Oh, you are driving Spencer wild.

Spencer Reid isn’t soft anymore, he isn’t awkward and shy and he’s definitely not lovesick. But, oh my lord, when he sees you. That’s a different story.

You always look so perfect, so put together, and so fucking hot, especially in those delectable outfit checks that you send him every morning. You know what you’re doing, and he knows that you know if too.

He can slowly feel himself becoming more obsessed with you, more possessive, always lingering round you in cases, ordering your Ubers and buying you food. It’s not rare to find him checking up on you, little texts whenever you’ve been out saying ‘text me when you’re there’, and ‘call me when you’re home’.

Fuck. He isn’t this type of person, he doesn’t do this type of shit. And yet he can’t stop himself from swiping up on your stories and dropping flirty comments, things that you always seem to take as jokes.

But it’s not a joke. It’s really not a joke. Oh, how he wishes he could just have you.

You’re not surprised when he starts messaging you late one day after work, message after message pinging through your phone on your bedside table. God, he’s insatiable.

Miss you.

Call me.

Answer, baby.

Thinking about you.

Wish I could eat you.

Been looking at those pictures you sent.