So Cuteeee

MICHAELA ATE !!! 🙌🙌🙌

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, how did they find out about that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All because you liked a boy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

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

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

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

HES SO GORG JFHDJAKDKAALQLSJJFBDBDHDHDN

matthew gray gubler doing magic in toronto x

i love this so much ❤️

“It gets Stranger”; a crossover!

ALYSSIA THIS WAS SO GOOD!!! EVERYONE GO LIKE, COMMENT AND REBLOG RN 😠 MY GIRL ATE UP HER FIRST FIC !!!

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

══════════════════

The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

══════════════════

If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

A bookstore meet cute I wish I could experience | Spencer Reid

Category: Fluff with S4 awkward, nerdy rizz Spencer

Warnings: use of Y/N, unedited (tenses keep shifting, sorry)

A/N: this is just 1.8k words of self indulgent self insert. Like this is inspired by some unpleasant experiences I've had talking with men about books in the past lol, and reader's responses defensive responses had been me at some point. i feel like a conversation with Spencer Reid would heal me, thus this fic. Also, save me, s4e9 Spencer Reid, save me.

He seemed like a fixture to the bookstore, if fixtures moved on their own. Or if they moved up and down the aisles with elegant fingers tracing the spines of the books on display. Or if they dressed like a rumpled professor, complete with the black rimmed glasses. He just seemed like he was part of the space, and you thought that every bookstore should probably come with one - a tall, attractive nerd who drifted all over the room like some sort of phantom. Maybe that would help with the literacy problem. It certainly would bring more people in, make them more interested in reading.

You've been trying to figure him out from afar, as subtle as you can. You're not a creep, after all, but he cuts such a lonely figure that you couldn't help but wonder if he needed some company. A part of you wonders if he's noticed you as well. This store is your late afternoon treat, after all. You come here every Friday, without fail, even when you know the inventory is unreplenished, simply to bask in the presence of books.

And then he started coming in regularly, and you had another reason to come.

You never approached him. Something about simply knowing he's there, while remaining a stranger, is thrilling. You can romanticize him if he's a stranger, project all the wholesome fantasies and book boyfriends you have upon him with no sense of accountability.

It also means you avoid the disappointment if he turns out to be another condescending know it all, eager to put you and your reading habits down because oh your tastes are so girly.

No, this was better. You're a flaneur, you tell yourself, you're here to be part of the space and observe from within, even though you doubt this is what Baudelaire had in mind when he wrote that essay and defined the term.

Still.

You smile to yourself, crouching down to check the books on the lower shelf, and also to catch a glimpse of his legs. He'd been on the other side of this shelf for the past five minutes, and you've gotten a soft chuckle when you saw his mismatched socks.

However, his lean form is nowhere to be seen. He seems to have moved to another aisle. With a small frown, you move to stand up, only to feel a tug.

“Shit,” a quick glance down reveals that a familiar looking shoe has accidentally stepped on your long skirt. You hadn't realized it billowed out around you when you knelt down.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!”

You look up and realize why the shoe looks familiar. It's him. You couldn't see him in the other aisle because he'd moved to your side, so silently you hadn't even heard him.

“Sorry, oh gosh, I didn’t notice.” He steps off quickly, and you watch as his cheeks bloom bright pink. A pink that quickly travels down his neck.

You stifle a laugh at how easily he blushed. “It's fine.” Your attempt to stand is more successful without his foot pinning the fabric of your skirt to the ground.

“I've messed up your skirt though.” He says, looking at the brown smudge left behind on the skirt.

“It's no big deal, it’ll come out.” You shrug, getting a good look at him this time. He's taller than you thought, with a sharp bone structure that's softened by large, hazel eyes and pouty lips. His hair is slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck, the color a soft brown that matches his eyes. Yeah, one of him should really come in every bookstore, you think.

“O-okay, uh, if you're sure…” He says, rubbing his hands on his pants. A nervous energy emanates from him, disrupting your idea that he's calm and tranquil.

Oh well, there goes that fantasy. Still, you wonder if maybe he's nervous because of you.

“I still feel bad though,” He adds, looking around, “Uh, how about I buy you a book for the inconvenience?”

“It's hardly an inconvenience,” You laugh, “But hey, I won't say no to a free book.”

He perks up, “Great. I'm Spencer, by the way.”

“Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Spencer.”

He repeats your name, and you find yourself enjoying the shape his mouth makes as he tests it out, lips and tongue wrapping around the syllables as if he wants to commit the way it feels in his memory.

You mentally kick yourself in the ass, wondering if you've read too many romance novels.

“Likewise,” He smiles, and you have to remind yourself that it's rude to stare at the lips of someone you just met. It's not your fault he has such pretty dimples, and you had the urge to count them. He continues, “So what kind of books do you like, Y/N? Romance?”

Your eyes narrow at that. You wonder how to answer. Yes? Would he judge you if you say yes? Is he one of those guys, the ones who only read heavy, intellectual books and look down on people who read fluff? Do you want to try and impress him by saying no, by scoffing and saying something like of course not I’m looking for a copy of Swann's Way by Marcel Proust? (which is the most “impressive” book you can think of at the moment). The idea seems too gross, too I'm not like other girls, and you immediately cross it out.

“And if I do?” you ask instead, surprised by the edge to your voice.

He blinks, then shrugs, looking entirely innocent. “Then we should head to the romance shelf over there.”

Once again, you're surprised. Some part of you had been expecting a smirk, maybe a roll of his eyes, that look you get when you even dare to bring up the romance genre. But, no. He starts walking to a different part of the store and you're forced to follow.

“Why did you think I read romance?” the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

He ducks behind a shelf, his hair falling down and hiding his face but you get a glimpse of the bright red skin of his neck. He's blushing again.

“Well, it's - ah - that is, I've noticed you here before, and you always seemed to hang out here in the romance section.” He says in a rush, his head still angled away from you.

You feel simultaneously called out, and a little giddy. So he's noticed you, just as much as you'd noticed him.

“So you're a stalker.” You can't help but tease.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between an indignant sputter and a scoff. “What? No! I just happen to be very observant, it's a skill I've learned to hone for my job, and you're not very hard to remember-” He cuts himself off, peeking at you with a horrified look on his face.

Laughter tumbles from your lips, and you clamp your teeth down your bottom lip to stop.

“I was teasing you.” You say, trying to fight the giggles.

He seems relieved, but the crease on his brow remains, a sign of his previous embarrassment.

“And you're right. The romance section has the biggest amount of secondhand books that I can read while I'm here.” You explain. This aisle also gives you the best view of the nonfiction section, which he frequents, therefore giving you the perfect spot to observe him over the past few weeks. Though you leave out that part.

“Ah,” He nods, looking around, “See anything you like?”

“No, I'm actually looking for a copy of The Hobbit right now.”

He lights up, “Oh, you're a fan of Tolkien too? I love him, he's such a genius and completely innovated the fantasy genre! So much so that he - wait, if you're looking for The Hobbit, why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“You just started walking.” You reply, smiling at him. He's adorable when he becomes so animated, hands waving around like his body can't contain his excitement and has to find ways to express them physically. “Had to follow you. But anyway, I'm assuming you've read The Hobbit?”

He accepts your explanation easily, then nods his head. You can't help but compare him to a puppy, so eager and nearly frantic in his excitement.

“I've read every Tolkien book.” He says, and you're surprised to find his voice contains no hint of superiority, or cockiness. Just genuine joy. It's refreshing, “Including The Silmarillion."

“Oh wow,” You laugh, aware of the reputation that tome carries, “I've only seen the Lord of The Rings movies.”

“Well that's not sufficient at all! You're missing out on so much history,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhm, well help me find The Hobbit first, before I move on to the trilogy.” You reply, already walking over to where you know the fantasy books are.

He follows you, smiling bashfully, “You know, I have copies of all the books… I can just lend them to you, if you want.”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder in surprise. “You'd let a stranger borrow your books?”

“Only if you promise to take care of them.” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I swear on my life, I will not tarry your precious copies of Tolkien's masterpiece.” You make a cross over your heart for emphasis, which makes him laugh. This time, you stare at his lips shamelessly, enjoying the dimples that appeared from the action.

“Okay, maybe we meet up over coffee sometime?” he asks, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I'll bring the books.”

You fight the urge to squeal. Your body refuses to contain the giddiness, and the sound compromises by coming out as a giggle.

“Yeah, sure.” you watch as he digs into his pocket, handing over a card. “Oh, how very professional.” You say playfully, accepting the slip of paper.

He ducks his head, and you see the beginnings of the blush creeping down his neck. It feels exhilarating, being able to make him blush like this.

“It's just more practical.” He mumbles.

You grab your phone quickly, typing in his number and giving it a call, so that your number goes through his as well. “I'll give you a call. But, you still owe me a book for this.” You motion at your skirt, at the stain of his footprint on the fabric.

He chuckles, “Of course. Can't go back on my promise.” he looks around the store and you're taken by the sight of him, looking like he's part of the space, like he simply belongs here. And this time, with you standing next to him, with him. “Take your pick.”

“I'm pretty indecisive.” You say playfully.

“I have time.” He smiles, and you find he has two dimples on one side of his face, and only one on the other. Your chest feels heavy with something that you can't quite put a name to yet, but you're eager for more of it.

OMG i loved Anything for Ellie, it was so cute!

thank you!! 💛

Louder…

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Sunshine Shy!Reader

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

Category: Smut

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

Author’s Note: lowkey not proud of this ugh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, we finished the documentary.”

FHFJDJDDJJDJDKDJDJDKDLSOFU AT JCJH sorry just smashed my head against the keyboard oops 🧍‍♀️