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john william waterhouse wanted to get fucked by a witch sooo bad

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nonsense outros (part nine)

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you cant even begin poems with "i will sodomise and facef uck you" anymore. because of woke .

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northern hemisphere babes we made it to the longest night of the year. we made it. for the next 6 months, every day will give us a little more daylight than the last. let's go. take my hand. climb out of the darkness with me

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hi my love <3 happy valentines, im coming over w a kiss rn!! for the event could i req "you got me flowers?" w spence please? maybe reader giving them to him hehe love u

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

happy valentine's my love, thank you for your request! always tired reader x spencer is my new fave pairing of all time!! fem!reader

When Spencer arrives at work that morning you're already sitting down at your desk. It is regrettably far from his, and it's purposefully done. Hotch doesn't care that you're seeing one another, doesn't mind the occasional affection you share in from of the team, but he draws the line at your amazing and incessant chatter. You and Spencer never stop talking. Spencer has a lot to say, and you indulge him. 

Or maybe you don't indulge. Maybe you just love him. He's never had the idea that you might not want to hear what he has to say. 

He doesn't even look at his own desk, beelining straight for you where you're half asleep on your own, your ipod on your desk, an earphone in one ear. You're likely listening to an audio book — Spencer buys you enough of them. 

"Hey," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder, "good morning." 

You tilt your head away from his touch and look at him through your lashes, giving him a tired but pretty smile.

"Well, hello, my love," you say softly. "You look nice today." 

"You say that everyday," he complains. 

"And everyday it's true…" 

He likes how quietly you talk when you're tired —there's a wispy quality to each word, some light teasing— but you're being tired isn't conducive to a good day. He puts the coffee he'd bought for you by your ipod and kisses the top of your head as discreetly as he can. You barely respond. He doesn't take it personally. 

Spencer turns back to his desk and finally recognises the change. There's a rather large bouquet of flowers on the desk, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a ton of added foliage and baby's breath. He thinks for a moment they've been delivered to the wrong desk, after all, Emily's is right beside his, but he knuckles through the soft green stalks of crimson roses, pincushions and white carnations for the card held between. 

It's decorated with a sloping cursive that doesn't belong to anyone he knows. 

Spencer, 

I love you. Thank you for the coffee. 

He smiles at the flowers and saves the card. It'll make a good bookmark. 

"You got me flowers?" he asks, approaching you again. 

The printer beeps loudly and makes you wince. You spin in your chain and beckon for him to come forward until you can rest your face against his stomach. 

"Look at you, my little detective." 

He loves when you make fun of him. It sounds especially cute in your quiet mumbling. He drops his hands to the back of your head and feels very grateful to know that the only people who get here on time are the two of you as he strokes your hair. 

"Can I ask why?" 

"You know, don't you? I wrote it on the card." 

"You got me flowers because I got you a coffee?"

Your laugh is warm against his stomach despite the barrier of his shirt and sweater. "No, smarty-pants." You yawn and snuggle closer. "I love you." 

"Oh," he says. He pulls your face from his front and frames it in his hands. "I love you too, obviously."

"I know," you say, blinking slowly. 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. You lean into it and shut your eyes like a puppy getting scratches. 

"Do you want flowers?" he asks. 

You hum. He has no idea what it means. 

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I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

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emily prentiss manspreading. like if you agree

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Only sometimes. I have other shit to do

@saintaegon @rosemaryandarsenic @modern-greek-tragedy @khaleesihel @who-told-you-this-was-butter

Making a chain cause why not!? Hdisiwisjs

Put your name/nickname in the Character Headcanon Generator and see what you get!

Link!

Erm...so-

@starsinthenigth @mxnaceo @duckp0t + Anyone who wants to do it! (No pressure)

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I'm having extremely horrid self-image these days so I was just wondering if you could write Aaron comforting reader about it?

You used to do your makeup on the bedroom floor in Aaron's floor length mirror. He found it endearing apparently, he'd always laugh quietly and step around you, promising that one day he was going to get you a vanity. 

And then he tells you he loves you and asks you to move in, and then there's a vanity waiting for you when you do. Aaron stops laughing in the morning and starts leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That's better, hm?"

It feels like playing dress up. You appreciate him, you love him, but you sit there with your makeup bag and your hair oils and feel awful. Deep down, pervasively, achingly awful. You're not the type of girl who gets the nice house and a nice boyfriend, who sits at her vanity primping and preening. No matter what you do, you'll always look like this.

"What are you doing?" he asks quietly. 

He's laying in bed behind you, sleep heavy on his tongue. You wipe a cotton pad wet with toner over your cheeks, avoiding his gaze in the mirror as you answer, "Just getting ready." 

"For what?" 

"Just the day." 

"You don't sound very happy, honey." He sits up, the front most strands of his hair falling onto his forehead, due for a trim. When he says 'honey', his brows lift from their furrow imploringly. It's madness that he can wake and throw himself straight into profiling mode. "What's wrong?" 

"It's nothing." 

"I don't think so. Come back to bed." We'll talk about it goes unsaid. Aaron's voice can colour a thousand shades but your favourite is this gentle lulling, his hand stretched out over the sheets to beckon you in. 

You put your used cotton pads aside and stand with a weird feeling in your throat like you swallowed something without chewing properly. Aaron watches you. He's good at pretending he isn't, but you know he is, his dark eyes tracing the shine of toner on your tacky cheek. 

"You smell nice," he says, kissing under your jaw, forcing your face up. "And you're so soft."

"Trying to butter me up before you ask me what's wrong." 

"But I'm not lying… What is wrong?" 

You meet his eyes, asking for permission of a sort that you don't need to ask for. He lifts his head in answer and opens his arms, pulling your face into the crook of his neck and your chest against his, murmuring, "Honey, honey," over your head. "What's wrong?" 

It comes as little surprise to him when you explain, your voice hushed with shame. I just feel so… disgusting. You don't say it with distinction but he gathers it anyhow, your lack of self esteem, not in the sense of putting yourself forward, but in that you don't like the way you look, the way people see you. 

"I can't control the way you see me, so you see me at my worst." 

"You don't have a worst." He lays back against the headboard and drags you down with him. "You're always beautiful."

You shake your head. 

You and Aaron linger in silence for a while, the only sound his fingers tightening against the fabric of your t-shirt on your waist. "Do you know why I wanted you to have your vanity?" 

"Well, you kept tripping over me in the mornings." 

"I did… I'd be watching you get ready and I'd find myself distracted," he says, low and quiet, as though confessing. "So yes, I'd trip over you. I wouldn't watch where I was going but I'd want go be closer, and I'd accidentally hit your arm and you'd look up. First in the mirror, and then over your shoulder. My heart–" He clears his throat. "Your vanity was an act of self preservation." 

"Because you're so old?"

"Careful," he says lightly, giving your waist a squeeze. "Because now I get to watch you from right here." He looks down at the vanity and you follow his gaze, seeing more of him than you, wrapped up in his arms. You look peaceful together. "Every morning." 

You close your eyes, rubbing your cheek into his shoulder. "And that's fun for you." 

"It's the best part of my day." 

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Cowboys are witches and horses are their familiars

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ok ok I‘m obsessed with spencer x bau!reader in a secret relationship!!

like imagine s2!spencer and reader and how reader always keeps their eyes on him during cases after tobias, trying to help him with his mood swings (caused by the withdrawals) in subtle ways

or s6!spencer dealing with his migraines and reader trying to be there for him, subtly helping him relax on the plane by playing with his hair or whatever and all that while trying to hide their relationship (the others probably already noticed but just keep their mouth shut and smile to themselves whenever they have a sweet little moment)

gets my mind running!!

Cw: withdrawal symptoms, vague mentioning that spencer is taking drugs, fluff

You’re worried about him. You can’t stop chewing your nails as you look at him.

You know the team knows, and you know Spencer knows you all know but you can’t say anything.

If you say anything, tell him to get help, he’ll need to report it and if he reports it he’ll lose his job.

So you do what you can.

There’s Gatorade in the fridge, all stocked with the purple grape flavored stuff you’d learnt through trial and error that Spencer preferred.

He drinks a few a day, suffering through it because he knows it will help. He also knows you’re doing this because you care about him.

He hopes you still love him after all of this.

You do.

“I got you a soup, Spence.” Your words are quiet and saved for when you reach his desk, setting the hot styrofoam container on his desk with a smaller box next to it.

He looks up at you, pupils blown wide and sweat beading on his eyebrows.

You don’t even hesitate to use your shirt sleeve to dab away the sweat. Spencer fights the urge to push your hands away.

He hates to disappoint you. “This has to be disappointing. I have to be disappointing.” His words are sudden you nearly jerk back.

“What?”

“This. I’m pitiful.”

You shake your head, stooping down so you’re eye level with him. “What happened was not your fault. I hate seeing you like this because you didn’t deserve it; not because you’re pitiful.”

Your words are so forceful and sincere that it stuns him for a little bit. In his shock, you walk away from him and Spencer panics when you go to the stairs to Hotch’s office.

His heart is pounding so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t blacked out yet.

Maybe he has because a couple seconds later you’re helping him stand and holding the container of soup and your bag.

“Let’s go.”

Spencer’s eyebrows tug together, his lips unconsciously falling into a pout.

“But we have reports to finish.”

You shake your head, for his protestations, Spencer follows you with his own satchel all the way to your car.

“I told Hotch you were feeling faint and you had a fever so he’s let us go home.”

Spencer is speechless. He’s even more so when you turn on the heater on his seat and keep the ac high.

“You don’t have to do all this.” He stammers out, holding the containers as you reverse.

“I want to take care of you and help you get better Spence. It’s as simple as that,” he nods, unable to help it.

You’re like his personal angel. He hopes you know how he feels about you. Hopes you know that he’s grateful and he’ll always be. Hopes that the flush in his cheek can be blamed on what his body is going through right now and not your next words.

“We’re going to my place, I’ve got a better bed and I can mess with the heating. You don’t have to do it alone, Spence.”

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𝗕𝗢𝗠𝗕𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗨 ᥫ᭡ 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗗

˗ˋˏ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗ Spencer thinks you’re a total bombshell —confident, high maintenance, and so, so pretty. you find yourself similarly obsessed with your dorky, handsome genius.

you meet Spencer and call him beautiful you witness Spencer and Lila Archer you make Spencer jealous you hold Spencer’s hand after his abduction you come for a teasing visit your drunken flirting almost kills him you invite a struggling Spencer over for dinner your motorcycle jacket winds Spencer you and Spencer share a room in Alaska Spencer comforts you after a hard case Spencer gets his boyband haircut Spencer stands you up you take Spencer’s hand when he’s distracted you comfort Spencer on the brink of tears you’re jealous of Spencer and a girl at the bar Spencer reassures you that he likes your flirting Spencer loses his mind over your dress it’s Spencer’s fault when you get hurt Spencer tends to a bad wound you assure Spencer he’s your type you’re hurt by a rude police officer Spencer realises you really truly like him Spencer tortures you, for once don’t think I don’t like you you and Spencer have your first kiss Spencer calms you down when you’re nervous you and Spencer miss you first date Spencer sees you undone for the first time you freak out after being held hostage you’re obsessed with Spencer and his glasses Spencer takes care of you when you’re sick Derek catches you at Spencer’s apartment Spencer calls you a pet name for the first time you and Spencer are interrupted good luck Emily catches you and Spencer in a heated kiss you drunk brag about your new boyfriend you’re secure in your relationship you get your period Spencer likes that you’re high maintenance you get very hurt in the field Spencer watches over your recovery you have your first big fight, you can’t sleep Spencer allots time for your morning kisses you take the leap and ask the big question Spencer returns from prison Spencer struggles to adjust after prison you and Spencer talk about JJ

you comfort Spencer after Maeve

you find out that you’re pregnant together you show Spencer your new necklace you tell the team that you’re pregnant Hotch gives Spencer some paternal advice pregnant!you feel like you’re not yourself you have an angry hormonal meltdown pregnant!you falls down Hotch checks in on pregnant!you and Spencer your daughter is just like you, Spencer loves it Amy video calls you on a case Spencer is wrapped around Amy’s little finger Spencer and Amy take care of sick!you you and Amy visit Spencer in prison

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Cal don’t kill me I need to know who’s more likely to drive a cyber truck in the middle life crisis au?

Criston or Gwayne? Aegon is too much of passenger princess to drive

IXNFNFNSNFNDMVNDNFNDMDN THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY

Gwayne bc he’s rich boy and won’t shut the fuck about it but then the kings guard (coaches) made fun of it and he was bitching in Criston’s office for like 2 hours

Meanwhile Criston has a black Tahoe that he buffs like 10 times and week and if you leave a crumb he smells it. Black ice scented, leather treated, rosary on rearview mirror period

Aegon put a sticker on the bumper that says

🏉🎾🏐🏏 I ❤️ BALLS 🏸⚽️🏀⚾️

And Criston doesn’t get it until later

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If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours. 

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid. 

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here. 

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably. 

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing. 

“What?” 

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?” 

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.” 

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?” 

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.” 

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.” 

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.” 

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.” 

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.” 

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly. 

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid. 

“Hi, Hotch,” you say. 

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says. 

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.” 

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks. 

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging. 

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.” 

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up. 

“You too, Prentiss.” 

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know? 

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says. 

“Missed me?” 

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.” 

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.” 

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them. 

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster. 

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently. 

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?” 

“Both.” 

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke. 

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.” 

“Wait,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Usually. Why?” 

“Are you okay right now?” 

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.” 

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask. 

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually. 

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.” 

“Me too.” 

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection. 

Can JJ make him blush like that? 

—

bombshell fics

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I would NEVER argue with Spencer Reid. One look into his big brown eyes and I’d instantly shut up.