Spencer Reid Glasses Novels & Stories

I spotted Spencer and Ryder across the crowd, his eyes locked on mine for a brief moment before he nodded and continued on his way. Ryder stood at around 6'1" with a lean yet athletic build, honed from years of running and training in the woods. His skin had a warm, golden undertone, a testament to his mixed heritage, unlike my pale own. His grey eyes were a striking feature, seeming to gleam with a mix of intensity and kindness, depending on his mood.

“Come on in.” He returned to see Spencer sitting in the chair, facing the door. The smirk on his face wasn’t friendly. He hadn’t changed that much since the last time he saw him. He was taller and his hair a little longer. The dark strands were curly and bangs in his eyes. He tossed them away, revealing his own dark circles.

Reed was in the same position I had left him, except half sitting on the bed when I walked out, seeing me he stood up, pillow in front of him again, "I think we need to take you to the doctors again," "Shut up, just imagine me three centimetres shorter, twenty kilograms lighter and well longer hair," "What?" I groaned, "Come closer," Reed paused raising an eyebrow, "You're not going to slap me are you," "No," I rolled my eyes, which was so much easier to do without contacts. I just put them on early in the morning and then take them out before I go to bed, I wasn't that bad that I needed glasses twenty-four seven. I was fine in the house it was when I needed to go outside and read stuff and

he shot back quickly, his eyes flicking to me with a smug grin. “You keep saying that, but I don’t see her wearing a ring, and if there’s one thing she never takes off, it’s her wedding band—even when her spouse gives her every reason to,” I said, knowing Reese better than he could imagine, the memories of our past searing through me. Spencer snorted. “You know that doesn’t mean anything, right?” “Just like your word doesn’t mean a damn thing to me,” I fired back, making him laugh scornfully.

“Ariel is so happy.” “Ariel, what would you like to have for dinner?” Before Ariel could reply, Spencer beat her to it. “I’ll be taking her for dinner.” Bree’s gaze swept over him, her eyes looking him over from his head down to his toes. He had his hair combed backward with a faint glint of a gold earring on his ear. She wondered when he started wearing one. The Spencer from five years ago hated stuff like those. He was in his signature suit and a long jacket that stopped at his ankle.

A wide smile shone on his face, and wrinkles formed on the corner of his eyes. Abigail’s expression froze to see him, and her grip on Xander’s arm tightened. Her pupils expanded in shock. Owen Reid was the older version of Charles. His jawline, prominent cheekbones, sharp nose, and mostly his chocolate brown eyes under the black-rimmed thin glasses were so similar to those of Charles.

Her lips and cheekbones equally so. “Hello, Daughter.” “Hello, Bastard.” “I see you are without a sparring partner.” Reid casually picked up a pair of hand wraps and pulled the fingerless padded gloves onto his hands, securing them tightly at the wrists. He could feel his pulse rise with anticipation. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped onto the padded mat with bare feet. Raising his fists, he challenged, “Come at me.” “I’m not going to fight you.” “What’s the matter, baby girl? Now that it’s real life and not some nonsense video game, are you afraid you’re not the badass you thought you were?”

I ordered him, frowning as his gaze lifted to me again. "But I like looking at you, Melissa." A grin tilted one corner of his mouth as he stared down at me. "I like looking at you a lot. Did I ever mention how much I miss the days when you still wearing thick glasses and I'm going to remove that so I can kiss you properly?" What the hell! My nose flared. Why does he have to go back to my stupidity then? I was about to say something when Reid shouted. I saw my son barely able to paint his face. It looked sharp at Wright. "I'll be late."

~Fallon~ “Do we want an orchestra or a live band?” Reid was sitting cross-legged on the couch, flipping through a high-end wedding planner binder his assistant had couriered over that morning. His reading glasses—yes, he wore those now when he wasn’t trying to prove a point—slid dangerously low on his nose. He looked so serious, like we were negotiating a hostile merger. One leg was propped on the coffee table. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, his sleeves rolled, and for a second I just watched him. This man I had loved, lost, and found again—now buried in calligraphy options like it was the fate of the nation.

The maids looked at themselves and slowly walked out of the room in procession. Iryna had gotten suddenly happy ever since her meeting with Reynold Spencer in the park, earlier in the day. She still remembered the gentle manner in which he spoke, the soft touch of his fingers when he handed her water, and his strong body during the collision. But wait, why was she so happy? She hadn't won the lottery. Iryna stopped drying her hair and stared at her reflection. Of course, the beauty routine had paid off and her skin was smoother. The fact that she ditched her glasses for contacts, which she was still new to, made her eyes look bigger and more alluring.