Dream — Twisted [Spencer Reid x Reader]
A.N.: So, here we go! Thank you so much for your wonderful support and lovely messages during my break my loves, they mean so much to me and ily! On my break, I binged a lot of shows, and Criminal Minds and Prodigal Son were two of them, but if you haven’t watched them don’t worry because it will not be following a specific canon plotPlease let me know what you think and enjoy!
Warnings: Murder, drug use, serial killers, violence, manipulation
Summary: No one can choose their family.
If it were another time, you could’ve at least attempted to convince yourself how everyone had problematic childhoods. Focusing on something else usually worked, per the advices of countless psychiatrists your mother had forced you to go after the-
Just the thought of it was more than enough to make your blood freeze in your veins, but you were soon snapped out of your thoughts when your phone started ringing. You checked the caller I.D, and heaved a sigh before you touched the screen.
“Please tell me you’re not going there.” Your mother’s voice filled the car and you pressed your lips together.
“Every time you go there and visit that man in that wretched prison cell of his, he manages to get into your head!”
“That’s not what’s going to happen,” you said, keeping your eyes on the road, “You have no reason to worry.”
“I have every reason to worry!” she snapped, “We promised that we wouldn’t let him worm his way into our lives.”
“Yeah well, FBI begs to differ,” you forced yourself to say, “You’ve seen the news—“
“I don’t want to hear this,” she cut you off, then heaved a sigh, “It’s terrible enough to hear it once, let alone twice.”
You never really had the luxury of ignoring all the terrible things on the news, especially after what had happened. Ever since you were a child, the nightmares wouldn’t leave you alone, and you weren’t as good as your mother at ignoring what was happening while you were awake.
“You could’ve said no.”
“I really couldn’t,” you mumbled and she clicked her tongue.
“Well then,” she said, trying to pull herself together, “I expect to see you at brunch, even your sister is coming. It won’t take long, will it?”
“It won’t take long to see my serial killer father and find out whether he is helping another serial killer even if he’s been behind bars for years?” you asked, “No mom. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Sarcasm will give you wrinkles.”
“Oh yeah, tragedy.”
“Call me as soon as you leave there,” she insisted, making you smile. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” you said as you pulled over in front of the building. Even the sight of it was enough to make your stomach flip and you felt the bile climbing up your throat.
You did not want to see him.
You had managed not to see him for years now, but now, the news were full of different coverage about a killer whose method of killing was very similar to him.
A flower left in the crime scene, every damn time.
Naturally, FBI wanted a word with the original killer. Less naturally, the original killer refused to speak unless he talked to his younger daughter, who happened to be you.
Yet, the sooner you walked in, the sooner you would walk out, and that was the only thing that offered any kind of consolation.
“God damn it,” you mumbled to yourself as you left your car, and made your way into the building. They patted you down, made you go through the x-ray and sign the papers before you entered the hall.
There were two men that weren’t in official prison guard clothes, which made you think these were the FBI agents you had talked to on the phone. For some reason, you hadn’t pictured them like this, but you didn’t know any agents so maybe this was the norm.
If it were any other time, you could’ve noticed how handsome they both were, but your mind was way too occupied.
“Ma’am,” the dark haired one stepped closer to you, “I’m Special Agent Luke Alvez, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”
Even if Agent Alvez looked like the ideal FBI agent that was pulled out of an action movie, Dr. Reid looked more like a young, handsome professor, the ones that you dreamed would be at your university when you were still at high school.
Needless to say, that fantasy hadn’t come true much to your disappointment.
You shook your head, trying to focus.
“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You shook hands with him, and smiled at Dr Reid, “Hello.”
“Thank you for coming.” His smile was soft, much like his gaze, “I imagine it’s not easy for you.”
You forced yourself to shrug, “Yeah it’s…” you trailed off and cleared your throat, “It’s fine.”
“So far we have seen five murders all over the country, in different areas but the crime scene has your father’s signature. It most likely means there are multiple copycat killers, and given your father’s past, he might be the mastermind behind it. He contacted us, but refuses to say anything unless he spoke to you.”
The goosebumps rising on your arms felt almost familiar.
“I haven’t been educated in any interrogation techniques.” You said, “And knowing him, he’s not just going to give that information to me.”
“People give information about a lot of things even when they don’t realize it.” Dr Reid said, “We will be outside, watching and listening.”
“I’ll talk to the guards to see if he’s ready, excuse me.” Alvez said and he walked away while you nibbled on your lip.
“How does a serial killer have this many privileges?” Reid asked you, “He has a private cell, books, TV…”
“Money,” you said slowly, “Money buys lawyers, lawyers buy freedom. Or the closest thing to freedom, given the circumstances. If you ask me, he should’ve been rotting in a hole but…” you trailed off, leaning back to the wall and took a deep breath, counting in your head.
“That’s a good exercise to calm down,” Reid said and your head shot up.
“The 4 7 8 breathing exercise. I’m guessing a psychiatrist taught you that.”
“Several psychiatrists taught me that,” you stated, raising your brows, “You’re observant aren’t you professor?”
You clenched an unclenched your fists, your eyes darting around the hall,
“This is not helping,” you said as you exhaled a breath, “I need a cigarette, or twenty.”
“What do you do?” his question was so out of nowhere that you gawked at him for a moment.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a— I’m a wedding planner.”
He tilted his head, “What’s that?”
“Well you…you know, you help the couples with color palettes, decoration, overall aesthetic, and during the wedding you make sure nothing goes wrong with the venue and the food and the music, all that. You make sure the wedding is perfect, basically.”
He hmmed, “How do I tell if a wedding is perfect? If we were talking sense wise?”
“Well first of all, in terms of looks, the colors need to complement each other,” you said, remembering your favorite events, “When you walk in, you see the garden and it’s well lit, but not too bright. In terms of touch, I guess you would make sure the table covers and such are soft to touch. The music should be slow at first, at least until it starts.”
“How about smell?”
“You can’t really go wrong with faint flower scents. Scented candles are a nice touch too.”
“Something light, most of the time. No one wants to get into a food coma at a wedding and you—“ you stopped as your eyes snapped up to his, a small smile playing at his lips.
He was making you list all the things that would ground you without making you realize you were doing it, so that you wouldn’t lose yourself in panic. It was yet another trick your psychiatrists had told you to do whenever you felt overwhelmed, talking about what you could see, hear, smell, touch and taste. By making you focus on a pleasant memory and remember all those, he was offering you a safe place in your own mind.
But contrary to any doctor, he didn’t make it obvious.
“Well played, professor.”
This time, he didn’t correct you,
“Grounding works most of the time,” he stated as Agent Alvez approached you, “I know this situation is less than ideal, but we will be right outside. You can walk out any time you want.”
“They’re ready.” Agent Alvez said and you nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was slamming against your chest, then followed them to the door. Alvez opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, digging your fingernails into your palm.
His hair had more grays since you had last seen him, and his beard was longer, but that dangerous light in his eyes hadn’t changed. He looked up, a wide smile appearing on his face as his eyes searched yours.
“Sweetheart!” he said cheerfully, raising his hands a little so that you could see the chains attached to his handcuffs, “It’s been a while, wouldn’t you say?”
Pretending to be calm was something you had practiced so many times that your body knew automatically what to do. The door closed behind you and you swallowed thickly, making sure your face didn’t show any feelings. You slowly approached the table to pull yourself a chair, then put your phone on the table and started the countdown.
He wanted five minutes, and you would be damned if you stayed there a second longer.
“You look so much like your mother,” your father shook his head, “It’s uncanny, really.”
You gritted your teeth, still glaring at him.
“Not your eyes though,” he smiled, “You got your eyes from me. The window to the soul, hm?”
“My soul has nothing to do with you.” The words left your lips before you could stop them and he tut tutted.
“Don’t call me that,” you cut him off, “I hate that nickname.”
That didn’t seem to break his enthusiasm though, much to your displeasure.
“Well, we should catch up,” he said , clapping his hands together, “Are you still with that young man from last year? He’d better be treating you well.”
You blinked a couple of times, “How did you-?”
“I have my sources too.”
“Your sources are slow then.” You stated, “We broke up months ago. Is that all? You brought me here to just talk about my personal life?”
“Why did you break up?”
“Are you really behind all these murders happening right now?” you asked back and he shot you a reprimanding look.
“None of that right now, petal. Business and family shouldn’t be merged, as you know.”
You felt like you would throw up, but managed to hold it together and stole a look at the countdown.
“Why did you break up?”
“Certain differences,” you said, cracking your fingers to distract yourself, and he leaned back.
“I get that,” he said, “If you’re different, you’re different. I always felt that with your mother—“
“Stop that.” You spat out, “Anything I do, including my relationships, it has nothing to do with you. I’m nothing like you.”
“Oh but you are,” he said, “It’s all in your eyes. In that deadly glare of yours. It’s there, isn’t it? That anger? Try to hide it as much as you want, it’s still burning you.”
“There’s nothing burning me,” you said, “You’re fucked up, doesn’t mean I am too.”
“You know, there are many scientists that say murder is in the genes,” he stated, “So it would mean you’re contaminated too, no?”
The panic was pounding through your system, but you managed to keep your expression stable.
“Do you know why I didn’t ask your sister here? Or hell, your mother? Do you know why it is you?”
You stayed silent, your gaze focused on him.
“Your sister loved your mother, but you…. You were always such a daddy’s girl.”
“I don’t even think you cried for your mother whenever you scraped your knees, it was always me.”
“I didn’t know you were crazy when I was a child, guilty as charged. Doesn’t prove anything.”
“It does,” he said, “It proves more than you know. You are going to be my legacy.”
A cold shiver ran down your spine but you took a deep breath, resting your palms on the steel desk.
“No I won’t,” you said calmly, “Sorry to disappoint. I never killed anyone.”
Your father’s smile was almost as serene as your voice.
“Yet,” he pointed out, and you felt your throat tightening. “Ignore it if you want. It’s still there, petal.”
The beep of the phone made you snap out of it and you pushed your chair back, knocking it over in the process.
“Fuck you,” you said through your teeth as you gripped the door knob, “Have fun rotting in here.”
You swung the door open and stepped outside, still trying to catch your breath, and the door next to the interrogation room opened before Reid stepped into your vision. Your hands were still shaking and you desperately needed a cigarette and some fresh air.
But what you really needed was to get out of there.
“I hope you got whatever you guys needed,” you managed to say, wiping at your nose, “Because I’m never stepping a foot here, ever again.”
With that, you walked out of the hall, every cell in your body screaming at you to get away. You ignored the looks from the guards, tears blurring your vision and you left the building as fast as you could, as if someone was chasing you.
As if that could help you escape him.
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If you are looking for my S.R. NSFW Masterlist, please look here.
If you are looking for my S.R. Works in Progress, please look here.
If you are looking for Other MGG Characters, please look here.
If you are looking for my Fics by Category, please look here.
Position in each category below is based on popularity. Works are separated by genre and gender of the reader. Gender Neutral means that no gender identifiers are used.
- Bedtime Stories on the Jet: Spencer and you share the jet couch.
- Drunk Dial: It’s been years since Reader talked to Spencer, but after a bunch of drinks it seems like a really good idea.
- Appalachian: Reader is tired of Spencer purposefully pushing their buttons and demands an explanation.
- Play Dates: Reader finds out Spencer hasn’t had enough dates to play Best/Worst Date with the team and offers several Play Dates, but quickly realizes it’s hard to have a bad date with Spencer Reid.
- It’s Personal: Reader reminds Spencer’s team that it’s never appropriate to ask someone for their age, even if they’re dating their coworker.
- Style Theory: Fashion student Reader meets their favorite scholar and teaches him a lesson in self-love.
- Pipsqueak: The only thing shorter than Reader is their patience.
- Fragile: Disabled!Reader. Spencer has to stay behind on a case and gets to know the new technical analyst.
- Homemade: Stuck in quarantine, Reader decides to make some skincare masks with their boyfriend. They talk about some heavy stuff with green faces.
- The Perfect Plan: Reader has a question for Spencer, but things don’t go according to plan.
- Battle of the Houses: Reid accidentally gets trapped in a Hogwarts House War with Reader, Jack, and Henry.
- Pair of Aces: This Pride month, Reader decides to share something with the team.
- All Mixed Up: Dyslexic!Readerstruggles to order at the restaurant, so Spencer helps them through it.
- Quid Pro Quo: Spencer is entranced by the law student in his class.
- Like Father, Like You: GN!Child. Platonic. In which Spencer’s child comes out as not-straight.
- Diamonds: Spencer comforts Reader when they have a bad pain day.
- Screen: Spencer wears his heart in many places.
- Anticipation: Spencer gives Reader their first kiss.
- Birthday Wish: Spencer is sad he can’t reach you on his birthday.
- Favorite Person: Reader just needs a little extra reassurance sometimes.
- Strawberry Mentos: Spencer and Reader share sweets and something else.
- Pyrotechnics: Reader has a hard time on Fourth of July, and Spencer makes them fall in love with fireworks again.
- The Only Exception: Reader is only just beginning to believe in love again.
- Lavender: Spencer is no stranger to headaches, and he tries to help however he can.
- Adagio: Post-Prison Spencer learns to take things slow.
- Astraphobia: SSA Reader and Spencer share their most embarrassing fears.
- What Goes Up: Spencer breaks the Magician’s code for a very adorable exception.
- Different Dialects: Autistic!Reader. Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.
- Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital.
- Soulmates: Spencer comes to a conclusion during a late night with Reader.
- Intentions: Spencer’s teenage daughter wants to have a conversation with you about your intentions with her father.
- Studious Shadow: Reader’s crush won’t stop avoiding her at work and she thinks he might hate her.
- Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.
- Sharks & Symbiosis: Spencer helps Reader through her time of the month, and ends up talking way too much about fish.
- The Prodigy Path: At a parent teacher conference, Spencer and Reader explain their seemingly unorthodox parenting style.
- Fairytales: Spencer comes home to his very tired wife and even more tired child who refused to go to bed without a bedtime story from their dad.
- Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.
- Fever Dream: Reader makes an accidental confession, which starts the most intense game of hide and seek.
- Defining Family: Spencer finds out he’s a dad… to a twelve year old girl. Your twelve year old girl, who just broke into the FBI.
- Devil’s Advocate: Spencer’s been hooking up with the defense attorney in secret. At some point what was purely physical turned into something else.
- Honeysuckle Hair: Spencer has some words to say about Reader’s curly hair.
- Four in Hand: Spencer needs help with his tie.
- Funny Thing Fate: Autistic!Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.
- Java Jive: Spencer and Emily take a break at the local coffee shop and she makes an understandable mistake about barista Reader and Spencer’s relationship.
- Pumpkin: Spencer can’t handle how cute Reader’s southern accent is.
- Act Your Age: Platonic. Reader was recently released from being held hostage for several years, and for whatever reason, she’s taken a liking to Spencer.
- Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.
- Porcelain: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.
- Dead Air: Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student’s true crime video series, but is surprised to find it’s not so bad.
- Bi the Way: Morgan learns something very interesting about Reid after he leaves his bag at his significant other’s house.
- Pretty Boy: Spencer thinks you’re just the bully who likes to pull his pigtails.
- Happy Hydrangea: TransMan!Reader. JJ is corrected in finding out Spencer has had a boyfriend for a while now.
- Off the Top: TransMan!Reader.Spencer is driving his boyfriend crazy after his top surgery.
* Fem!Reader unless otherwise specified.
❤️ indicates a happy ending
💔 indicates a heartbreaking ending
❣️ indicates an ambiguous ending
- Not Your Backup ❤️:Spencer!POV. Following JJ’s confession, Spencer admits she’s more like a sister to him. Spencer and JJ argue about JJ’s unwarranted jealousy of his girlfriend.
- My Angel❤️: Reader’s been drugged and Spencer has to talk her down.
- Ribcage ❤️: Spencer!POV. Spencer realizes Reader is the one, but it might be too late. He has to find her.
- My Only Chance❤️: The BAU is after one of the most prolific serial killers in the world, but she swears she’s innocent.
- From the Tree ❤️: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny.
- Repentance❤️: (GN!Reader) Spencer is confronted with his second chance at life, finding it full of regrets. Reader tries to talk him through it.
- Haunted❤️: (GN!Reader) Spencer’s never told anyone what happened in prison.
- Moonlight❣️: Spencer tells Reader’s boyfriend how she really feels.
- Storm(Blurb) ❤️: (GN!Reader) Reader has a panic attack.
- Passing in the Night 💔: Spencer learns about Reader’s feelings too late and loses his own battle as a result.
- Forbidden Fruit💔: When Professor Reid falls in love with a student, he learns why Adam choked on the Forbidden Fruit.
- It’s Not You, It’s Her💔: Anti-Reader. Spencer realizes he’ll never love Reader the way he loves Maeve.
- Three’s Company: Spencer and Reader need to ask Luke a question, but they can’t act normal whenever he’s around.
- Car accident on 154 today
- Scottie poodle mix for sale
- Felicity smoak season 5
- 2014 rzr 1000 secondary clutch
Summary: Reader has worked hard to get to the FBI, but a misunderstanding has her feeling insecure.
Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader
Word Count: k
Content Warning: Mention of normal criminal minds stuff briefly.
A/n: I got these two requests and they were so similar I decided to combine them. I hope that’s okay, but I feel like the stories would have been almost identical.
- I have a fic suggestion. Reader pretends to be dumb but is actually really smart. I’m thinking of that quote about marilyn ”you have to be really smart to pretend to be dumb”. One day spencer realizes that reader is smarter than she lets people know.
- Hi! Can I request a spencer reid x reader fic where reader isn’t great with numbers but brilliant with behaviour and humanities (i.e. literature, history, sociology, up to you)? Maybe a dash of insecurity to spice things up?
– Learning Styles –
My favorite professor in college told me that everyone learns differently; what works for one person won’t work in the same way for another. We are all different human beings that are shaped in different ways.
I had always been oddly insecure about my intelligence level. One of my earliest memories was my mother yelling at me while I sat at the kitchen table when I was in first grade. I was the only kid in my class who still hadn’t learned how to read. I just didn’t understand. All of my friends were progressing so much quicker than me and my mother was losing patience.
It wasn’t until my grandmother stepped in that everything changed. My elementary school teacher was training children to read by memorizing sight words, a concept I didn’t understand. When my grandmother sat down and taught me phonics. I distinctly remember everything snapping into place.
I was in 1st grade and reading at a 7th-grade level by Christmas. Once I finally understood my learning style, I really began to thrive.
But no matter what I did, I could still hear my mother yelling at me, telling me I was stupid.
In my line of work, I see just how much the throw away comments that parents make can shape a child’s development. Luckily, those comments just made me a bit insecure, not a murderer.
Up until I was 22, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do beyond this desire I had to help people. SSA David Rossi had come to guest lecture in one of my abnormal psych classes during undergrad. After I heard him speak, I was done. I couldn’t have done anything else with my life. I had obtained my master’s in psychology before I joined the FBI.
It took some time, but I was finally assigned to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I was so excited on my first day that I remember my hands physically shaking.
Until they weren’t.
I can still remember my first day so clearly. SSA Hotchner had introduced me to the team, saving the “best” for last.
“And this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he had said. “He’s our expert on…well, everything.”
Reid was my age and he had his Ph.D. I remember feeling awed by him.
Until I didn’t.
“I hold 3 Ph.D.’s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. I also have BAs in psychology and sociology.”
I remember my jaw almost hitting the floor. While I was impressed by him, I wasn’t insecure about my place on the team.
Until I was.
My grandmother may have helped me master reading, which opened the door to me mastering anything else I put my mind to…except math.
I was fine at statistics, luckily. You couldn’t get a psych degree without a ton of statistics work. But statistics was different, I could see the practical use of statistics. I just couldn’t wrap my head around calculus or algebra.
On my first case with the team, Reid had calculated some insane mathematical equations on the whiteboard, running down the probabilities and applying a mathematical formula to the unsub’s behavior.
It wasn’t until later, after the case was solved when I was standing in front of the whiteboard that my confidence was hit. Reid had come into the room and saw me looking at his work.
“Don’t bother trying to understand it,” he had said. “You’d have to be a genius to understand what I do.”
I didn’t have a word to describe the feeling that settled in my stomach at his words, I wasn’t sure such a word existed. The feeling was cold and heavy, but also made my body burn with shame.
I had just offered him a tight smile before I left the room.
On the plane home I had made a decision. I was no match for Dr. Reid, I doubt anyone was. So, I would take myself out of the competition. I couldn’t get hurt if I wasn’t playing the game.
And that is how the next year of my life went. I allowed Dr. Reid to explain things to me that I was an expert in, never saying a word. I acted like I didn’t understand concepts that I had written papers on. The only thing I didn’t dumb down was my profiling skills. Those were necessary for my job and for saving lives.
I don’t think anyone realized what I was doing.
Until they did.
The team had been called to Colorado to assist in capturing a serial rapist.
All of our cases bothered me, every last one…but something about ones with this vile element really struck me.
We had the unsub’s name, Tyler Childress. He had spent time in prison for sexual assault and burglary. It seems while he was in prison, he spent time perfecting his methods; it was only by pure luck that we found his fingerprint inside the victim’s house, making him the main suspect.
When we paid Mr. Childress a visit, he had managed to get the drop on Prentiss and Morgan, allowing them to escape. Morgan was furious.
All of us were sitting around a conference table in the local prescient while we let Dr. Reid talk.
I was trying to be calm, I was, but my nails were digging into my palm so deeply I was worried I was about to draw blood.
“Guys,” the expert on everything said. “He has to have some sort of accomplice.”
Rossi just sighed. “But the profile doesn’t point to him being the sort to do well with others; he’s a narcissist.”
Reid wouldn’t budge. “I know that, but he isn’t intelligent enough to pull this off alone. He’s just not. He had an IQ test done when he was He scored in the mentally handicapped range. I’m telling you he has to have help.”
“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.
“Positive. I have his results right here.”
“IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence on their own.”
I was so startled that someone had contradicted Dr. Reid that it took me a second to realize it was me who had contradicted him.
He turned to face me; his brown eyes wide. “What?”
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence.”
Dr. Reid laughed. He laughed at me like my comment was funny. “I don’t know where you heard that,” he began.
But I interrupted him. “IQ tests are classist and oftentimes racist. The man who invented the IQ test never intended for it to be used as a complete measure of intelligence. He regretted making the test.”
Reid sputtered. “You…it’s not racist!”
“Yes. It. Is.” I ground out. “If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be illegal to administer an IQ test to a black child in the state of California.”
"Wait, it’s illegal to do that?” JJ asked, her brows drawn together.
“Yes. There was a court case in the s over it. Teachers were using tests to separate white children from black children. The black children were put into special education classes they didn’t need to be in. Just because the teachers didn’t want those children in their classrooms.”
I should have stopped, but I was on a role. “They’re also inherently classist. How can you expect a child to answer a question about Romeo and Juliet if they haven’t heard of it?”
That had Dr. Reid scoffing. “Everyone has heard of it.”
I shot to my feet, unable to hold back anymore. “No, they haven’t. Children in underfunded schools that don’t have access to resources might not have heard about the most famous play in history because their school wasn’t able to provide the materials to teach them about it. There was a study done in a remote part of Russia right after the IQ test was invented. Every. Single. Person. Scored in the mentally handicapped range. Because they didn’t understand.”
I knew my voice was rising but I couldn’t stop myself. “Once the researcher took the questions and applied them to things they understood, they all scored as above average. They didn’t understand math as an abstract concept, but they understood it when it was applied to their businesses, to something they actually knew about.”
I cleared my throat. “The test isn’t fair, it’s not equal. Tyler Childress didn’t go to a good school and he didn’t have a stable home life. You can’t use one measure to calculate his intelligence. He’s gotten away with 7 assaults so far that we know of. He’s not stupid.”
The entire room was silent once I had stopped speaking. I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though. What kind of person was I if I played dumb because I was afraid of being mocked when a monster was out there attacking women? No, those women deserved to have me at my best.
And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t give it to them.
Rossi spoke first, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me. “Took you long enough,” he said. “But y/n is right. We trust the profile; we don’t let personal bias cloud the way. That’s how we catch this bastard.”
Later that day, we were cleaning up the conference room while the local police processed Tyler Childress.
Pathological narcissism is a complex disorder, but we followed the profile and Rossi was right. Hotch set up a press conference in which JJ and Prentiss took center stage. They tore Childress’s ego to shreds on live television.
His narcissism wouldn’t allow that to slide. He got angry, he made a mistake, and we got him before anyone else got hurt.
While the cat was out of the bag about my intelligence and that made me nervous, I couldn’t regret any of it. I got to be the one to tell our last victim that we got him. I got to hug her while she cried because now that he was locked up, she felt like her healing could begin. I wasn’t sure if my rant about structural racism and the classism of IQ tests actually helped anything, but that didn’t really matter. There was one less monster in the shadows.
Today was a good day.
I was alone in the conference room, untacking photos from the evidence board when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned my head to meet the wide, honey brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.
Oh boy, I thought. “What’s up, Reid?”
He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twisting in front of him before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Garcia to look into you.”
My eyebrows drew together. “I’m pretty sure any nefarious things I had done would have popped up on my initial background check.”
“Right, I didn’t mean like that,” he mumbled, the apples of his cheeks turning pink. “I asked her to look into you academically.”
He went on. “You double majored in psychology and sociology before you got a master’s in cultural psychology. She pulled your thesis. I just read it.”
“I see.” I turned my attention back to the board.
“You also guest lecture on cross-cultural psychology at Georgetown several times a year. And you’ve co-authored two papers since I’ve known you.”
Meh, it’s three. But that doesn’t matter. “Did you read those too?”
I took his silence as confirmation.
He was so quiet I almost thought he had left, but the crackle of energy I felt in the air told me he hadn’t. “Do you need something, Dr. Reid?”
"Why didn’t you get your Ph.D.?”
I had answered that question many, many times. “I didn’t need a doctorate to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste time. Once I figured out what I wanted, I charged at it.” Which was a far more honest answer than most people got about that from me.
“W-why did you pretend to be dumb?” he rasped out, causing me to look back at him. “32 days ago, you let me explain the long-term effects of gerrymandering and the complex causes of poverty.”
“Of course, I did,” I said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“One of the papers you authored was about generational poverty.”
“Just because I know a lot about something doesn’t mean I can stop listening to information. That sort of thinking breeds ignorance.” I smiled, unable to not tease him just a little bit.
Reid took a step closer to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a good answer.”
In all the months I had known him, Spencer Reid had never touched me, not even so much as a finger brushing against mine when he handed me something. That fact is why I was so startled when I felt his hand on my upper arm, turning me towards him.
He licked his lips, his eyes darting around. “Did everyone else know?”
I shook my head, my teasing mood long gone. “No. I mean, clearly, Rossi suspected but…No, I didn’t tell anyone else.”
“I just don’t understand. You’re brilliant.”
I scoffed. “No, I’m not. I’m decent a psychology, sociology, stuff like that. I can’t apply math to behavior to find patterns. I can’t even calculate how much something is gonna cost when it’s on sale without a calculator half the time.”
‘What do you…” Reid trailed off. “Wait. The very first case. You were looking at the evidence board.”
Goddamn eidetic memory.
The boy wonder was on a roll now. “I told you that you’d have to…is that why you didn’t tell me?”
What else could I do? I just nodded.
Those brown eyes closed, and he let out a groan. “I said that because I thought you were going to…I was worried…” He huffed out a breath and opened his eyes. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want you to think I was just a nerd.”
Now I was confused. “Why?”
Spencer Reid’s blush went all the way down his neck. “Well…I just…Morgan said I should just talk to you. But I’m not…I’m not good at that. I panic, then I start to ramble. Like I’m doing now…”
“Reid,” I interrupted. “I’m not playing dumb now. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I like you,” he blurted out right before he smacked both of his hands over his face. “Oh my god. I sound like a child.” I thought I heard him mutter idiot under his breath. “Emily says that my IQ gets slashed to 60 whenever I see a pretty girl.”
Much like that moment all those years ago when I was a child, I felt everything click into place. Oh.
I couldn’t suppress my smile any longer. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, we’ve already gone over how IQ tests aren’t a good measure of overall intelligence.”
With that, I quickly stepped away and hurried out of the conference room, leaving a stunned genius in my wake. When I turned back to look at him, I saw his fingers brushing over the place where my lips had just been.
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#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fan Fiction #Spencer Reid fan fiction #Spencer Reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer read x y/n #Dr. Spencer reid #dr. reidSours: https://moon-light-jukebox.tumblr.com/post//learning-styles-reid-x-reader
I know this is def not my normal content because y’all know I’m a huge Hotch girl, but sometimes I slip back into being a Reid girl. It’s hard not to! I see a lot of myself in him and it led me to write this, so enjoy this (very real, actually) glimpse inside my head in the form of a fluffy Reid story xx.
I listened to “Normal” by AJR a lot while I wrote this!
Summary: Spencer has recently returned to the BAU after a short period of leave, and he comes back to find you, an agent-in-training filling his Resident Genius shoes. He admires you for who you are. You think he hates you. He tries to convince you otherwise.
DR. SPENCER REID MASTERLIST
At first, you thought it was because of the way you read books.
You’ll never forget the first day you met the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He had returned from leave for his injured knee (he was shot, you were told) and this was apparently the second time he had attempted to step foot in the office. The first time didn’t go over well when Hotch found Spencer’s file that said his doctor did not clear him for work yet.
Regardless, you were sitting in your desk chair, legs crossed underneath you, “like a human pretzel,” Morgan always teases. You were reading a book, one of your favorites, to pass the time when Spencer walked in.
You knew it instantly because Morgan’s loud and affectionate, “Pretty. Boy!” could be heard all over the BAU.
You didn’t get up from your chair or stop reading – besides the brief moment when you looked up to see what the commotion was about.
You still remember your internal monologue. Should I get up and hug him like Morgan? No, no, I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to hug anyone today, anyway. Shake his hand? You remember your hand tensing at the mere thought. Okay, not that either. I could wave, but I can’t tell if I even need to. I’ll just keep reading.
You had heard of Spencer before this. Hotch made it abundantly clear to you and the team that you were not replacing Spencer when you joined. You aren’t even officially a member of the BAU yet. You’re on a bit of a trial run, so to speak. That’s how Hotch explained it.
Yes, you were and still are well aware that the timing looks awful. An agent who is vital and loved in the BAU is shot and out of work right as a new, younger, and less experienced but surprisingly intelligent agent steps in for a “trial run” (which no one ever does).
To anyone else, it obviously looks like you were sent here to replace Dr. Reid under the disguise of a short “trial run.”
But that isn’t the case at all.
You thought Spencer didn’t like you because of the way you read books. You immerse yourself in them. You use a pencil to track what line you’re on, so nearly every page has a vertical, light gray line in the margin where the tip of your pencil lead barely grazed the page. You underline keywords and phrases. You draw arrows. You write commentary in the margins.
You thought that was what annoyed him until you saw him highlighting a book and writing in the margins, too. He doesn’t even necessarily need to, especially since he can read so damn fast and remember everything.
That’s also what you suspected – that he didn’t like you because you could read almost as fast as him.
Keyword here: almost.
You can scan a page and spit the information back out in layman’s terms, sure. But you won’t remember what you read in great detail the next day, sometimes even the next hour – especially when you were sort of filling the Resident Genius shoes and you’d have to read through stacks of evidence every hour.
You had thought your speed was just another thing Spencer didn’t like because it was just one more thing pointing to the conclusion that you were hired to replace him.
But he doesn’t care. You gladly let him read the evidence and memorize it, but you’ll help him out sometimes by scanning something first to see if it might have what he’s looking for. If it might, then he goes through and catches the fine details.
He’s never once acted as he hates you – even though you’ve had “friends” who hated your guts and you had no idea (true story: high school is brutal and you were always shocked when your childhood best friend told you how “fake” others were acting toward you). But you’ve tried to look for specific signs, and he shows none of them.
You’re grasping at straws at this point. You’re on a profiling team and you had to Google how to tell if someone hates you. It’s pathetic, truly.
He doesn’t avoid you – but he also is a really private person like you who likes his time alone.
He doesn’t drop a conversation with you after it’s been started – but he also rambles so much anyway that you don’t know if he himself is capable of dropping a conversation abruptly.
He doesn’t avoid eye contact with you – but even that one is tricky because you’re still working on it yourself, and you definitely have some days where you avoid eye contact. Sometimes you can hold it too well, though, and you always wonder if that’s rude.
Going through the rest of the signs that you found on Google goes exactly like that. He hasn’t done it, but then again… There’s always a catch.
It’s a straight week of this before you finally cave and go to the one person you know you can always trust.
“Morgan, does Reid hate me?”
Derek stops stirring his coffee and tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What?” He goes back to stirring before tossing the stick in the trash. “Kiddo, why would he hate you?”
You misread this, too, and think Derek is confirming that Reid has hated you all along. “I don’t know. Why would he? What did I do?”
Morgan pauses, staring at you for a second before he realizes. “Ah, alright. It’s not clicking?”
You and Morgan have this phrase for when things completely fly over your head. “It’s not clicking?” is all he has to ask and all you have to do is nod, and he explains things to you.
So, you nod.
“Okay, listen, he does not hate you,” Morgan says. “I mean that. He’s been struggling to get settled after being out, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s far from hating you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just, trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”
“Okay,” you say slowly. You do trust Morgan, but somehow his words don’t ease your mind this time. “Should I talk to him about it? Or is that overstepping?” You pause. “I don’t wanna be annoying.”
“Kiddo, you’re never annoying,” Morgan smiles, raising his coffee at you. “I’m serious. And sure, if you think talking to him about it will help, go for it.”
“Okay… How do I ask him?”
Morgan shrugs. “Say you’ve felt like there’s been underlying tension and you want to clear the air.”
“Underlying tension and I want to clear the air. Got it,” you chant to yourself. “Thanks, Morgan!”
Fast forward an hour or two and you finally have enough courage worked up to confront Spencer. The first hour was spent rehearsing what you plan to say and the second was spent rehearsing what you might be asked and what you can say. And finally, you were ready to walk around the set of cubicles to get to Spencer’s.
Spencer looks up when he sees you walking over and he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, Y/N, I just found this really good book about the strategies of–”
“I’ve felt like there’s been a lot of underlying tension between you and me and I wanna clear the air,” you blurt.
Spencer pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“Are you mad at me?” You try again.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Do you hate me?”
“What? No!” Spencer sets his book down on his desk. “Of course I don’t hate you.”
“Oh…okay,” you nod slowly. “That’s…that’s all then.”
As you’re turning around to go back to your, Spencer stands. “Wait, Y/N.”
You raise your eyebrows in question. “Oh, right,” you chuckle nervously. “What book did you want to tell me about?”
“Oh,” Spencer looks down at his desk, then shakes his head. “I’ll tell you that later, I wanted to ask first if…if you wanted to get dinner later? There’s a reading downtown for this new poet and I thought you’d like to go.”
“Oh,” you nod. “Yes, I was actually already going, but yeah. We can get dinner.” You mentally rearrange things in your schedule as you speak.
“Okay,” he smiles softly. “Oh, the book. Here, you can–” He pauses and grabs a chair, rolling it over for you.
Derek watches from his desk as the two of you sit down and Reid starts rambling.
You and Spencer leave straight from the BAU to get dinner before the reading.
One thing you’re grateful for that comes with spending time with Spencer is that you never have to worry about conversation. He carries it and if there’s ever a silence, he fills it. Or, like tonight, the two of you enjoy a mutual silence.
You opted for a table outside on the patio because the dinner rush was crowding the restaurant indoors, and it made the lights seem a little too bright. You could feel a headache coming on when Spencer asked if the two of you could sit outside.
It’s a little chilly outside, so you guys are alone, but you’re both always bundled up, so you aren’t cold. Spencer is always in some form of layers and a scarf, and you are, too. Minus the scarf, though, because some days it doesn’t feel right on your neck (and lately it doesn’t). But you’re always in a sweater and a cardigan.
Winter is your favorite season because of this. You can wear as many layers as you need and not suffer from a heatstroke.
After a quiet dinner (that you actually kind of needed, though you didn’t realize it at first), the two of you walk down the street to the small bookstore where the poetry reading is taking place.
“So, you said you were already coming,” Spencer begins.
“To the poetry reading,” he clarifies.
“Oh, right,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, unfazed. “Do you read a lot of poetry?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve always loved it, I think. I write some, too, but I don’t know how good it is. Probably not very since I’m in the FBI.”
Spencer laughs softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Do you write poetry?” You ask.
He shakes his head. “Not often, but sometimes.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I like it. Not enough to do it for a living, of course. Actually, I almost got a Masters in Poetry a few years ago.”
“I can’t imagine being a poet,” he says, slowing his steps as you reach the bookstore. “But I guess that’s why I’m not one.”
You’re not sure what else to say, so you stay quiet while he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside.
Bookstores are your forever safe haven. The quiet stacks, the mutual agreement between everyone inside not to speak to anyone else unless it’s dire. Not to mention, being surrounded by words.
Even events like these are small. Every event you’ve been to, you’ve been one of maybe twenty people attending. It’s your Heaven. It’s the kind of social interaction you’re somewhat good at.
Spencer is surprised when you willingly sit in the front. He would’ve expected you to sit at the back, in the middle row, even, but not the front center. He doesn’t question it, though. He just quietly sits next to you.
You pull the poet’s book out of your bag and it’s a well-worn copy. You flip through the pages and Spencer catches glimpses of underlined words, commentary, everything that lets him know this must be your favorite.
“Do you um…” Spencer pauses, waiting until you tilt your head, showing your attention. “Do you come to readings here often?”
“Every month,” you nod. “It’s a weird routine I’ve had ever since I moved here. I went to readings almost every week in college, and I didn’t want to stop.”
“I don’t come to a lot for poetry,” Spencer says. “Mostly novels – and mostly conventions for academia-based writings.”
“Those have always scared me,” you chuckle, only half joking.
“Oh, just the idea of hundreds of people crowded in a hall. That kind of thing just isn’t my speed.”
“You know, if it’s too scary to go alone, you’re welcome to come with me,” Spencer offers.
“There’s one next Friday,” Spencer says. “If we’re not out on a case, we can go together, right after work.”
“Okay, yeah,” you smile. “What time?”
“It starts at 7, so we could leave work at and get dinner beforehand.”
You mentally begin piecing next Friday together in your head and you nod, thankful for his mention of specific times. “That sounds good.”
Soon the chairs around you are filled and you recognize a few people who smile at you, so you smile back. Before long, the manager of the store is stepping up to introduce tonight’s poet, and Spencer watches you eagerly crack open their book.
Somehow, spending time with Spencer has gotten worked into your routine.
You go with him to academic readings, and he comes with you to your poetry ones. The two of you have dinner together most nights because it’s your routine to eat right after work, and most of the time he’s already rambling about something to you when 5 o’clock hits and you begin packing up your stuff.
Tonight is no different, only this time when you’re walking next to Spencer to the bookstore for another poetry reading, he fills the silence.
“Can I tell you something?”
You pause, but nod anyway, wondering why Spencer is asking this time when he hasn’t before – not that you can recall.
Spencer takes a deep breath. “I know you thought I hated you, and honestly when you told me that, I couldn’t believe it. Because I don’t hate you and I never have. I…I like you a lot, Y/N.”
“Oh,” you let out a breathy chuckle. “I like you too, Spencer. I’m glad you don’t hate me and thanks for saying it again. Sometimes I need the reminder.”
He chews on his lower lip as he listens to you, and it’s obvious you didn’t catch what he is really trying to say. “Y/N, I mean…I like you. I have feelings for you – romantic feelings,” he clarifies, watching your face intently.
You’ve never made the most facial expressions, but when you do, they can be exaggerated. Which is what happens now.
Your eyes widen and you make what looks like a grimace with your lower lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, scrunching your nose. “Have these…have these all been dates?”
Spencer shrugs. “Only if you want them to be. I just like spending time with you.”
“I like spending time with you, too,” you smile softly. “You don’t hate me for not realizing, do you?”
“Of course not,” he laughs. “But I wanted to tell you because I like being honest with you and…if you feel the same, then…we can go from there, but if not, it’s okay. Like I said, I like spending time with you.”
“I do feel the same,” you blurt. “At least, I think I do. I don’t know. I might need to think, but I know I’m interested and…and I know I really like spending time with you.”
Spencer smiles. “Okay, uh…do you– Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”
You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face in that moment, and you nod.
Spencer stretches out his hand and you take yours out of your pocket, hissing through your teeth for a moment at the cold air, but when Spencer’s fingers tangle with yours, you feel better.
Everything feels better when you’re with Spencer.
Reid reader spencer x
She wore stunning black stockings at the waist and a beautiful bra that lifted her luxurious breasts. She covered the groin area with her hand, apparently, she was still a little shy. Do you like.Criminal Minds POVS
And what happened. - I really didn't understand what was going on. - And that's what. - the second unbuttoned his pants and showed me his cock. It was a dark and rather large member, it was immediately clear that it was not native, there were about thirty centimeters.
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And with a laugh she added: - Continue further in your spirit. You will have to buy a new one too. I have already looked after which one. I had to take off my shirt completely.