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redamanccys · 3 months ago

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Knots of Yearning

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer lies by omission or in which Spencer acts like he doesn’t know how to tie a tie just to get you to do it for him Trope: Yearning/Angst; think season 1 Spencer Reid w.c: 1.3k a/n: when i thought of this idea, i was thinking it would be some cute light hearted fluff but when i started writing it, it became angst, filled with pining and tension so I dunno what happened but i finished writing it and thought it would be a waste not to post my rambly written fic. I might write a part 2 for this just to close it out to a happy ending. Let me know if that would interest you. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Two halves of a whole, the perfect pairing and yin & yang. Those were just some monikers that Spencer Reid had heard describing his partnership with you that started during the academy. He, being a genius in all things academic and psychological but severely lacking in the physical and combat department. You, on the other hand, filled those gaps—acing all physicals and being well known for being a shy but killer shot. Not to say you were lacking in the other categories, no, you came only second during written exams.

So it came as a no surprise when graduation came and you both were cherry picked to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer being chosen by SSA Jason Gideon and you being selected by Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.

The two geniuses of the BAU and the apprentices were added to the roster of nicknames.

Ever since then, he had traded in his standard issued trainee uniform to a button down and a matching tie—a tie that he badly struggles with or so Spencer made you believe. He didn’t mean to lie at first—didn’t mean it to go this far but by the time he felt the need to tell the truth, it had been too late. Each moment you’ve spent close to his space, invading it really, had become the highlight of his days and fuel for his nights.

He often wondered if you catalogued his reaction just like how he did yours. Did you notice his staccato breathing just like how he noticed your subtle inhalation of his perfume? What about the reddening of his cheeks and neck in contrast to your trembling fingers? Or how about his eyes that convey his utter devotion as yours focus on any exposed skin in between his tie and collar?

It seemed like a dance between him and you, to see how the other reacts and to figure out who would cave under the mounting attraction that had been building since the first ‘hello.’

With his choice of tie for the day hanging loosely on his neck, you would shyly smile and as if spellbound, he would shuffle to your orbit in silent plea for help that he needed.

Each glide of your finger made his encompassing thoughts about the mundane stutter into a halt. How his mind would then bombard itself with questions as to how the universe created such perfection. Each loop of your hand became vivid imagery of his own nimble fingers caressing your palm and all its engraved lines as if they contain the maps to all hidden mysteries of the world. And each tug to secure the knot transformed into a loud beating of his chest, encased within it’s cavity, with chants of waxing prose on how your very being, mind, body, and soul, call to his in a way that even his expansive vernacular could never explain.

But no matter how much he wished for time to slow down for these intimate moments to last, it never did comply. So here he stayed, lying by omission—yearning for you to notice him, memorize him, and end his pining for the woman who seemed too unattainable for his clumsy, stuttering self.

———

You accepted the lie well. Maybe too well.

The first time a blue striped flimsy piece of accessory hung around his neck, a sudden burst of courage took over, bringing you to a stop in front of his lithe, towering body and hands reaching up to whisper caresses on the silk to mold it into a secure neck tie that centered itself on his reddening neck—the color matching the one that bloomed on your cheeks as you realized what you’ve done.

Your mind had rationalized someone as smart as he knew how to fix a tie but your body had moved on it’s own, having have spotted a once in a lifetime chance to invade his well protected space—the same way he had invaded your mind in every waking and sleeping moment.

That same chance turned into a routine. A blessing that you had come to look forward to, your steps having a bounce in them as you enter the bull pen and spotting a different pattern tie hanging undone on his neck every work day.

You knew, with no backing evidence that Spencer has to be doing it on purpose but didn’t want to spiral much into thought as to why he would leave that intimate action up to you.

Did he take note of every reaction you had to his presence the same way you did? The slight rocking on your heels as he inhaled your carefully chosen perfume? The biting of your lip as you felt his honey dripping eyes on your face? If he felt the same, you wondered why nothing has been done and if you had another burst of courage, would you have acted upon the tension?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe that was why you settled for accepting his poorly crafted lie of not knowing how to tie a necktie.

It wasn’t really a lie if the other party knew the truth, right? Or was it a double lie now that silence has stacked between you and him?

If you were being slightly honest with yourself, Spencer Reid had always fascinated you. Among the sea of gym built muscles during the academy, his gazelle stature has stuck out like a sore thumb and that intrigued you. How was it that a male, younger than any of his peers, that looked like he could grace a runway was in an institution that reeked sweat and masculinity? That very same question answered when you found yourself seated beside him in a profiler career talk. His intellect, that was why and although it seemed to alienate the others, not once did you feel inferior beside him. Rather, it pulled you in more. His quiet, unsure demeanor was the next to capture your attention. It was an invisible coat that he wore everywhere he went, sewn from years of bullying and ostracizing—similar to your experiences of having skipped a grade. Here was a comrade you thought and so, you silently orbited around his gravitational pull until he took notice and uttered the words ‘hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid’ in a low, trembling voice.

You didn’t know when that same fascination turned into adoration. There was never a specific moment in time that you could pinpoint when it all changed. It just happened, one day you woke up and the past truth had transformed into a half truth—and the whole truth now being, you falling and yearning for a man who had a bright future in reading people’s actions but seemed too oblivious to the call of your aching heart.

———

Morgan and Elle shared an exasperated look as they noted the two youngest members of the team silently flirting in the middle of the bullpen, yet again. They didn’t get how obtuse the two smartest people in the room were with their feelings for one another.

“You think we should give them a push?” He whispered to his female partner.

Elle scrunched her face. “At this point, we might just have to confess for the other.”

And in that moment, another moniker was added to the roster. The dense lovers of the BAU, a nickname that the remaining members use only behind both the duo’s back as they become bystanders to what could be a match made in heaven. If only one would admit to the other.

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redamanccys · 3 months ago

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Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 8. Time heals (almost) all wounds

Spencer Reid x Fem!Original Character

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there. w.c: 1.9k a/n: ngl i had a hard time taking this fic off of hiatus. There were some instances where I just wanted to drop it all together but i persevered so here we are, slowly back in the game. The updates would be irregular since I’m also working on other ideas behind the scenes but hope you all still enjoy and support. Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

”If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” - Frederick Douglass

Change was a peculiar thing.

If Spencer Reid was to describe it from his own experience dealing with his fight with Dilaudid, he’d liken it to the well-known ‘five stages of grief’—denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance. His progress was never a linear thing, there were days his emotion would swig back and forth within stages like some sort of pendulum. He resented it. It made him feel weak, resentful, and angry. At the world, at the people around him, and most of all at himself.

The first and second stages were denial and anger. Two emotions he regrets to know too well and deflect to others poorly.

“Reid,” Morgan’s tone coming off harsh from restrained anger. “What was that? I just saw Cleo—” he pointed behind him towards the door. “—rush out and crying.”

He scoffed. “Nothing. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Yeah, well let’s talk about the elephant in the room then. Since when had you had those?” Morgan nodded his head in the direction of the medicine bottles left haphazardly on the coffee table.

“Since Tobias,” he shrugged nonchalantly, opting to go with a half truth and a half lie to try and throw his fellow profiler off his trail. Not that it would ever work with how tenacious Morgan was. “He must have slipped it in my pockets before his murder—”

“Murder?” Morgan picked up on his specific choice of wording.

“—and its not like I used it.”

A lie.

“Kid, we both know that was self defense and Cleo told me the truth, don’t like to me.”

Spencer averted his eyes, finding all the scuffles on his floor suddenly interesting. It was indeed self defense, he knew that, but Tobias didn’t deserve to be killed—not really. He wasn’t like the rest of the unsubs that they have hunted down. He was just a victim of bad fate and his own fractured mind. Inside, the real Tobias still saved him and for that he felt grateful and regretful that his way of repayment was made through by a bullet.

“Reid, I thought you were getting better. What you went through was traumatic but this isn’t the right way to cope—drugs and pushing away probably the person who cares for you the most. This isn’t you, Reid.”

“Yeah well, maybe this is the new me, have you thought about that?” He glared at Morgan. “I don’t even know why you’re here lecturing me about keeping secrets and coping, we all their own demons locked up, don’t we? The members of the BAU aren’t really known to be the most trusting and forthcoming with our pasts. We brush the trauma all under the rug and hope it doesn’t catch up to us.”

Morgan sighed as his shoulder dropped, all the fight in him leaving. “Come talk to me when your anger has passed—” he stepped back until he was almost by the door. “—and Reid, let’s hope this isn’t the new you ‘cause if it is—” he trailed off, shaking his head.

As the soft closing of the door echoed through the apartment, Spencer felt relief. Relief in being free to do what he wanted without judgement and relief to unknowingly hit rock bottom as his trembling fingers reached for the sealed bottle of Dilaudid.

———

The third stage was bargaining.

Spencer didn’t know how he got here. Here being the present without the two strongest pillars in his life, Cleo and Gideon. One he pushed away and the other, leaving him behind with just a letter to his name.

The team felt incomplete. He felt incomplete.

As a man of science, he didn’t believe in higher power or the cosmos but one late night, he found himself on the rooftop of his apartment complex, cursing the stars and bargaining for the past to come back to the present.

If the star placements that night were different, maybe the present would be too. If he had worn a different combination of socks, maybe Cleo would still be by his side. And if he had not separated from JJ, maybe he would be here—at rock bottom.

It was a place he never thought he’d be in. Did he really have 187 IQ for nothing? Was all those knowledge in his expansive brain useless in recognizing wrong decisions made?

He sighed as he watched the sun break the horizon.

Another day powered with no sleep.

Another day of wishing things had been different.

And another day of missing the one he pushed away.

———

The fourth stage, depression, hit when he least expected it and with it, came an immense regret that threatened to pull him under it’s ravaging tides.

By definition, depression was a general emotional dejection and regret was the act of feeling sorrow. Easy to understand in wording but difficult to explain when both were cruising through his body.

If Spencer was to explain what both were beyond it’s dictionary definition, he would liken regret to a bone injury that was never reset right and depression to deep, self inflicted wound that had been picked on numerous times that caused it to scar permanently. He felt himself riddled with both—fresh and old, reminders of his inactions and wrongful judgement. The optimists would wade through it and wear their progress with pride. These so called life battle scars that lead them to a better future but he wasn’t one of them.

No, he carried his with such shame causing his shoulders to hunch further forward from the accumulated weight of his whole life’s misfortunes. The heavy, heavy weight of sorrow from not being good enough for his father to stay. Remorse from not being strong enough to carry his ailing mother’s load and having her admitted in a facility. Disappointment from choosing the easy way out of his drug addiction—lashing out and using behind closed doors. Heartache from pushing away the only person in his life that cared enough to be angry and concerned, Cleo—his constant, his number one supporter.

A rhythmic knock on his door pulled him out from under the waves. Blanket draped over his body, Spencer sluggishly made his way to it—ignoring the hunger pains in his empty stomach. It was nothing compared to what his heart was going through.

“Spencer,” Garcia uttered as she took in the boy genius’ form in worry.

He cleared his throat, rough from the lack of use. “Garcia, what—what are you doing here?”

“Taking care of you since it’s obvious you’re not going to,” the tech analyst maneuvered her way through with a Tupperware on hand. She headed straight to the kitchen regardless his small protests.

Garcia worked fast in plating him soup and a slice of bread. If this were a normal evening, he’d feel grateful and enticed by the smell but this wasn’t so all he felt was an urge to retch.

“I don’t want it,” he mumbled, shuffling further away from the source of the stench.

She sighed. “Reid, what day is it today?”

The question threw him off a loop. What does that have to do with forcing him to eat?

“Friday. It’s just Friday.”

“It’s Sunday,” she walked closer until he was reaching distance. “I’ve been calling you and you haven’t been picking up so I took it upon myself to visit you instead. Now—” dragging him to the dining table. “—I need you to eat. Even a little bit ‘cause I know you haven’t eaten at all.”

He brought a trickle to his drying lips. It was chicken soup and if he didn’t know any better, it tasted familiar. Homemade, even.

“How is it?” Garcia asked.

“Did you make this?”

Her eyes widened before her hand waved in front of her face in jest. “What? No—no, I got it from the restaurant near my apartment.”

That was a lie.

A lie that Spencer didn’t question. He had lied about worse things and he had no right to question where the soup really came from when he knew the answer.

From Cleo.

Or at least it was Cleo’s recipe.

The thought of her still being part of his life, no matter how inconsequential, warmed his insides more than the chicken soup had.

“Do you think I’m bad for taking those drugs?”

She gave a brief pause, enough to have Spencer worry. “No. I don’t have the right to judge you on your actions but—”

“But?”

“—it’s sad that other people bore brunt of your anger, which wasn’t your fault but wasn’t your greatest moment either.”

“Do you think—” he downed the last few spoonfuls. “—she’d forgive me?”

It was what kept him awake most nights. The thought of never being part of Cleo’s world any more than a passerby was a living nightmare he hoped to escape from. Losing her felt like he lost his own limb. It threw him off balance. It broke Earth’s gravitational pull to his self. And when he does sleep, he wakes with this fog that he never pushed her away—never hurt her like a phantom limb before he drops back down to reality.

She reached into her glittered purse, rummaging through before she found what she was looking for. “I’ve been keeping this with me since that night and I think it’s time I give it to you.”

The single piece of paper looked worn at the edges and its folds. It looked non-descriptive. It was the contents that mattered. That truly mattered.

Law Enforcement: Narcotics Anonymous

(555) 657-02149

All hastily written in Cleo’s loopy handwriting

“Oh.”

———

The final stage, acceptance, came with a physical change in the team. A new old member was stepping up to the plate in Gideon’s place.

David Rossi.

He had been feeling like his past self for a while now. All in thanks to the support each member has extended to him. As he started his climb up from the abyss of addiction, he had realized that his team—Hotch, Morgan, JJ, Garcia, and Emily, were there to cushion his fall should be falter and as the warmth of daylight hit his face on the way up, he wondered why he decided to stay in the darkness for so long.

Why he had to lose two pillars before realizing that this is where he belonged? That this is who Spencer Reid is—a paradox of good and bad, a person who chooses the good no matter his demons.

And although adjusting to a new BAU member would take a while, he felt optimistic that everything would turn out just right. That it was time to finally let go of self loathing and make amends to those he can, no matter what the outcome.

That was how he found himself penning a letter to the one person he hadn’t seen in months.

To the one person who mattered after his mother.

To Cleo.

Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#screaming crying sobbing #this actually made me cry #I need them back #I needed them back like yesterday

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