#reader x spencer reid

[thesmutsideblog]

Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid smut #smut #smut fanfic #no beta we die like jason gideon #reader x spencer reid #bau fanfic #bau smut #matthew gray gubler #fanfic #x reader #bau #criminal minds fic

[gublersg1rl]

baking with a genius :)

(Blurb)

plot: reader is baking, and spencers being a smartass and it’s PISSIN HER OFF !!!

a/n: this is my first blurb, i thought the idea was kinda cute??? is this cringe??? pls don’t unfollow,,,ik this is poorly written im not the best pls bare with me im trying

warnings: reader is a girl, a little suggestive at the end cuz why tf not, established relationship, reader is annoyed, spencers more dominant but not in a sexual way, proofread but could 100% be mistakes, errrr idkkk i think that’s it????

-♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡-

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, dusting flour off your hands. “Now I need—“

“Two eggs.” Spencer’s voice interrupts.

You close your eyes tightly, so tight you see fireworks, and huff. “You don’t know that, Spencer.”

“But I do, actually. I read it.” He said pointing to the Pinterest recipe that was open on your phone.

Your eyes glance over the screen, re-reading the already forgotten recipe. “Oh,” you say letting a moment of submission surrender. “Actually I want to use 3 eggs…So you’re wrong Spencer.” The lie was poorly thought of, but you would do anything for Spencer to not win this one sided battle.

He frowns his brow, giving you a confused look. “Why would you want to use three eggs?”

“Because you don’t know what you are talking about. Maybe you’re good at—“ you pause thinking about how to phrase your annoyance. “Doctorting— or-“ your hands flail everywhere as you desperately try to describe your emotions with made up words.

That was until you felt Spencer get ahold of your wrists, “Look at me.”

You bite the corner of your bottom lip, looking to the left, trying to disobey his gently order.

“Baby.” His voice soft, yet strong.

You give in, looking up at him in those damn honey colored eyes puppy dog eyes. “What.” You reply flatly, it wasn’t a question, rather a response.

His eyes narrow, and head tilts a little, giving you a “You know what” look.

“Can you just….go in the living room for a bit…?”

“Forgetting something, love?”

You sigh, “Please…?”

“Atta girl.” He said with a smile, letting go of your wrists.

-hehe small time jump to when the preheat is done-

You had always been scared of putting stuff in the oven, it just was so easy to get burned. Those traumatic times in middle school you burned yourself with a curling iron was enough to make you cautious of getting burned again.

You stare at the oven for what feels like forever, contemplating what to do. You look over to your boyfriend who is comfortably reading a book on the couch.

“Spencer…?” You call out in a quiet, embarrassed tone.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks putting down his half read book, looking over at you.

“Can you help me put the cookies in the oven…” You mumble.

He smiled softly, “Sorry, what’d you say?” Spencer responded even though he was perfectly aware of your question.

“Spencer.” You whine, hearing that smirk painted across his face just through his voice.

“I’m kidding angel. I’ll be right there.” He says giving into your pleas.

It isn’t much longer until your boyfriend completes your difficult task in seconds.

“I’m sorry I got so annoyed with you today…”

“It’s okay,” Spencer replied pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t stress it. We all have those days.”

His fingers gently combed through your hair, as you both sat in silence enjoying the peace.

You move your chin to rest on his chest, as you look up at him. “You know…we have 20 minutes all to ourselves until the cookies finish baking,”

Spencer chuckles, “Oh really?”

“Mmhmh.”

“Well, thinking about it. I’ve got a couple ways you could apologize,” He said leaning in gently pressing a small peck into your lips.

“Yeah me too,” you whisper back leaning in for another kiss.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #y/n x spencer reid #reader x spencer reid #Matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #fan fiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Coffee Shop [Reader x Spencer]

Spencer's picture is credited to @lightningcrashes The other photos are mine.

Prompt: Characters get the same coffee order. They both reach for it at the same time, aka, when the reader and Spencer order the same, oddly specific coffee order, and the reader can see that Spencer is struggling and tries her best to be someone he can lean on. This story is more about Aaron and Spencer’s relationship than anything else and it deals with Spencer’s drug abuse problem (the reader is just kind of there). 

Category: Angst/comfort/whump

Word Count: 4.7K

Content Warnings: Depiction of drug abuse (Spencer and Dilaudid), addiction,  near overdose, brief mention of Tobias Hackel’s episode, mention of depression (and seasonal depression), suicidal ideation, mention of therapy/therapists, canon typical violence, suicide by cop (unsub), mention of child abuse (in the past), Narcan is given, hospitals. 

A/N: I’m going to say a lot here. Please bear with me. I didn’t love how the show handled Spencer’s drug abuse in seasons two and three. It felt like his issues were just “solved” in season three by movie magic. That never sat right with me. So I had the idea for this one shot to provide a possible scenario that addresses Reid’s abuse and Aaron’s response to that problem. This is written as a platonic relationship with the reader. Aaron is acting like a dad to Reid here. I tried to make the depiction of drugs and drug abuse as accurate as possible, but if you see that I am totally off on something, please let me know in a direct message or comment. I’ve never written something like this before so I hope it’s okay. This takes place soon after season 2 episode 17 “Distress.” 

If at any time you need to stop reading this story, please do so. My writing is not worth your mental health!

The literal prompt came from @imagining-in-the-margins and her amazing Meet Cute Writing challenge, though this is less of a Meet Cute and more of a possible friendship situation. 

Lastly, and on a more positive note, if you liked this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_l/n_ = your last name 

The coffee shop tantalizingly close to _y/n_’s apartment was packed today. Maybe it was because of the rain, or the fact that it had actually started to feel like fall in Virginia, and seasonal change just intrinsically called for a nice warm beverage. _y/n_ would normally dread being in a space this packed, but she’d had a good weekend and there was a soft hum of voices that made her feel oddly secure. She was grateful, however, that she had woken early enough to stand in the line and not be stressed about getting to work on time. As she made it to the front of the line, the barista, Belinda, looked up at her and smiled. “The unusual?” Belinda asked. _y/n_ nodded and said, “The usual, please.” _y/n_ pulled out her card and rewards punch card; she was two drinks away from a free beverage. _y/n_ often found rewards programs a waste, but with how often she found herself at The Press coffee shop, it was a no-brainer. _y/n_ stood by the far wall where there was actually a comfortable space to stand. There lights weren’t so bright and the music was softer as she waited for her drink. Even though it had been a good weekend, she was still tired. The feeling seemed to linger with her. _y/n_ wondered if her seasonal depression was pressing its way back into her life. _y/n_ closed her eyes and added calling her therapist’s office and making an appointment to her mental task list. Over time _y/n_ had learned that letting these emotions of melancholia fester was only a portent of emotional pain in the future. 

The sound of her drink being called snapped her back to herself and her surroundings. _y/n_ moved through those also standing and waiting for their own caffeine fixes. When she finally made it to the counter she reached out for her creme brulee late with a double espresso, but she wasn’t the only one who was reaching for the cup. _y/n_ assumed that the man, who looked oddly familiar, was reaching for the cup next to hers. She was wrong. Their hands brushed together as they both reached for the latte and an unexpected warmth ran up her arm. _y/n_ turned to look directly at the slender, tall man trying to get her drink. She cleared her throat and said, “Sorry I think that’s mine.” The man looked down at her and swallowed, before replying, “No, I’m sure it’s mine. Sorry, I’m going to be late for my train.” With that, the man reached forward, took the contested drink into his slender hand, and moved as quickly as he could to the front door. _y/n_ watched him go with her drink and tried to pinpoint where she knew him from. It took a second, but once was out the door she remembered and facepalmed. ‘Of, course,’ she thought. The man lived on her floor at the apartment at the other end of the hall on the opposite side of her unit. She wondered if she would have to will to confront him later. That was if she even saw him. The man seemed to be gone for days, sometimes a full week at a time. In the evenings when she came back from work sometimes he would be going out with his normal shoulder bag. Other times when she was returning late from getting drinks with friends, he would also ride the elevator up with her. In these cases, he had a duffle bag with him. In essence, he didn’t seem to hold a normal schedule. 

With the mystery of where she knew the man from solved, _y/n_ sighed and got ready to get back in line. _y/_ knew that Belinda would understand and not make her pay again for a new drink. Just as she was getting in line, the woman making the drinks called out, “Large creme brulee latte with a double espresso.” This stopped _y/n_ in her tracks. She was the only person that she knew who ordered that drink. Was it possible that the man really had also placed the same orderer as her? _y/n_ moved back to the counter and waited a few minutes just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. When it was apparent that no one was getting that cup, she moved forward and took it from the counter. She looked at the name on the cup and it most certainly wasn’t hers. It read: S. Reid. In the end, it didn’t really matter, she had her drink and it had just been an accident. And now she knew that someone on her apartment floor had the same taste in coffee as her. _y/n_ looked at her watch and realized that she needed to get a move on if she wanted to get to work on time. 

That evening the lithe man was nowhere to be seen, as she let herself into her apartment. _y/n_ wondered what she did for a living. As _y/n_ moved inside, she pondered that maybe he was a professor of some sort? Or a public speaker who was required to travel often. The man certainly seemed smart enough for it. When she had overheard his phone calls riding up or down the elevator he always spoke fast and used some of the best cadences she had ever heard. Much of what he had been saying went way over her head. However, as her thoughts turned to who she assumed was S. Reid, she thought about the small changes she had noticed about him over time. It wasn’t like she was spying on him, but his mannerisms and odd comings and goings had drawn her attention. She supposed that he was around her age, maybe a year or two older. When she had first moved in around a month and a half ago and seen him for the first time, she had wondered if she could strike up a friendship with him. It would be nice to have a friend in the building. Someone to gossip with about the loud neighbor across the hall. Or someone to grab their package for them from the mail room fifteen floors down. However over the little time _y/n_ had lived there, she had seen S. Reid change -- withdraw into himself. It reminded her of herself, and how she really just wanted a friend. As _y/n_ set her bag down on the sofa, she pulled out her phone and tapped in her therapist’s office number; she felt like she needed a good cry. 

Reid struggled during the next case. Emily’s comments and his own harsh reply were plaguing him like the need for his next hit was plaguing him. The chills and sweating kept him cold much of the time which meant he had to wear more layers which just made the sweating worse. Then there was the irritability at everything from the team to the bright lights and the goddamn fact that he had to roll and shift so many layers of clothes to find his vein to get the needle under his skin. Spencer knew he was taking more each day and knew that it was going to be harder to find the illicit substance without having to go to the same dealer. This was something Spencer had avoided doing up to this point. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to become a ‘regular’ because if word got out, or the ring got busted, there was no going back from there. Even if he did his best to use another name and paid in cash, he just knew it would be the end for him. He could already feel things becoming the end for him. Like it was lurking behind each corner of the industrial warehouses the team was currently investigating. Looking for an unsub that, ironically killed via lethal injection. It would be funny if real people's lives were not in the balance, and yet here he was playing with his own life each time he shot up. 

Back at the precinct, Spencer moved quickly to the men’s restroom. The ache in his joints and the inability to sleep knawed at him to the bone. He wanted to trash and scream and curse, and suddenly, before he could stop his hands from shaking while he took out the glass vial and unsteadily pushed a clean needle in, sucking up the pleasure-poison, Reid was in heaven again. The weight that was lifted off his shoulders was so immense that he sank down onto the toilet seat and put the cap on the medicine before he dropped it on the floor. The sound of the door opening and Hotch’s voice asking, “You in here Reid,” had the younger man pulling at his sleeve and hiding his secret in the inner pocket of his shirt. When this was done. Spencer flushed and walked out of the stall trying to look like he was in control. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be back in the briefing room in a moment.” Hotch’s eyes found Reid’s wild, frenzied ones, and Aaron nodded. As the Unit Chief made it back outside, he thought about the very difficult conversation he was going to have to have with Reid. Aaron was berating himself for having his youngest subordinate’s drug problem go on so long undressed, and he was going to have to face the consequences of not acting sooner. 

The case had ended in as much of a climax as possible. The unsub took his final victim's life and realized that he wasn’t getting out of this without a lengthy prison sentence. Instead of facing the consequences of the law, the man decided to let the cops end him, and he finished his life on his own terms, which was cruel given the fact that those he had killed weren’t given that option. As the plane landed everyone got out and moved tiredly toward the bullpen. The flight back had been awkward. Given Spencer’s new ‘behavior,’ the team was on edge. After what had happened with Hickel and Reid, the team was shaken. Clearly, Spencer was changed. It was as if the team was waiting for other shoe to drop, and the suspense was nearly unbearable. As everyone got into the building, and up to their floor, ready to go to their own homes or apartments, Aaron called Spencer up to his office. Reid stood nervously in the neat space, as Aaron said, “Can we meet tomorrow at three p.m.?” Spencer froze for a moment, knowing this conversation would come eventually. Spence nodded and tried to sound like everything was okay, while internally he felt like his guts were being pulled from his body. He cleared his throat at replied, “Of course, Hotch. See you then.” With their meeting set for tomorrow, Aaron dismissed Reid. As Spencer rode the elevator down to the bottom floor of his building, he wondered if there was anything worse than the concept of ‘tomorrow.’ 

The meeting time came and Spencer sat down. His heart was pounding in his chest faster than he could keep up with. Aaron sat across from him with his brows pulled together, showing his concern. Reid shuffled in his seat for a moment before Hotch pulled his attention saying, “Reid. Spencer. You know what this is about?” Spencer’s head dipped in shame, indicating that he did and that he wasn’t comfortable having to confront it. Aaron let out a breath asking, “What is it you're taking? Dilaudid?” 

After Hankel had been killed the team had gone to the hospital. The doctor at the hospital had explained how Spencer had been drugged with the schedule II drug. There was a serious discussion about how Dr. Reid would need to have a safe place to withdraw and the possibility that addiction could be a problem without careful treatment. Hotch had done everything he could that the medical professional had suggested to support Reid in his recovery. However, Spencer was a grown man, and he couldn’t stop or overstep into his agent's personal life. It became clear early on that Spencer was still using a substance, but Hotch didn’t know what the drug of choice was. Of course, he had an assumption. Aaron’s first instinct had been to protect Reid from the system that would certainly terminate him if they found out about his problems. Now, as Aaron looked over Spencer's sallow, twitchy form, he wondered if he had made a mistake in not just addressing the problem as soon as he had clocked it. 

After a long silence, Spencer replied, “It’s the same.” Hotch nodded and said, “I’m sorry Spencer. I’m sorry that I haven’t said anything until now.” Reid’s breathing picked up and he looked over at his boss, asking, “Are you firing me?” And here was the crux of the issue. Aaron didn’t know what to do really. This wasn’t a scenario that he had planned for. Hotch replied, “I’m not sure Spencer. But I think you should take some time off to get some help. I’ll help you if you need.” Hotch was sincere in his concern and willingness to do what he could to get his friend into a better place. Part of Spencer could understand this. The other half of him, the half half-crazed for another high was screaming that he shouldn’t let go of the pleasure the drugs brought him.” All Spencer knew was the BAU. It was security, family, and a place where he could be himself. And part of him, an irrational part of him, felt that now that he had changed, the team didn’t want him anymore. 

This part of his brain continued to tease and taunt him and made sure he felt that the reason Hotch was suggesting he get help was because of his capture and torture, not the fact that he was using illicit substances on the job and putting the reputation of the whole team on the line. Spencer said, “I can do this job Hotch.” Reid was pleading, and Aaron could see the panic in his eyes and said, “I’m not saying you can’t. I just think you need some time. What happened to you was traumatic, and I think you’re still dealing with the long-term effect of that.” Spencer felt like his world was crumbling, and he couldn’t see that Hotch wasn’t letting him go, or even judging him, just trying to reach out. 

Since taking Dilaudid, Reid was finding it harder to keep control of his words and emotions. He would say things unbidden, as he had with Emily. He could feel it happening again. He tried to strangle the words in his throat, but they came out, harsh and piercing, “Just because your father took drugs and beat you doesn’t mean that I’m going to start doing that with anyone.” The words hung in the air for a second, Spencer could see the hurt in Aaron’s eyes at bringing up and using such painful memories to him. However, after a second, the emotion was replaced by disappointment and concern. 

Spencer took a breath and murmured, “Hotch, I…” Aaron filled in the blank and said, “I know. I know you didn’t mean that. Please, Spencer. I’m worried for you. Let me put in the paperwork for a leave of absence. Just for a week. I can email them to you and all you need to do is sign and send them back.” Wordlessly, Reid nodded his head, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. For the first time that day, Spencer felt the great care that Aaron was showing him. He put his head in his hands and began crying, sucking in air between sobs. The fact that Aaron was willing to actually say something. To address what he was doing hurt, and he felt shame for doing what had. But Hotch wasn’t showing shame or embarrassment in his expression, just care. Hotch stood from his side of the desk and moved to Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder to provide a comforting touch. Reid turned into Hotch’s touch and eventually, the sobbing abated. Hotch pulled back and said, “We’ll help you with this. I promise. I want to see you back here at your best, and I recognize that hard, and it takes time. But I think it’s worth it if we can have you helping us at your full ability again.” Spencer nodded and said, “Thank you, Hotch. I’m sorry.” Aaron nodded his head no and replied, “Don’t be sorry. We’ll work through this together.” 

There were a few more minutes of conversation between the two men. Spencer agreed to what Aaron had suggested and he left Hotch’s office feeling better. The feeling didn’t last. It had been over six hours, and he was starting to feel the urge again. By the time he got back to his apartment, the feeling was overwhelming. Aaron’s supportive and encouraging conversations warred with his need to be free from all his feelings and concerns. The shame and need bubbled up in him as he walked with an urgency to the men’s restroom at the lobby of his apartment complex. It hurt like a brand to not even be able to make it up to his room to find release. Spencer slumped against the wall as he let the drugs enter him. He hadn’t even looked carefully as he inserted the dosage into his body. For a moment everything stilled and nothing mattered. Reid was grateful that the lobby was mostly empty, as he got into the elevator and rose to his floor. The lights from the city blurred as if he had permanent astigmatism. It was beautiful, but dizzying to look at. As the elevator doors opened, Spencer stumbled to the end of the hallway. He made it past one of the other residents on his floor and to his front door. He reached into his shoulder bag for his keys and found the cold metal under his fingers. Reid pulled his keyring from his bag and attempted to fit the metal into the lock. He attempted the simple motor function twice but missed both times. He suddenly felt dizzy and weak and felt his body lean against the door as if it weren’t his own. 

_y/n_ watched as her odd floormate, who apparently got the same coffee order as her, moved out from the elevator. She noticed that he was not well, as he stumbled past her. He just nearly avoided running into her. One of his sleeves was up, and she could see for the first time the puncture wounds and bruising in the veins of his left arm. _y/n_ bit the inside of her mouth. Somehow S. Reid had never seemed like the type to engage in drug use. However, she realized that anyone could be struggling with anything, no matter what they looked or acted like. She had seen her fair share of pain and loss due to substance abuse. It seemed that no matter where she found herself. the impact that The War on  Drugs and The Opioid Epidemic was never far from her door. But it was never far from anyone’s door given the impact and dramatic spike in desire for drugs over the past decade. When the soft sound of metal hitting the carpeted hallway got to _y/n_, she looked over and found the man slumped against the door. His face was pale and his breathing shallow. Given what she knew about the man now, she felt that something really bad was happening. _y/n_ rushed over to him and said, “Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright?” In a non-lucid state, Spencer made a soft nondistinguishable noise. _y/n_ picked up his keys and unlocked his door. She found the light switch and then helped the man to a chair. His eyes were bloodshot and pupils were retracted so much that they nearly looked like a pin point. _y/n_ knelt down and said, “Hey, Reid, is your name Reid? Can you talk to me?” At hearing his last name, Spencer seemed to find some awareness but not much. 

_y/n_ had seen this type of behavior once before and that time it had been too late. She wasn’t letting this man go too. _y/n_ rushed to her own apartment and found the drawer she was looking for. With the nasal spray in hand, she moved back to the man’s apartment. She helped Reid to the floor. At this point he was barely breathing. Looking over him, _y/n_clearly said, “I’m going to give you a dose of Narcan, and I’m going to stay with you until help arrives.” Reid gave no response, nor did he say ‘no’ to what she said. With this in mind and the fact that it was clear that he was overdosing, _y/n_ took the cap off of the Naloxone and moved the applicator into the man's nostril. _y/n_ pressed the trigger. After the medication was inside his system, she moved him into the recovery position so he could breathe better. Next, _y/n_ called 9-1-1. The paramedics arrived quickly and because _y/n_ had been the one who had found him, she went with them to the hospital to give any information she might have. This wasn’t how _y/n_ had planned on spending her Thursday night, but it was worth it if her neighbor would live. She would do it again in an instant. After twenty minutes, the hospital administrator found Spencer’s emergency contact. 

Hotch was in bed when he got the call. He picked up the phone and said, “Agent Hotchner. Who is this?” When he heard the response on the other end of the line, he was up in an instant. He pulled on some sweats and a shirt and he was headed to North Central Hospital in under five minutes. Hotch moved to the reception desk. The nurse sitting behind the desk asked for his name, and Hotch said, “Aaron, Hotchner. I’m here for Spencer Reid. I’m his emergency contact.” The woman nodded and looked in her system before saying, “Yes. Good. Mr. Hotchner, Dr. Reid is with the doctor right now, and we’ll send the doctor out to give you updates. If you like. you can sit in the waiting area.” Hotch nodded and asked, “How was Dr. Reid found?” The nurse looked at him and said, “A woman in his apartment found him and administered aid. She’s actually sitting on the far wall.” Hotch looked over and saw _y/n_. Briefly, he turned back to the nurse and said, “Thank you.” Aaron was worried and scared for his friend. After the conversation they had earlier today that seemed to have gone in a positive direction, Spencer’s problem seemed to have come to a head in a more public fashion. Hotch considered that keeping Spencer’s problems ‘in-house’ versus having it be public was better or worse. But in the end, it didn’t matter. None of it did as long as Spencer was okay. Aaron wished he could do more than wait for news, but there wasn’t. He had refrained from calling the team apart from Rossi and Derek. He felt that the fewer people that knew about this right now, the better it might be for Spencer’s career. 

Aaron moved next to the woman who had found Spencer, and she looked up at him. She seemed concerned. She had been picking at her nails and looking at the door that headed to the ER. As Aaron approached her, he said, “Hi. My name is Aaron Hotchner. I understand you found Spencer Reid at his apartment? I’m his friend? Thank you for getting him help” The woman was relieved to know that there was someone there for her neighbor. She stood and extended her hand saying, “I’m _y/n _l/n_. I’m sorry your friend is going through this.” Hotch nodded and took a seat next to _y/n_ who also sat down. Aaron turned to look at _y/n_ and asked, “May I ask what happened? Where did you find Spencer?” _y/n_ replied, “I was headed into my apartment, and Spencer was trying to get into his unit as well. He didn’t look well, and I noticed the marks on his arm. He kind of fell forward and I went over to see if I could help. I noticed the signs of overdose and did what I could to help.” Aaron nodded and said sincerely, “Thank you for that.” Hotch was deeply grateful that someone had been around to help Spencer when he needed it this woman hadn’t acted as a bystander but actually did what she could to help. Aaron saw so many people just walk by when people were in distress in his job, and knowing that there were people willing to stand up and do something gave him a tiny bit of hope in this terrible situation. They continued to speak briefly before a member of the staff let her know that she could leave. Before _y/n_ went, she gave Aaron Spencer’s keys and asked if she could give him her number and that if he would text her if Spencer was going to be alright? Hotch agreed and took down her number. He thanked her once more and as she walked out the door, he could see Rossi coming into the bright, fluorescent-lit hospital space. 

_y/n_ called a cab and as she moved back toward her apartment. The lights on the streets glistened and cast colorful shadows on the puddles on the road. It had just recently rained. _y/n_ sat back and thought about how ugly and cruel life could be. What taking drugs could do to a person. The face of her floormate's friend came to mind at how concerned he had looked. Sometimes the media liked to make drugs look fun, sexy, and a good time, but that just wasn’t the reality. Sherlock came to mind. The man was a genius and an addict and people loved him! And what wasn’t to love? Because the show never really gave the audience the chance to see what those substances he took would do to a man like Holmes. Then there was Euphoria and its teen angst and bisexual lighting, and even if the show got the drug part right, it didn’t change the fact that the world looked beautiful and that every character was hot. Reality was much, much, sadder. As _y/n_ thought over her own lived experience she hoped that Spencer would get better. Now that she had had this interaction with him she would be sure to get to know him if she could. So he knew there was at least one person in his building that was there for him if he needed it. 

Back at the hospital, Aaron talked to Rossi about what to possibly do for Reid and the team. After another twenty minutes, the doctor came out and told both men that Spencer would be alright. That he had made it. After the doctor had given them the relevant information, a nurse led him back to Spencer’s room. Reid looked up from his bed and the shame painted over his face. As Hotch stepped forward, he saw how ragged Reid looked. Spencer could only manage to say Aaron’s name before he turned to look away. Aaron pulled up a chair and sat down saying. “I know Spencer. I’m right here.” And he would be there, and so would the team. The future looked murky right now, but Hotch was going to fight for Spencer. Fight for him to be on the team and for him to be well. Because Spencer was the smartest person he knew, and he cared deeply for his friend. He was going to do everything he could to keep him in his life.

#criminal minds #fanfiction #spencer x y/n #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #reader x spencer reid #spencer angst #whumptober #whump #read the warnings #drug abuse #derek morgan #emily prentiss #ssa aaron hotchner #reader insert #criminal minds x reader #spencer comfort #hotch is a dad #spencer's drug problem

[bullet-prooflove]

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Luke Alvez Masterlist

Spencer Reid Masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reader x spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #luke alvez #reader x luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

[captain-lessship]

The Poetic Lovers Pt. 1/2

All was beautiful with the wonderful world. It was a peaceful morning for Hotch. 

You walked into the kitchen, happily bobbing to whatever was in your earbuds. You took one out when you noticed your dad.

“Hey dad, you alright?”

“Just enjoying the view out the window.”

You laughed, “We’ve lived here for years.”

He looked at you, small smile, “And over that time I found this was the best view.”

You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the jug of orange juice out of the fridge. “Oh, do you need me to get anything from the store? I can get some stuff after my classes.”

“Ah, I think we’re almost out of peanut butter. I will pay you back for it.”

“Nah,” you unscrewed the cap off the jug, “You bought my shampoo last week.” 

Hotch looked at you, an unfamiliar look on his face.

You took a swig from the jug, “What?”

“Twenty three years… and that’s the first time I’ve ever traded you shampoo for peanut butter.”

“You’re getting nostalgic, old man,” you screwed the cap back on, “Oh! So my boyfriend’s birthday is toda-“

“Still haven’t met him.” 

“Yes,” you put the orange juice back in the fridge, leaning against the now closed door, “Anyway, I am going to be back late.”

“After you drop off the peanut butter?”

You rolled your eyes, “Nah Dad, I am going out for a birthday dinner like this.”You gestured to your lab clothes.

Aaron was extremely proud of you. Through long nights and genuine talent, you graduated highschool a year early, you were going to pursue a career in the field of forensics. You knew it would take a lot of time and dedication but you were a Hotchner and the apples don’t fall far from the family tree.

“Alright but call me if you need me. I got to go into work.”

“I will,” you grabbed your bag from it’s usual spot on the hall chair. “See you later tonight.”

After a long day of classes and paper writing, You were back home, getting ready for the date.

“You look like a office cowboy.”

You turned your head to see your younger brother.

“The hat is too much?”

The boy nodded, you looked in the mirror. “Well, hats are my staple.” 

Jack walked beside you, “But your hair looks good.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Do we like the red shirt?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Of course, you’d like it,” you picked him up and spun him around, pulling giggles from the boy. “Red is you favorite color.”

You put him down, “Alright, so we look good, right?”

“Right.”

“Thanks wingman,” you looked at your phone, “I better get going.”

Aaron walked in from the door, getting the attention of both of you, “Dad!” The two of you said in unison.

“Hey, you two,” he looked at your outfit, “Looking fancy.” 

“Yeah, I am also about to be fashionable late! Love you two,” you grabbed your coat and rushed out the door.

“Hey!” Aaron called.

You opened the door again, “Yea?” 

“Keys.” 

“Oh,” you grabbed them off the key hook, “Thanks”

Aaron sighed before looking at Jack.

Jack mimicked the sigh, “They’re hopeless.”

“In ten minutes, we’re gonna follow him.”

“Dad! The cat!”

Jack did that whenever you or Aaron got nosy. 

“Fine. Did he at least bring the peanut butter?” 

You were simply enjoying the live poetry, snapping after people finished. 

“I find it amazing that we went from clapping to snapping, who knew A hand movement as simple as clicking one's index finger and thumb together would became a symbol of rebellion among countercultures.”  He simply took a drink of his tea after saying this.

You laughed then whispered, “I didn’t know you were such a big fan of poetry.”

“It’s a predetermined pattern of words that lets people get out their feelings and thoughts on a subject. It’s a artistic form of a rant.” He whispered back.

You smiled, “Is it a good birthday so far?”

“Yeah, it’s up there with one of the best’s. What are you going want to do for yours?”

You thought for a moment, “Be on a tropical island drinking from a pineapple and watching the blue water from the white sandy beaches.” 

This sent Spencer into a long discussion on why the water looked blue and how alcoholic beverages that don’t taste that alcoholic are tricky to drink in warm environments: the hotter it is, the more you drink.

“So you don’t want to get drunk in the Bahamas with me?” 

“I will take mine without the alcohol, but I would enjoy the beach.” He said, smiling.

He was happy he found someone who would let him ramble and never get agitated by him. 

#spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #gender neutral reader #romantic relationships #established relationship #hotchner!reader #x reader #series #date night #happybirthday #reader x spencer Reid #romance #fanfic writing #fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction

[chronicially-parker]

hey lovelies

send in requests pleasee, ive been so bored recently and writing gives me something to do other than coursework i cant be bothered to complete ♡

#autism #adhd #actually autistic #neurodiverse #neurodivergent #actually neurodivergent #bi #queer #reader x character #reader x spencer reid #fluff #autistic!reader #spencer reid comfort #adhd!reader #neurodivergent!reader #alexythima #autistic and queer #autistic writer #adhd writer #spencer reid fluff #writing

[blue-florence]

Where are the Spencer Reid x Dumbass reader ?!? I can't relate to y/n having a 200 IQ or whatever

#criminal minds #reader x spencer reid #spencer reid

[roselilies]

#delusional til i die #x reader #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #tom riddle #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #the vampire diaries #the originals #max verstappen x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #klaus mikaelson x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #harry potter #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter x reader #fanfic #fan fiction #girlblogging #girlblogger #charles leclerc

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

#bucky barnes x reader #spencer reid x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #dick grayson x reader #eddie munson x reader #tate langdon x reader #tommy shelby x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #steve harrington x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #astarion x reader #bellamy blake x reader #daryl dixon x reader #din djarin x reader #ghost x reader #jake sully x reader #joel miller x reader #neteyam x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #kaz brekker x reader #mike schmidt x reader #peter parker x reader #sirius black x reader #marc spector x reader #rafe cameron x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #steven grant x reader #x reader #matt murdock x reader

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

#y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #konig x reader #cod x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #konig x y/n #harry potter x y/n #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows x reader #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x y/n #wylan van eck x reader #fanfiction #fluff #angst #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #the umbrella academy x reader #five hargreaves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader

[thatboisus]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

#x reader #reader insert #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #joel miller x reader #matt murdock x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #ethan landry x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader #regulus black x reader #sebastian sallow #tangerine x reader

[lovelyspooks]

Me at 3am clicking “keep reading” on the most jaw dropping, earth shattering, pantie dropping, smutty fic when I have to be up in 3 hours

#it’s a problem #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #jake sully #jake sully x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner

[l0caltiredgirl]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

#don’t get me wrong #smut is great #but a girl wants some angst and fluff #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #matt murdock x reader #steven grant x reader #steve harrington x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan x reader #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #marc spector x reader #javier pena x reader #ellie williams x reader #poe dameron x reader #cassian andor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #logan howlett x reader #daryl dixon x reader #simon riley x reader #bruce wayne x reader #l0caltiredgirl #mike schmidt x reader #sam carpenter x reader #emily prentiss x reader

[natti-ice]

18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

#natti’s 18+ #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #tom riddle x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #peeta mellark x reader #finnick odair x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

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[bethsvrse]

STOP MAKING MY LIL AWKWARD NERDY BOYS BE CONFIDENT AND SO SURE OF THEMSELVES!!! I LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE NERDY NOT BECAUSE YOU FANFIC WRITERS MAKE THEM EGO MANIC ASSHOLES

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