noonew1lleverask

[noonew1lleverask]

Love and Loathing

Y’all, I’m posting again. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW! I don’t know what’s taken over my body, but I’m loving this rush of inspiration, and I hope you guys are, too. This one is more concise because I locked in this time.

Description

You didn’t expect this when you joined the BAU. A young man by the name of Spencer Reid had captured your heart, with no intention of giving it back. You were obsessed at first, simply adoring his mind and aching to know every wrinkle and fold. Then, it deepened into… what? Yearning? Love? You weren’t sure, and you hated it. You were meant to be smarter than this, yet here you were: deep in a pit of self-loathing, all because of this… boy wonder. How will you cope?

Spencer Reid x gn!reader, second-person pov, fluff? angst? No smut🫶

Word count: 1700

Character count:9476

Emotions of wild proportion typically sat snugly beside each other, nestled in arms strong and steady, and under this veil of affection, daggers were pointed at their backs. Under constant threat, love could turn to hatred so easily.

Falling is an unstoppable action. Gravity is cruel as it pulls on your body, demanding the ground to meet you in a forced hug of one-sidedness.

You crashed to the ground when you met Spencer Reid. He was something entirely novel to you, this man. He stood tall at 6’1, with a steady set to his shoulders you frequently found hunched over books. He smelled of something light and sharp, a slip of pine into your every day life, like slowly introducing a new tea into your mornings, adding goals to the end of the week. Unsure how, but utterly grateful, Spencer Reid had become something important to you; pivotal to your mental and physical state. The dependency you felt towards him was unhealthy, and you knew this, but you couldn’t… stop.

The praise he’d deliver to you filled your veins like heroin. It was addictive. The smiles slipped to you across the round-table were consumed greedily, savored like a decadent truffle on your tongue. Everything about the man enamored you. You could have said it was love, but that was jumping the gun by then. You simply found him… incredible, to put it lightly. A genius in the FBI; his mind was a labyrinth you were foaming at the mouth to understand.

Over a brunch with an old friend, your newfound passion for the man was addressed.

“You talk about him like he’s a god or something,” she commented, angling her fork to sink into the corner of the syrup drenched toast on her plate, covered with glistening fruits sitting on a pillowy bed of whipped cream. She scooped up a dollop of whip cream onto her fork alongside the triangle of french toast, and shoved it into her mouth.

“I mean.” You hated when she spoke with her mouth full, but kept your lips glued. “How special can this guy be?”

You wanted to tell her exactly that. Your teeth chattered with restraint as you held back from jumping onto the table and shouting your praises over this man.

God, what had you become?

.

.

.

Late evenings in the bullpen had become a creature comfort to you. You weren’t even sure why. Actually, you were. You were very sure, you just didn’t want to admit how cold your apartment had become, how deep the wound of loneliness had uncomfortably grown. The bullpen carried a lingering warmth from the camaraderie of the day, and you relished in it when you could. Which was a lot.

Most nights were spent alone with the soft yellow of your desk lamp, but some nights a few agents lingered like you. It made you wonder— hope, even— if they were as lonely as you. Maybe they would come up to you, ask you questions about your life out of the blue. You would hate that, you knew you would, but you wanted it anyways.

How the hell did you explain that?

Tonight was one of those nights, and this time, you didn’t wonder if this agent was lonesome. He was. His lashes shadowed his sharp cheekbones, dancing across his skin as they fluttered with each turn of the book laid flat on his desk. It was leather-bound and old, something that looked like it would crumble under the slightest pressure, which explained why Spencer handled it with grace and tenderness. Would he touch someone he loved like that?

You didn’t realize you were staring until he caught your eyes, blinking those dazzling eyes of his owlishly. You didn’t look away— you didn’t know if you could. “Good evening,” he said. Polite and casual, as he always was.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart was in your throat. Swallowing, you steeled your nerves and replied, “Good evening.”

Spencer looked between you and his book, debating, before he finally closed his novel, lowering the cover with trembling fingertips. “You stay late a lot.”

Astute observation, Einstein.

“I do,” you confirmed.

As expected, he asked, “Why?”

Why? Because I cannot go home to a dark apartment. I cannot see the couples dancing on the streets, their laughter echoing up to reach my balcony like a taunt. Because I’m a lonely fool who’s hopefully in love with you, when I don’t even love myself.

“My heating’s broke,” came your answer. You were a good liar. You’d honed the skill after years of family gatherings, of friends who looked past the glassy shine of your eyes. “It should be fixed soon, though.”

“Your heating’s been broken for… two weeks, and you’re just now getting it fixed?” He sounded skeptical, his fingers tracing the binding of his book.

Refusing to answer, you instead questioned him. “Why stay after just to read a book?” You shrugged your shoulders casually. “You can do that at home, can’t you?”

The smile that grew on his lips was deadly to you. It was teasing and playful, something boyish that gave you the inane urge to shrivel up and die. “My heating happens to be broken, too,” he answered.

If you were a more hopeful person, with just an edge more delusion, you’d believe he was flirting.

Returning his smile, yours was more tentative and practiced. “Guess we’re both in bad shape, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are.” His gaze was scrutinizing, and you wanted to crawl under your desk to hide from it, regressing to a childlike state to shy away from the millions of questions dancing in his eyes. Was this meant to be an interrogation, or casual conversation?

You didn’t say anything more after that. He went back to his novel, reading at an abnormal speed as per usual, and you back to your work. You always had work to do; files upon files because you all but begged Hotch for them. Cold cases were excellent distractions. Field reports were less interesting, but your writing was consistently formal enough to persuade Hotch to deliver you more work.

The night seemed to stretch on, the ticking of the clock overwhelming as it echoed in your ears. Your eyes grew tired, which was the tell-tale sign that it was time for you to go back home to your apartment. You sighed, rubbing your eyes, and the action Drew Spencer’s attention.

“Going home?” He stood from his desk, taking up his coat and sliding it over his long arms.

The swift eagerness of his actions startled you for a moment, and you stuttered, “Uh, y-yeah, I am. I can’t really blink without my eyes burning anymore, so…”

His brows drew together in concern. “Your eyes are probably dry. The air conditioning in here is… aggressive.”

You hummed in reply, slowly pulling your body from your chair. It was like picking up a cat, but your own body. You felt the pull of exhaustion in the backs of your calves, threatening to pull you down to the floor. You refused to let it win, because you’d rather be shot by a psychotic UNSUB before falling apart in front of Spencer.

Suddenly, he was behind you as you threw your coat over your blouse, which caused you to jump. He sheepishly grimaced, cheeks flushing. “Sorry.” His satchel was tossed over his shoulder, sagging into a curve with the weight of the items inside. Books you assumed.

“I’ll walk you out.”

You quickly turned him down. “Oh, no, Reid. I’m fine, really. I can—“

“I’ll walk you out. It’s no problem.” His tone was final, and it made something in your stomach twist with an unpleasant pleasantry you hated yourself for relishing in.

Your answer was meek. “Okay.”

He held the door open for you on your way out to the bullpen, allowing the glass door to fall shut behind him as he sped up to match your pace. He pressed the button for the elevator, the down arrow flashing orange.

He stood beside you, his hands in his pockets, as you waited. You stood beside him, hands twisting together in front of you, eyes on the metal doors, watching your blurrier reflections, as you waited.

“I lied about my heating.”

You didn’t look over at him, but you were sure he heard your heavy exhale.

“And I’m sure you lied about yours too.” Partly true. It didn’t surprise you that he saw through your lie like glass. Right now, you felt like you were being pressed against glass, watching the scene through an out-of-body experience.

His feet scuffed the floor next to you, nervously shifting. “I know why you stay late, and I… relate. I understand what it feels like to enter your home but feel like a stranger to it.”

You dared to turn your head, and he was already looking at you, his chin tilted slightly to fully meet your gaze. And, God, you were hooked. There it was, that rush of adrenaline again, a high you would surely crash from the minute your door locked behind you.

Something was intense there in his gaze, heady. You could get drunk off of it alone, and you were sure you were. Your legs turned to jelly, and your fingertips numbed as you clenched your hands together.

“I know your apartment’s heating is fine, more than fine, considering your income and the area you live, but…” A shy smile pulled at his lips. “Let’s pretend you’re freezing, so… you can come over to mine? And I can offer you some midnight take out to warm you up?”

Your heart raced in your chest, threatening to burst free from your body. That wouldn’t be pleasant. It’d be disgusting, and would drive Spencer further away from you than a father from his family.

Feeling escaped your limbs, but you knew if you did collapse out of sheer… disbelief, he’d catch you. His arms were lean and steady, like tree branches, and you wondered how they’d feel wrapped around your body.

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe immediately after your reply, you’d know.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

(Part 2 of Spencer’s POV?)

Thank you so much for reading! Have a wonderful night, day, afternoon— and know you are so incredibly loved by me, God, and so many more people you have yet to meet! THANK YOUUU!

[noonew1lleverask]

Over and Over Again

Hello people. I’ve literally never posted on tumblr before, but I really really wanted to because I had this Spencer Reid idea. This sucks, and if you have any critic or advice for me, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I hope you like it. There’s no warnings, besides a storm, maybe? Again, never posted before, yes, the banner is huge. I know. I do not know how to fix these things. I’m yapping.

ANYWAYS: this blurb was written based off of the song Would You Fall in Love with Me Again from EPIC (dog, listen to it, it’s the best musical ever). Loosely based, really. I hope you love it.

“I’ve changed,” he insisted. He persistently insisted, pacing his living room floor, expertly dodging books left face-open on the floor , words subject to dim lighting above them, watching like a crowded theater as he stood before her, laying himself bare. He wasn’t a man anymore— couldn’t she see that? He was a monster.

She watched him with wrinkled brows, mentally undoing the puzzle she’d spent all of her time knowing him trying to solve. She couldn’t understand it. Why did he think he had any right to tell her this? She knew he changed, it was obvious, it was natural, considering what happened. Yet, he spoke of his shift in demeanor as if it wasn’t obvious, as if she wasn’t aware of the yellow warning signs flashing by her as she drove down the road, speedometer reaching unsafe levels, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to.

Stepping forward, toes catching against the corners of his precious literature now tossed aside in the face of his internal storm, she caught him by his wrists, stopping him. “Spencer—“

The words burst from his mouth, drowning her out. “I’m not the man you fell in love with. What I did in there?”

Despite his insistence, his hands slid down, entwining their fingers together and holding tightly, too afraid to let go, too desperate to cling to a lifeline suddenly cast toward him, a precious lifeboat of brilliant orange in a raging sea, waves of resistance keeping him at bay.

“What I did in there… it’s not… you have to understand. I did what I had to do—“

“Then that makes you more man than monster— that makes you human. You lived— the human instinct is to live— stop trying to… to dissuade me! Spencer, I—“

“Please—“

The desperation sat heavily in his eyes, glimpses of a lake hidden deep within a dark forest, a glimpse of heavenly seas of emerald spoke of in Revelations. They flickered, flashing between adoration and aggravation, desperation and deprivation. Duty and desire warred inside his mind, a voice near the back of his mind reminding him of his sins, of his transgressions. She didn’t need that. She needed clean cut and safety. How could she find wealth of any kind with him?

Electricity crackled between them, rolling like the breaching thunder outside of his apartment.

He didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t believe in destiny or signs, but this? This seemed to perfectly concocted. If there was a God, He was making his opinion known of the situation inside of Spencer’s apartment, expressing his vehement hatred of the private world they’d come to build together. He would tear it down if Spencer didn’t first.

Her eyes flashed to the window, and snapped back to him, mirroring his desperation; destruction; adoration; anger. She held his hands tighter, nails digging into the flesh of his knuckles. The singe of pain was needed, it tied him to her, fed his selfish desires to have her, to keep her inside of him, tucked securely into the empty cavity of his chest.

Her voice was a rasp as she seemed to beg, all but falling to her knees to clutch to his pant leg and sob like a child. “‘*Please*’. You keep saying ‘please’. Stop saying that!” She exclaimed, holding his hands tighter. Her body felt rigid, tense with all of the emotions tightly wound inside of her, aching to be let free in a cacophony of rage, explosion of lust, a torrent of emotions. “Spencer, I love you! I will fall in love with you over and over again, and I don’t care what you did. I don’t care who you hurt— do you think I haven’t hurt people, too?”

“Not like I have,” he attempted to intervene, and she quickly shushed him.

“What you have done in moments of desperation doesn’t matter to me!… Okay, it does. It matters to me because I… you’re here with me. You’re with me, holding my hands, telling me not to love you— but you told me I was the only thing keeping you sane. My letters were your anchor. Was that not true?”

His silence was answer enough. The thin press of his rose lips told her everything she needed to know. With a grating strength, she released his wrist, and drew her hand to his face. His stubble tickled her palm as she cupped his jaw, watched him lean into her touch like a sunflower towards the sun.

“Stop fighting me,” she whimpered. Her voice had lost it’s strength, but not it’s conviction. “Stop trying to keep me away from you… If I wanted to leave you, if I believed, truly believed you were a monster… I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

He looked so tired. When he smiled it was torn. This wasn’t the same man as before, but it was Spencer. Spencer fucking Reid, and she’d be damned if she didn’t love him just as much; maybe more.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears she hadn’t realized began spilling over her cheeks, collecting at her jaw and running down her neck in hot rivulets.

His pupils swelled at the sight.

Her words began to snowball, as did her volume as it rose and rose with every word, her strength returning under the clear dilation of his pupils; a solid tell he was just as affected as her. “And I won’t stop loving you, because you will always be the man I fell in love with. No matter what you’ve done, where you’ve been— damnit, Spencer—!“

His head dipped forward suddenly, lips catching hers in a powerful press of lips that she’d yearned for since he first delivered her a smile that broke through clouds over her head, offered one of his relentless facts of seemingly infinite wisdom that drew her deeper into this… well of adoration she’d fallen headfirst into.

Heat blossomed at the base of her spine, racing up her back to leave her lightheaded as she fell into him, hands falling to loosely clutch his shirt. His arms wound around her waist to capture her weak form, clutching her to him, his fingers curled into her shirt, wrinkling the fabric.

His lips perused hers with a desperate leisure, a slow hunger that threatened to tear him limb from limb. His seams were already loosened, and she was tugging, whether she knew it or not.

Pulling back reluctantly, he breathed heavily against her mouth. Bursts of moist, warm air hit her skin. She felt it curl around her cheeks, sink into her ears, her temporal lobe soaking in the lingering tingle of his lips on hers, leaving her drunk.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, his voice barely audible over the rain slamming against the windows of his living room. He had forgotten about God’s wrath looming outside of his windows.

She laughed softly, her voice still hiccuping around her steadily falling tears. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”

He smiled, a genuine, full smile of exuberant happiness. “Too long.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IF YOU DID! <3 Even if you didn’t, thanks so much anyways! Remember, you are loved and appreciated by someone. You are loved and appreciated by me, and I hope you have a wonderful day wherever you are.

[noonew1lleverask]

[noonew1lleverask]

[noonew1lleverask]

i need him rn bro.

[noonew1lleverask]

Matthew Gray Gubler in Pittsburgh, PA (2006) 

“The leaves are very nice. They’re on the ground, which I’m a fan of. I’m gonna jump through them later. I brought my rake. I checked it at the airport.”

the ultimate level of babie