G4rvez-r3id - Mya

Dream A Little Dream

Bf! Spencer Reid x Gf!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer comes home from work and finds you sleeping in bed and he’s completely mesmerized by you as you sleep.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: spencer likes watching you sleep (but not in a creepy way), fluffiest of the fluff, cuddling, talks about weird dreams and dream analysis, spencer is completely infatuated with you 🤭

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! i got this idea bc i love love love cuddling fics with reid 🤭 i wish this man were real so bad :( anyways i hope you enjoy this hehe

“Honey, I’m home,” Spencer smiled gently to himself as he heard the words leave his mouth. He never imagined he’d ever say that out loud to anyone. But now he had you. It was as if he still couldn’t believe it every time he said it.

He’d called out to you but there had been no answer. Granted, it was three in the morning, he figured you were probably asleep by now.

Spencer softly closed the door and he placed his satchel down by the door and removed his converse off from his feet, placing them next to your shoes near the table they’d had near the door. He scrunches his nose as his mismatched socks (he’d opted for a light blue sock paired with a yellow sock with patterns on it) patter on the floor as he walks towards the kitchen.

By the evidence on the stove, you’d made chicken Alfredo pasta. A good chunk of the pasta is left on the stove — you most likely saved it for him because you worry about how skinny he is — and he smiles to himself. At least you ate.

He makes his way over to your guys’ shared bedroom and that’s when he sees it. You’re on the bed, sleeping soundly and bundled up under the covers but sprawled across the bed, holding his pillow, no less and wearing one of his old CalTech sweatshirts. On the bed is your laptop laid far away but not too far where it would fall off the bed. No, it looked like you were in the middle of work and decided to take a break and instead had fallen asleep.

Spencer leans against the doorframe with crossed arms and a warm smile as he watches you sleep. He’d often took advantage of the times where he’d come in from work late.

He liked watching you sleep. But not in a total creep kinda way, absolutely not. He more so liked seeing you so well-rested since you were always up on your feet, dealing with work and stress and never really taking a break from anything since you were so independent. It was one of the many things he liked about you. But in all seriousness, it might’ve been his favorite thing about you.

He adored the way your nose would scrunch while you slept and the way that you snored softly into the pillow. Sometimes, you’d even had a dribble of drool onto the pillow and he even found that cute. He’d found everything cute about you.

Eventually, he’d had enough of just looking at you and decided to join you. The first thing he’d done was remove and close your laptop and carefully place it on the dresser. He even opts to put it on the charger for you.

He begins slipping off his slacks along with his dress shirt and cardigan and puts on a gray t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms and quietly climbed into the covers next to you.

He carefully places his hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly and you stir a bit and scrunch your nose up once more and open your eyes to see your boyfriend, smiling warmly at you.

“Hi, honey.” He whispers and you inhale deeply as you smile sleepily at him. “You’re home!” You cheer tiredly as you scoot closer to him, you head resting on his chest and inhaling his scent as you snuggle as close as you can to him.

“I am home,” He smiles as he holds you impossibly closer. He looks down at you as you keep your eyes closed and hold him as tight as you can. “Are you okay, sweet girl?”

You nod into his chest as you open your eyes and look up at him. “I’m perfect, now that you’re here.” Spencer smiles softly at you as you rest your head again on his chest.

“Were you in dreamland?” Spencer asks with a crooked smile.

There was an abundance of times where you’d dream strange dreams. Like one time you were being chased by a hot dog or the other time you were awake on a gurney while doctors performed open-heart surgery on you. Point of the matter was, you had weird dreams.

And you could brush those off as getting food poisoning from a hot dog and never eating them again or when you fell asleep watching Grey’s Anatomy but you always dug deeper into your dreams.

Like you being chased by a hot dog could meet something that’s entirely harmless is causing you stress or overwhelming you. Or the fact that maybe you had a fear or an anxiety of being awake while having open heart surgery. You were one of the few people in Spencer Reid’s life that read into your dreams. He wasn’t one to believe in dream analysis, but you did. And so he’d often asked what you dreamed about this time, since you had dreams like that so often.

“Mhm,” You smack your lips with a sigh and curled up impossibly deeper into his chest. “This time, I was flying without wings.” You said and he furrowed his brows with an amused smile on his face. “Flying without wings?”

You nod once more, “I was suddenly floating and all of a sudden, I was falling and right before I hit the ground, I woke up.” You told him and he thinks to himself at this.

“When you dream about falling and then suddenly wake up just before hitting the ground, it's usually due to a "hypnic jerk,"” Spencer tells, being the rambler he was. And you gladly listened every time. The first time you’d gone out with him, he kept apologizing about his rambles about whatever was on his mind. You assured him that you really didn’t mind, you loved listening to him talk.

“It’s an involuntary muscle contraction that happens when your body is transitioning between wakefulness and sleep, often interpreted by your brain as a sensation of falling, causing you to jolt awake.” Spencer tells and you shrug, “Yeah, it was something like that.”

Spencer smiles softly, pulling a strand of hair behind your ear as he rubs your back, back and forth with his hand. You drifted off for a moment before looking back up at him and he kept his eyes trained right on you. Like you were his only given vice, something worth living for and fighting for. To which, you were. To him, at least.

“How was work?” You asked and he turned away from you as he answers, “We can talk about it later.” Which was code for, ‘I really don’t want to talk about it right now but I mean it when I say we can talk about it later’. And when he was ready, he’d talk about with you. Eventually, he did.

“Right now, I just wanna stay here with you.” Spencer told and you smile into his chest, “I missed you.” You tell and he chuckles, “I missed you, too, sweet girl. And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You snuggled with him, hiking your leg across his torso and holding onto him as you closed your eyes and your breathing evened once more. He smiles, looking down at you and not wanting to move a muscle to disrupt you. He probably wouldn’t get much sleep tonight since he’d be too busy staring at your sleeping features and silently thanking God you were in his life and that he could share these moments with you.

And in the morning, he’d tell you that he asked Hotch for a few days off in advance because he wanted to spend as much time as he could with you. Your guys’ schedules always seemed to be opposites and the only time you’d ever really get together is in bed, like this. You deserved a few days to be with him and he you.

But for now, he’d let you sleep and veer off into dreamland again.

𝚁𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢.

𝙷𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑.

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𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝 (𝟷𝟾+)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: ~𝟸,𝟽00

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 | 𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:

𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜—𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛

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Spencer was pacing.

Not the nervous kind of pacing—more like slow, calculated orbiting.

He’d been watching you get ready for the last seven minutes and forty-two seconds. You hadn’t noticed at first. You were too busy standing in front of your vanity, applying earrings, smoothing down the satin of your dress.

But now you were definitely aware.

Because every time he passed behind you, his eyes lingered a little longer. His fingertips flexed. His lips parted like he was holding back a hypothesis he wasn’t ready to test aloud.

The dress was red. Of course it was red.

You reached up to adjust your earring, and that’s when he stopped. Right behind you. Close enough to feel.

“You know,” he said quietly, “in over sixty-five percent of controlled visual studies, men identified red as the most arousing color a woman could wear.”

You didn’t turn. Just met his gaze in the mirror.

Spencer licked his lips, hands twitching at his sides. “Something about the neurological association with warmth, intensity, fertility… They don’t always know why they respond. But they do. Viscerally.”

You arched a brow. “Is that what you’re doing? Responding viscerally?”

He stepped closer—just one pace—and placed his palms lightly at your hips.

“No,” he murmured. “What I’m doing is falling apart.”

You laughed softly, adjusting the other earring. “Over a dress?”

“Not just the dress,” he said, voice dropping a full octave. “The neckline. The hemline. The color. The shape. The way you’re… not even trying to look at me right now, and it’s still driving me out of my mind.”

You glanced at his reflection. “I’m pretty sure you’ve memorized all of me.”

“I have,” he breathed. “But you keep redefining the data.”

He leaned in slowly, his nose brushing the side of your neck.

“Want to know what else I read today?” he asked against your skin.

You didn’t answer.

“Eighty-seven percent of women,” he continued, “report fantasizing about being touched like this.”

One hand slid from your hip up your stomach. He didn’t grope. He traced. Like mapping sacred geometry.

“Standing in front of a mirror,” he whispered, “watching a partner look at them like they’re art.”

His other hand followed, now brushing just under the curve of your breasts. “Told they’re perfect. Worshipped. Known.”

You exhaled shakily. His eyes flicked to your reflection—every microreaction cataloged, filed.

“Is that what you want?” he whispered.

Your body gave you away. It arched. Your thighs pressed together.

Spencer inhaled sharply. “Thought so.”

He brought both hands higher, fingertips ghosting over your chest as his lips hovered just beside your jaw.

“Say it,” he said gently.

You blinked. “Say what?”

He met your gaze in the mirror. “Say you’re my pretty girl.”

You swallowed, cheeks flushing.

“Spence—”

“Say it,” he murmured, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “Please.”

Your lips parted. The words were hesitant, but not shy.

“I’m… your pretty girl.”

He let out a shaky breath like it hurt to hold it in. “Yes. You are.”

His right hand slid lower, past your navel, until it was between your thighs—touching lightly, still through fabric. He didn’t move. Just cupped. Pressed.

You jolted slightly at the contact, gasping as he whispered directly into your ear.

“Say you’re the only thing I think about when I’m alone.”

You choked on a breath.

“Spe—”

“I do. Constantly. In hotel rooms. In elevators. On planes. Every quiet moment, it’s you.”

His fingers moved slightly, circling now. Pressure light. Intention razor-sharp.

“Say it.”

Your eyes fluttered. “I… I’m the only thing you think about.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

Your hips bucked into his hand.

“I want you to look at yourself,” he said softly. “See what I see.”

You tried, gaze wavering.

“I said look.”

Your eyes returned to the mirror.

“There,” he whispered. “That’s my girl. That’s my pretty, dangerous girl who knows exactly what she’s doing when she wears red.”

You whimpered. He smiled.

And then he touched you for real.

His fingers slipped under your panties, and you cried out softly—but his hand over your chest, and the way he held your gaze, kept you grounded.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “It’s just me. Just my hands. Just this body I’d do anything for.”

You moaned softly as his fingers circled your clit. He moved slow. Measured. Intentional.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “how many other men could touch you like this and get this response?”

Your mouth opened. No sound.

“None,” he answered for you. “Because your body already knows who you belong to.”

He kissed your neck again, sucking lightly below your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Say it.”

You moaned, back arching into him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

And God—he grinned.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Spencer.”

His fingers moved faster. “Louder.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

“Yes,” he groaned. “And I’m yours.”

His hand didn’t stop until your legs trembled and your breathing hitched, your head falling back against his chest.

He kissed your temple. Whispered your name like prayer.

Then, slowly, he pulled away. Smoothed your dress. Fixed your hair.

“Now we can go to dinner,” he said softly, smirking.

You turned and stared at him. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “Statistically? Probably.”

“But also? You love it.”

G4rvez-r3id - Mya

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Dream A Little Dream

𝚁𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜