, each second amplifying her concern. Finally, the agent returned with a nod. "You're all set, ma'am. Thank you for your patience."

Finally, she was through, a wave of relief washing over her as she hurried toward the boarding gate. Her steps quickened, heart pounding with the urgency of making it on time. She flashed her ticket to the attendant, who gave a cursory nod before scanning it and waving her through.

Boarding the plane felt like crossing a finish line. She walked down the narrow aisle, searching for her seat, a window seat with the promise of a view that might offer some distraction. She stowed her bag in the overhead compartment, her muscles tensing briefly as she lifted it.

Once seated, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, leaning back as the familiar hum of the aircraft's engines enveloped her. It was a comforting white noise that seemed to cocoon her from the outside world. She reached into her purse, fingers brushing past a tangle of essentials until they found the tablet.

Taking it out, she settled it on her lap, the screen lighting up with a touch. The files she needed were there, downloaded and ready. She took a deep breath before diving in, knowing the images and reports awaiting her were not for the faint of heart. It was a necessary darkness, one she was both familiar with and perpetually disturbed by.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes drifting back to the images on her tablet. She opened the medical examiner's reports, seeking clarity amidst the chaos.

"Victim 1: Body discovered in the trunk of a stolen vehicle. Multiple stab wounds to the torso. Evidence of sexual assault, but no DNA trace due to condom usage. Defensive wounds present, indicating a struggle. Bruising on the face and neck, consistent with manual strangulation severe enough to damage the larynx but not the cause of death."

"Victim 2: Similar profile to Victim 1. Well-nourished, good dental hygiene. Numerous contusions on the face, indicating blunt force trauma. Marks on the neck suggest choking, though not fatal."

Immersed in the grim details of the reports, she was jolted from her focus by the polite yet firm voice of a flight attendant standing beside her.

"Ma'am, we'll be taking off shortly. Could you please fasten your seatbelt?" the attendant asked, offering a reassuring smile.

Caught off guard, she blinked a few times, her mind slowly returning from the depths of violence and chaos to the present moment. "Oh, of course. Sorry about that," she replied, offering an apologetic smile as she reached for the seatbelt.

With a quick, practiced motion, she secured the belt, feeling the familiar click as it locked into place. The attendant nodded appreciatively before moving down the aisle to ensure other passengers were also ready for departure.

As the hum of the engines intensified, she took a moment to steady herself, then returned her attention to the screen. The world outside might have been preparing for takeoff, but her mind was still entrenched in the darkness of the case, eager to uncover whatever truth lay hidden within those files.

Victim 3: Found in an abandoned car, positioned haphazardly in the trunk. Multiple sharp force injuries to the chest and abdomen. Signs of sexual assault with no DNA evidence preserved. Defensive wounds on the arms and hands, suggesting a fierce struggle. Bruising around the neck indicates choking, with damage to the trachea insufficient to be fatal. Facial bruising present, indicative of repeated blunt force trauma."

With a sigh, she closed the ME’s reports. The brutality was difficult to stomach, but she had a job to do. She turned to the BAU profile, curious to see the psychological insights they had pieced together.

The BAU had outlined a profile that was both intriguing and frustrating in its lack of specific detail. They suggested the unsub was a white male in his 30s, characterized by a disciplined and cautious nature. His proficiency with technology was evident—hacking traffic security feeds and leaving no digital trace required a high level of skill and intelligence. He was organized, methodical, and deeply familiar with law enforcement procedures, as evidenced by his ability to avoid leaving DNA or identifiable traces.

Their theory was that he might have been rejected or humiliated by a woman similar to his victims, fueling his rage. He was a predator, choosing his victims carefully, and his MO suggested a compulsion rather than a need.

She found the BAU's insights valuable but sensed gaps in their understanding. The unsub's unpredictability and geographic spread made it difficult to pin him down. She knew they were up against a formidable adversary.

Her focus shifted to the witness statements, each pause in her reading a moment to absorb the unsettling patterns.

"Witness 1: Described him as discreet, seated in the darkest corners. Rarely engaged with others, but when he did, it was brief."

She paused, letting the words sink in before moving on.

"Witness 2: Noted his attractiveness but also his aloofness. He was watching the victim intently before she approached him, lured by the cash he offered”

"Witness 3: A bartender recalled serving him drinks on his visit. His voice was calm and composed, with an edge that hinted at something darker underneath. He never drank much, always aware, always in control. He left a generous tip, but there was an unnerving intensity in his eyes."

Each account painted a picture of a man who was meticulous, calculating, and intensely focused on his target. He seemed to have rehearsed every move, ensuring he left nothing to chance during his solitary visit. The pattern was chilling in its precision, a testament to his predatory nature.

The last section of the files was dedicated to victimology. It was stark in its clarity—each victim was a brunette in her mid-20s, small, and pretty. The unsub's rage was unmistakable, directed with a chilling intensity towards these women. It was personal and filled with a fury that spoke volumes about his psyche.

As the plane cruised through the sky, she pondered the unsub's motivations. His hatred was a dark mirror, reflecting a twisted perception of the women he targeted. The pattern was there, written in the blood of his victims, and she was determined to decipher it before he struck again.

Nice Car

S4! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: You’d always had a crush on Dr. Spencer Reid but you’re sure he’s never had eyes on you. But he takes you home after a night out with the team and you’re definitely proven wrong about him not having eyes on you.

Category: Smut

Warnings: reader has a crush on spencer and vice versa, mentions of a family annihilator case, mutual pining, drinking, reader is described as “bigger than most girls” *lowkey projecting here again 😬*, the girls are wingwomen - in jj, garcia and emily we trust 🙏, reader is tipsy but sobers up before they even leave the bar, kissing, smut warnings: car sex, a lil vanilla, straddling, dry humping(?), praise kink, riding, unprotected sex, creampie. (that should cover it)

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! i was watching “yellowjackets” and got inspired oops 🫢 i hope y’all like this one hehe it’s a quick one but oh well :)

You wanted to wind down after a big case you and the team had in Cincinnati. It was a family annihilator, who’d been murdering families of five. Their children age ranges from as young as three to as old as fourteen. It wasn’t easy, dealing with cases such as these ones.

At the end of the case, Rossi offered to pay for drinks tonight at O’Keefe’s. Once Emily and JJ said they were in, you nodded in agreement to come along and secretly hoping Spencer would come along tonight. And luckily, with some persuasion from Garcia and Morgan — he reluctantly agreed, to your wish.

It was no secret that you had a huge crush on Spencer. Everyone knew, except Spencer. But then again, he was oblivious to pretty much anything that had to do with the opposite sex.

So, on that note, you decided to dress for the night. Correction, Garcia decided you should dress for the night. She’d been the one encouraging this little crush you had on Spencer.

Often times, you thought she was saying stuff like ‘Oh, pretty boy was totally staring at you today’ or ‘He totally has a thing for you’ just to feed into your delusions. You weren’t sure dressing up was going to do anything.

Especially, since you didn’t really believed you fit into the “hot category”. And what you meant by that was that weren’t built like a supermodel. You were bigger than most girls you knew. Boys at school never looked at you, only really looking at friends of yours and only befriending you because of those friends. There were a lot of things you didn’t like about yourself. Your shoulders were too broad, your thighs too big, your boobs — more flabby than boob. You were your own biggest critic and to be honest, you weren’t sure if there was anyone out there who would love you for you. So, you figured that you’d be content fulfilling a life of loneliness if you were to never experience the love you believed you deserved.

But nonetheless, you dressed up. You were also dressing up for yourself, dressing for Spencer would’ve been a plus. But if you were going to look good tonight, you were doing it on your own terms and not at the expense of a boy. Or a man, since Spencer was definitely all man.

Garcia had helped you with your outfit. You wore a mini-velvet black dress with a bunched waist that fit your body and curves right and topped the outfit off with a leather jacket and converse — sorry, but you’d rather be comfortable than wearing six-inch heels that will break your ankles after taking one step.

JJ offered to drive you, Emily and Garcia to the O’Keefe’s tonight and you’d taken it with the intention of getting wasted and not wanting to drive back to your place while intoxicated.

The four of you met up with the men. Spencer had shown up, driving Morgan and Rossi and Hotch had hitched a ride with each other and Morgan whistled once he saw you. “Sheesh, Mama, you look hot.” He commented and your cheeks flush at the compliment. “Oh, this was just a little something I had in my closet but thank you, Morgan.”

Spencer had coughed a bit and Hotch pats his back to soothe him. “You okay, Reid?” He asks. Spencer nods, “Oh, yeah, wrong—” He clears his throat. “Wrong pipe.” He definitely wasn’t going to admit that he was staring at you in the dress and it made him choke on his water.

“Pretty boy’s just choked up because pretty girl here showed up in a little sexy dress, huh?” Morgan chuckles and you look down sheepishly, even pulling the ends of your dress down a bit.

You seated yourself next to Spencer and Emily for the night, drinking shot after shot with your colleagues, swapping stories and having a few laughs. You found yourself scooting impossibly closer to Spencer, even resting your head on his shoulders a couple of times as you talked about him endearingly to your other colleagues. You’d had about six shots before switching over to water to sober up a bit.

Eventually, you, Emily, JJ and Garcia had all gone to the bathroom, where the four of you did your own gossiping. “Oh, my God. Y/n, have you noticed how Spencer hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night?” Garcia asked as you checked your reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, stop.” You retort, washing your hands. “No, Penelope is totally right. He’s been staring at you since we got here.” JJ confirmed and Emily adds on, “And he definitely checked out your ass when we were coming here.”

You shake your head, “You guys are insane.” JJ raises her brows with a suggestion, “Hey, how about he gives you ride home tonight?” Penelope gasps and chimes in, “Yes, yes, yes! It’d be a perfect opportunity for you two to be alone together!” Emily then nods along with this plan, “Yeah and then we’ll take Morgan home so he won’t be a cockblock.”

You laugh at their jokes, at least you think they’re joking for the rest of the night. That is until Rossi pays off the tabs and everyone begins to leave. “Hey, why don’t we take you home, Morgan? It’s on the way and Spencer can take Y/n home since it’s not that far from him?”

You don’t catch as Garcia winks at Morgan to go along with it and Morgan nods in agreement, “Sounds like a plan. You don’t mind, Reid, do you?” Morgan asks and Spencer shrugs and he smiles at you, “No, not at all. Is that okay with you, Y/n?” You swear, you get butterflies from anything this man does. You shrug, “Fine by me.”

You exchange your goodbyes as the four of your colleagues wriggle their eyebrows at you and you swear, you’re so gonna get them back for this one day. Or maybe thank them, who knows?

Spencer walks you back to his vehicle, a Volvo Amazon P130, an old school car that seemed right for a man such as Dr. Spencer Reid himself. Spencer wastes no time as he opens your car door for you and then makes his way to the driver’s seat to start the car.

“Sorry about the car, it’s pretty old school. Morgan says I should get a new car.” Spencer sheepishly smiles at you but you shake your head, “It’s a nice car, though.” Spencer furrows his brows, “Really, you don’t think it’s a hunk of junk?”

“Hunk of junk, sure. But you never see cars like these anymore. Any facts you can share with me about the design?” You ask and Spencer’s eyes light up as he begins to explain — “The production years were from 1961 to 1970. The engine programme was originally supposed to follow that of the 4-door model. However, as the 2-door was somewhat lighter, it was also regarded as somewhat more sporty and was therefore used in competitions, both rally driving and motor racing. They’d presented two models, however technically speaking, there was no difference between the two models. The doors were naturally longer on the new 2-door model to make it easier to get into the rear seat and the front seats could, of course, be folded forwards for the same reason—”

You listened intently as he talked about the car and the models. Honestly, you weren’t exactly understanding what he was saying but you watched as he spoke. If his hands hadn’t been on the wheel, he definitely would’ve spoken with his hands like he did often. You loved listening to him talk. Especially when no one on the team seemed to give him the time of day like you would. If you weren’t obvious about your crush before, you staring at him while he talked would do it. You wouldn’t lie if you said you didn’t find his knowledge sexy, you did. It was hard to concentrate when someone as amazing as him was sharing facts about anything everything and it turned you on, if you were being honest.

“Hey, Spence?” You ask. “Yup?” Spencer looks your way for a split second. And you don’t know what makes you say the next thing you say, but it confuses Spencer. “Pull over.”

Spencer looks at you, a little longer now with furrowed brows. “Uh… what?”

“Pull over.” You repeat.

Spencer is confused but nonetheless does as you request, turning towards a vacant street and puts the car in park. “Are you okay? Do you feel like you’re gonna get sick?” You look at Spencer and you smile a bit, warm at the fact that he seems to be concerned for you. Instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn your body towards him and you hesitantly raise your hand towards his face and subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

He stares into your eyes, like he’s longed to do for so long. Spencer’s eyes take down and the poor man can’t help it, especially with the way you look in your dress tonight. The way it hugged your curves, filled out your breasts perfectly and the way it cupped your ass the way it was supposed to. He was no better than a twelve year-old boy.

And what could he say? Spencer had a crush. Since the day you walked into the BAU. He’d fallen deep and hard for you, how couldn’t he? You were an amazing person, with an incredible heart and a loving personality. And he’d always thought you were gorgeous. But the real issue was him. How could you love someone like him? He’d had so many issues of his own, not to mention he’d been told he looked like an earthworm and a pipe cleaner with eyes. His hair was getting long again, his ties were always perpetually crooked, he was weird. He wouldn’t blame you for not liking him. Hell, he wouldn’t like him.

But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

“Close your eyes.” You tell him and Spencer is hesitant on doing so but you encourage him to do so as you stare into his eyes and say — “Just trust me.”

Spencer gulps but nonetheless, he closes his eyes. He’d pretty much do anything for you. You lean closer to Spencer and you lick your lips, leaning your head forward and pray this goes well. You’d kissed a man before, it’s not like it was your first time, but this was Spencer. And this was different than the other boys you’d had crushes on in the past.

And you don’t know what’s persuading your newfound confidence, but what do next definitely confirms it for Spencer. Your lips latch onto his and you’re so focused on getting this kiss right, you don’t even realize that he seems to be kissing you back.

And you kiss him. You kiss him until breathing becomes a chore, you kiss him until you feel content with how you’ve kissed him, until he stops kissing you back.

You back up, looking him right in his eyes and you smile to yourself. You don’t really know what to say and you can see the shocked expression on his face and suddenly you’re regretting it. Oh, God, why did you just do that? You just totally ruined your friendship with Spencer and for what? For the expense of a kiss? A kiss he probably didn’t even want? You suddenly want to cower in a shell like a turtle.

“I— I’m sorry, I—” But before you can apologize properly, Spencer pulls you back in for another kiss, holding your face there he unbuckles his own seatbelt and you pull off your jacket in the process and climb on top of his lap in the car.

You don’t want to crush him with your weight so you hold yourself up on your knees on either side of his hips. “I take it you like me, too?” You ask him with a small smile. “Oh, I’m crazy about you.” Spencer admitted, making you blush a bit as he continues to kiss you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spencer stops and you put another kiss on pause and look him in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re sober… enough for this?” This man… At least he doesn’t want to take advantage of you, despite your primal need of wanting him to. “I am, Spencer. I swear. I was a little tipsy earlier, but my head is clear. I know what I’m doing.” You say with a serious tone. “But we can totally stop right here, if you want—”

Spencer denies your offer, pulling you in for another kiss. One kiss on your lips and he begins to kiss at your neck. You begin to rock forwards and Spencer holds your plush thighs on either side of him, pulling you into him so you ground down on him properly. He gasps as you whine at the friction and you stare into his eyes as you are quick to unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock.

“Wait, I don’t have a condom.” Spencer tells, almost pushing you away. “I’m on the pill.” You tell him. “But we can totally stop by a store and get one.” You suggest to him.

He considers this for a moment but he’s fantasized about this moment for a long time and every time he jerked off to the thought of you, he always imagined filling you. He actually imagined a lot of things that had to do with you.

“Would it be okay… if… we didn’t… use a condom?” Spencer asks shyly and you smirk, “That is definitely okay with me as long as it’s okay with you.” Spencer nods vehemently, “It’s definitely okay with me, too.”

So, you move your underwear to the side and straddle him. “I’ve… I’ve only done this one other time, so please bear with me.” You confess but Spencer doesn’t mind.

You settle yourself right down on his cock and gasp as he fills you, wrapping your arms around him and the seat behind him. “Oh, God!” He exclaims, calling you by your name.

You back up, looking down at him and his eyes are blown with lust and love. His hands rest on your thigh, running his hands over the smooth skin and one of his hands makes its’ way to your face and his thumb rubs underneath your eye, gazing into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” You shake your head at him, shyly but he doesn’t back down. “I mean it, Y/n. You’re beautiful. I’m not just saying this.”

You rock against him as you place your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself. “You’re beautiful too, doc.” You admit to him and lean close to his earlobe. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“I feel like I should be saying that to you.” Spencer tells, wrapping his arms around your body. “And seeing you in this dress… Jesus. You’re gorgeous.”

“Stop saying that.” You tell him, wanting to spare the comments from your mind if this was nothing to him. “No, I won’t. Because you are, Y/n. I want… I want it all. I want everything with you. Will you let me give you that? Please.”

You have to admit, you like seeing this side of Spencer Reid. The side that’s begging to have everything with you. The sight of him beneath you. You hold him tightly as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“God, you feel so good.” You tell him and his hands are everywhere on you. “So do you.” He chokes out.

“Spencer…” You gasp, rolling your hips on him. “I-I love you.” He confesses. “Please let me love you.” You back up again, seeing that pleasing look on his face and you stare down at him. “I-I love you, too. I love you.” You say and you say it with such certainty. If there was anything you were certain of in this moment, it was this. It was him. It was always him.

“I’m—I’m getting close.” Spencer whines and his hands quickly make their way to under your dress and he begins to rub your bundle of nerves and you nearly shriek at the motion, wanting to close your thighs together but he keeps them apart, wanting to see you fall apart in front of him. “Jesus, oh, my God! Spencer!” You moan out and he stares into your eyes, “Cum on my cock, sweet girl. Please.”

You shudder against him as you feel his cock throb and he fills you with his cum and you collapse against him, not caring anymore if you were crushing him with your body. All that mattered was that you were with him, here and now. You both pant and you feel as he rubs your back with his hand and kisses your neck.

You run a hand through his hair and chuckle to yourself. “Spencer…” You sigh. “Yeah?”

“Never ever get a new car.” He keeps that promise.

re fucking tweet.

i want mgg to make a magic trick where he makes my underwear disappear

THERES A REASON S12 IS MY FAVE LOOK ON HIM

oh my god i need him so bad... his hair. the rolled up sleeves. HIS EYES

A Sunflower in the Graveyard

Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Synopsis: You’re the new kid on the block— joining the BAU during Spencer’s prison sentence and since then, he’s ignored you despite your efforts in trying to start a mere friendship with him. But when all hope seems lost, Spencer seems to show his soft spot for you when a case really gets to you.

Category: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: mentions of an abduction case, mentions of violence & SA, mentions of child murder, please tread lightly! reader taking case to heart, reader breaking down/crying, spencer lowkey being cold towards reader but opens up a bit, reader & spencer being lowkey simps for each other, spencer relating to willy wonka lmao, mentions of the prison arc and spoilers for 12x21 ‘Green Light’ and 12x22 ‘Red Light’

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, so i’m supposed to be taking a break from writing but this one came out of my ass and boom this was the result- i’m really proud of it so i hope you enjoy!

A fourteen year old girl by the name of Alyssa Carter was abducted. And the stakes were high since the BAU team knew that the first 24 hours were very crucial when it came to child abduction cases.

It’d been your first child abduction case since you joined the BAU, which hadn’t been too long. But you couldn’t lie and say this didn’t affect you. Cases regarding children were the worst for you, if you were being honest.

It could’ve been the fact that children were helpless, fragile, unable to defend themselves like adults could. How could anybody treat a child in such a cruel way? This was the reason you wanted a job like this anyhow, right? You wanted to stop bad guys from hurting people. And so here you were. After pining for this job for years, you finally got it at the expense of another agent being wrongfully accused of a crime he didn’t commit.

You’d arrived in Manhattan, where you’d been searching for a preferential child molester who’d already struck twice before by leaving the bodies of the children he’d killed and buried them near a lake stream.

Alyssa Carter’s parents were in hysterics when you got to the PD, since Emily had wanted someone with a lighter touch to speak with them. You’d been good with the families of victims, always talking to them with understanding and even shedding a few tears with them because of how empathetic you’d been with them.

You’d hit the 24 hour mark and the likeliness of Alyssa Carter still being alive was unlikely. It would only be a matter of time before you hit a wall in the case. But you kept the work up, not even wanting to rest until you catch the son of a bitch. You’d been hopped on four hours of sleep and coffee when you’d found it.

The connection with all the crime scenes — a motel six in the smack dab middle of the hunting area. And with the help of Garcia, you were able to find the motel so Emily had joined you, Luke, Matt, Spencer and JJ down there.

You’d questioned the motel employee to see if there had been any suspicious characters or any sign of a young girl matching Alyssa Carter’s features and the motel employee didn’t hesitate to give you the information of a visitor that frequented the motel often.

The name Greg Taylor would probably haunt you forever as Spencer gave the name to Garcia and she’d informed you with a disgusted tone of what Greg Taylor was fully capable of and the horrible things he’d been arrested for prior to this.

You’d found the room and Spencer banged on the door and announced that the FBI wanted to speak with Greg Taylor. It was over two minutes when the door finally opened and the man, who you presumed was Greg Taylor — stood there, skinny and lengthy, tattoos covering his body, only wearing boxers and he’d looked like a deer in headlights.

Spencer had told the man to sit down, that all they wanted to do was talk with him — when you’d heard it. A faint whimper in the bathroom. You’d decided to check the room as Spencer told the man to sit down when he tried to stop you from opening the door.

When you opened the door, you found Alyssa Carter, only in a top and shorts with tear-stained cheeks and pleading for help. You quickly assured to her everything was going to be okay and that she was safe now, quickly calling JJ on your mic and notifying her that you’d found Alyssa.

Once JJ came to retrieve Alyssa, Greg tried to lie his way out of this but you weren’t letting him off easy. Soon as he stood up, you were quick to grab him and turn him around, aggressively pushing him against the wall, telling him just what a piece of scum he was.

Spencer stood there, he’d never seen you get this worked up before over a victim. You were usually the calm and collected one but he knew you were also hopped up on four hours of sleep and coffee, despite how many times Rossi had to tell you to get some rest but you’d refused to listen.

You dug your elbow into the back of Greg Taylor’s neck, like how he manage to subdue his victims. “How does this feel, huh? Do you feel powerless? Do you feel afraid? Well so did Janet MacGee, Ellie Oswald and Alyssa Carter. But we got you, you son of a bitch.” It got to a point where Luke walked in and basically had to pry you off of Greg Taylor. “Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! L/n, just back up. Come on. It’s not worth it.”

You marched outside, refusing to be scolded like a child, despite knowing how wrong it was. You stood outside of the motel and squatted down on the gravel, taking a moment as you tried to control your angry breathing. You’d never felt this heated before, especially not about an unsub. But something about Greg Taylor made you furious. Made you want to stomp the bastard’s head into the ground.

As you calmed yourself down to the best of your ability, you registered the hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and even the words — “Are you okay?” Even jolted you into the realization that you weren’t alone anymore. You turned with wide eyes to see Spencer comforting you and that’s a surprise in itself.

You see, you joined the team when he’d been rotting in prison — you essentially replaced him for the time being. He’d been dismissive towards you, cold even since he got out of prison. And you’d no idea why, you were nothing but warm and kind to him. So, you’d taken the liberty in just ignoring him to the best of your ability. If you were paired together, you minimized your conversations to the task at hand, not even making small talk at the coffee machine or when you happened to be sitting next to each other on the jet.

It didn’t help that you also thought he was attractive. It was already tough speaking to him as it is when you found him to be intimidating due to how handsome you thought he was. You’d tried a few times to speak with him but it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you. So, you stopped trying. You knew when you weren’t wanted, no one needed to sugarcoat it.

But for him to come and ask if you were okay, of all people — you never expected for Spencer to do so.

“Are you okay?” Spencer repeated. It took you a second to realize you were just staring at him. You shake your head, probably from the whiplash you were experiencing with him asking you if you were okay. “Yeah, I guess.” You end up answering.

You look up as Luke takes Greg Taylor into the back of a police car. And you take a sharp breath. It’s okay. You got him. He’ll be locked up for life. You got him. “We got him.” Spencer’s voice turns into one of the mantras you’re saying to yourself internally.

And it’s sudden. You break down crying, nearly falling forward on the gravel and you would have face-planted if Spencer hadn’t been there to catch you. Your cries echoed in your ears as you felt Spencer’s arms tighten around you in comfort. For a moment, he went stiff— almost not knowing how to hold you or what to do and not wanting to mess it up— but the way you’d melted in his touch was enough to make him melt with you and hold you as you wept.

After you’d landed back home, Spencer kept an eye on you. And even offered to walk you home so you got to your destination safely. You didn’t say a word to him — maybe a meek ‘thanks’ but other than that, not a word. He didn’t say anything either and perhaps, he didn’t have anything to. So, you both relished in the silence, in his protective nature that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you while he was around.

Once you got to the door, you looked at him — wondering if maybe he’d leave soon after. He stayed standing right there and well, you didn’t want to send him off just yet, if you were being honest. You didn’t feel ready to.

“Y-You can come in,” You offered with a small shrug. “If you want.” Spencer nods at you and you unlock the door and open the door to your apartment.

You take off your coat, walking into the kitchen and placing it on the chair in front of the table. Spencer takes a look around your apartment, the scent of autumn hits him like a wave and he notices your knick-knacks around the apartment. The bookshelf intrigues him, quick to inspect it as he spots the classics such as To Kill A Mockingbird and 1984, suggesting you were a fan of English literature. He even takes notice of your VCR under your TV and the stacks of films next to the VCR— spotting tapes like The Princess Bride and Grease, also telling him that you’d liked classics and that you weren’t exactly living under a rock.

He knew that maybe he shouldn’t be profiling you the way he was doing now but everything about you was interesting. Which was why he was keeping as far away from you as he could. He was already breaking his own moral code by being here at your apartment, afraid to damage you with his ignorance.

Spencer looks over and finds you, trying to preoccupy yourself awkwardly, like you’re trying to casually deal with the fact that he’s in your apartment right now.

“I…” You quickly turn as Spencer finds his voice. “I can leave, if you want me to. I don’t have to stay.” You shake your head, dismissing the idea. “No, no, I want you to.” You find yourself admitting and Spencer bites his lip as he stares at you and you look like a deer in headlights at your eagerness. “I… I just…” You shut your eyes at the embarrassment of your next sentence. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

The words repeat in Spencer’s head. I just don’t want to be alone right now. And you chose him to accompany you in your time of need? Why him? He’s far too damaged for you. No good for you. But you didn’t even ask. He chose to be here. For you.

“But you can leave, if you want to.” You say, trying not to sound disappointed in your tone but Spencer can definitely tell you are, which is why he removes his brown satchel strap from around his neck and places his bag on the floor. “I won’t leave. You need somebody and… well, I can be that.” No matter how much he wants to run for the hills.

So, you opt for offering him a drink— which he declines and you ask if maybe he wants to watch something while he’s here. You decide to put on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (since you’d discovered he’d never seen it before and well, him being uncultured just won’t do) and change into some comfy clothes and relax while he’s here.

Spencer had never seen you in casual clothing before. In your baggy sweatpants and argyle wool sweater and white socks— you looked ethereal. He’d never seen you in such a domestic light before. His stomach churns at this, the fear of getting too close to you is strong. His Adam’s apple bobs as he moves closer towards the arm of the couch, maintaining as much distance as possible between you two.

You don’t seem to mind or pay attention to the distance, at least— more so paying more attention to the film you’re watching instead of him and Spencer sits there, trying to pay attention but he can’t — not while you’re sitting next to him, at least. He figures the longer he can stare at the screen, the more he’d be able to focus but he can’t. He really can’t seem to focus around you.

As Spencer watches the scene of Augustus Gloop getting stuck into the chocolate pool, he’s finally enthralled with the film — of course, it’s totally unrealistic because how does Willy Wonka manage to have a pool full of chocolate and why are the parents of these children that were chosen full entrusting into this strange man? But in a way, Spencer finds himself relating to the whimsical man in a sense.

“I don’t know why kids affect me a lot.” You find yourself speaking halfway through the movie and Spencer then turns to you. Catching as you’re deep into thought, like you’d been thinking for a while now and you were just now voicing it. “I don’t have any of my own, I don’t know any kids. It’s just…”

“They’re young,” Spencer finds your voice, adding to your segment. “Defenseless.” He’d remembered this conversation with Morgan before he’d left. When Little Hank was a mere baby in Savannah’s stomach and how Morgan started taking these cases regarding children to heart. Spencer wondered if that had a play into Morgan leaving and he knew it most likely did. And he told him the same thing he’s telling you now.

You shake your head, “You just don’t do that.” Your voice is quiet and soft, Spencer’s not sure he’s ever heard you this quiet. Usually, you’re loud and bubbly and happy-go-lucky. He’s never seen you this sad before. But he’s discovering now that he hates it.

“What matters now is that we caught him,” Spencer tells, looking into your eyes as he speaks carefully. “And that Alyssa Carter is home now with her family.”

“Not to mention a load of trauma.” You add with a small sniffle. “What she went through—” Spencer looks down. “That’s hard for anybody. But she’s gonna make it. And she’s alive. What matters is we did our jobs and Greg Taylor can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

You bite your lip and you nod at that. Spencer was right. You did your job, you got your unsub, you saved Alyssa Carter. You’ve done everything right. And you need to stop beating yourself up over it.

After that, you and Spencer don’t talk again. And by the time the movie’s over, Spencer looks your way and finds you asleep on the other side of the couch. He smiles to himself, happy that you’re getting the rest like you deserved. He stands up, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV and looks over towards you.

You’re peaceful as you sleep and he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more angelic in his life. Looking at the throw blanket on the couch, he grabs it and throws it over your body so you can sleep comfortably and he looks down at you a moment longer.

He’d pushed you away. He had to keep you at this distance because he was afraid of hurting you. Prison had broken him down beyond repair. After all the crap he had deal with Delgado, this whole catastrophe with Scratch, which ended up being Lindsey Vaughn and Cat Adams. Having to deal with inmates, threatening his identity and beating him up every chance they got.

And then he met you. And you were the complete opposite of what he was now. You’d extended your hand, you gave him a big grin and the whole ‘I’ve heard a lot about you’ schpeal when you’d first met. He thought you were beautiful, inside and out — that’s how Garcia described you at least when he’d found out about you on one of her visits to see him in prison.

But he’d simply waved with a tight smile and said it was nice to meet you and walked away. After that, you tried with him, trying to say and asked how his day went but he often dismissed— only dealing with the small talk. And he’d kept his distance, not wanting to hurt you but little did he know, his absence just hurt you more.

The day you walked into the office and decided to ignore him, grabbing your coffee next to him and going about your day without a word — sent a sharp pain in his heart. He supposed that things were better now that you ignored him, that he’d finally gotten what he wanted. But this wasn’t what he wanted at all. And he knew that deep down.

And when he saw you tonight, how angry you were, how you didn’t get any rest until the case was solved, he’d wanted to comfort you. He wanted to comfort you in a way he needed back then. And when he saw you squatting with your head in your hands, he found his opportunity and he refused to leave your side until he knew you were alright. And he’d stay for as long as you liked him to.

But he didn’t want to intrude while you slept, he’d had no idea how you felt about him staying the night — no matter how much he’d like to in entirely different circumstances— so he decided the safe bet was to leave. He didn’t want to leave with no goodbye, so he’d left you a note and left your apartment quietly.

When you woke up the next morning, you found the note on the table in front of you and smiled warmly as you read it.

Y/n,

I didn’t want to wake you, so I saw myself out. I hope a good night’s sleep is all you need to feel refreshed. Adults usually need seven to nine hours a night. Anyways, I‘ll see you at work.

-Spencer :)

Hmm… perhaps the Dr. Spencer Reid, the man that barely talked to you, that hardly looked your way, that you’d found attractive regardless of everything that was wrong with him… wasn’t so cold after all.

Louder…

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Sunshine Shy!Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer on a couch… need I say more?

Category: Smut

Warnings: pure fluff and smut, brief mentions of S12 prison arc in the beginning, mutual pining, grumpy x sunshine trope, kissing, smut warnings: soft dom!spencer, unprotected p in v, fucking from behind 🤭 (my first time writing this bear with me), dirty talk, spencer wants reader to be vocal during sex, creampie

Author’s Note: lowkey not proud of this ugh

You didn’t know how you managed to get here. You never thought you’d be here— dating the man you’d heard so much about and fawned over since you started the BAU.

When he was arrested and convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, Spencer Reid thought all of his luck had run out. He was screwed over in so many ways and this was another thing he could add to the list of ways life has failed him. And once he got out, he was sure he could never go back to who he was.

And while that was true, he didn’t know he’d have you. The newest BAU intern he was sure was here to take over his position in the unit. You were everything he was at twenty-four— lost in a daze of excitement, eager to work and please, not sure what she was doing half the time but managed to do her job.

At first, he’d wanted nothing to do with you but then, in some weird way— you’d won over his heart. Ever since that night on the jet when he saw you reading one of Leo Tolstoy’s works and interrupted you, asking what you were reading and you spent the rest of the night exchanging interesting facts about Tolstoy’s works.

This occurred for a few weeks until Luke had asked Spencer when he was going to finally ask you out. He shook it off, liking what the two of you had at the moment. But after that, he started noticing you more— how excited you’d get when something fascinated you, much like how he did in the past, how your nose would scrunch up in embarrassment and how bright and wide your eyes would get when he would talk about what he knew. And then, on one faithful day— he finally did it. He asked you out and you said yes.

And now here you were, with your boyfriend— almost six months now— in his apartment, on his couch, cuddling with him.

You two were supposed to have a movie night, watching some documentary about animals and you found yourself scooting impossibly closer to him, nudging your body back into his as he was positioned behind you, blanket covering both of your bodies and his hand rubbing at your side, the heat in his touch making you feel tingly so much that you could help but back into him.

Spencer was sure you were doing it on purpose, backing into him like this— because with how you were two were positioned, your ass rubbing against his groin— he was getting hard. And he couldn’t help it. You were the one doing this to him. And after a small giggle, he started getting the hint that you were in fact, doing it on purpose. After the first few times you did it, it was unmistakable that it was him.

“Angel…” Spencer winced in a warning tone. You chuckle again, “Sorry, love, I just… I can’t help it.”

Instead of a serious tone, he gave you an amused smirk and whispered into your ear — “Well, I’m not gonna deprive my angel of her pleasure, now am I?” You turn your cheek to meet Spencer’s eyes and lean forward to kiss his lips, so gently and passionately.

As you two kiss, his hands travels upwards towards your breasts, grabbing one of them and squeezing as your tongue explores his mouth, causing him to let out a sigh inside of your mouth.

The same hand travels down towards your wet pussy, causing you to let out your own sigh of content as he sticks a finger towards your clit and briefly rubs. “You’re so wet.” He points out and you nod gently, “For you, always.”

He removes his hand, then deciding to move towards your sleeping shorts — the same sleeping shorts Spencer kept eyeing your ass in as soon as you put them on — and pushed the fabric to the side, along with your underwear and pulling down his sweatpants down a bit to release his cock.

You turn your head to look him in the eyes. This was the first time you were doing it in this position. Usually, you two were in missionary and you were riding him so this was a new experience with the both of you. You want to do this right and you know he wants to too and you look at his eyes as you grab his cock, giving it a few strokes and he gets lost in what you’re doing to him that he nearly cums but he wants to blow his load inside of you, he can’t waste it.

So, he stops your movement and holds your hand as you hold his cock and you both guide it towards your slick walls. He waits a moment before slowly going in and you let out a gasp as he sticks a few or more inches in.

Spencer’s eyes meet yours as he nods to you with wide eyes, “Are you okay?” He asks and you nod eagerly, “Yes, yes, I’m okay. Keep going.” You encourage him and he nods at you as he sheathes the rest of himself inside of you and you stay like that for a second, lost into each other’s eyes once more until he starts going.

It’s not long before he finds a rhythm, tilting his head back in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy, your noises clamoring together as your juice leak down onto his cock. You’re both letting out moans, the sounds drowning the long-forgotten documentary out as he grips onto your hip and drives his cock in and out of your walls.

“Oh, fuck—” Spencer groans into the shell of your ear and you try holding onto the cushion for some type of leverage as he keeps going at an animalistic pace. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby. Oh, my God.“

You try holding back your moans but Spencer notices quickly and is having none of it. He loves when you’re vocal during sex— but sometimes you develop a habit of not making noise, mostly because of how past relationships made you feel in the past. And he refuses to be one of those people— especially when he loves hearing your noises. “Come on, angel— I want to hear what I do to you, please…”

You let out a small moan, slowly breaking out your own bit of confidence that he brings out of you. “Louder…” Spencer tells. You moan, a tad louder this time. It’s still not enough. “Louder.” He demands once more as you go an octave higher. “Louder.” He says, once more. You nearly scream as he continues to pound into you, hand trailing down to your clit as he begins to rub it, wanting you to come right along with him.

“Let go for me, angel. I want to feel you cum around my… my—“ He whines, not being able to finish his sentence as he feels you clench onto him and shriek as you cum around his cock and his hips stutter and he fills you with his warmth.

You both pant after the fact, his cock still inside of you but softening and the overstimulation becoming borderline painful. When you finally open your eyes, you turn towards the credits on the TV.

“Hey, we finished the documentary.”