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peanutalergy · 27 days ago

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stray cat ꨄ s.r. × reader

in which spencer reid sneaks into fem!reader's room at night

tags: high school au !! no explicit content duh ? tooth rotting fluff in a brain rottingly terrible written way, reader is a cheerleader and like a popular girl ? idk I'm a sucker for the popular × nerd trope; not canon accurate obviously because if it were spencer would be twelve and bullied by everyone; mentions of blood and cuts and weapons and getting hurt but not in the way you might think ..?; reader's dad is mentioned ? yeah anyway idk what else sorry

w/c: 2k (this was meant to be a blurb ?)

a/n: okay so I found this draft from last year (back when I was still in hs (r.i.p.)) and I decided to finish it because it seemed cute. turned out terrible I hate it whatever, it's very ooc idk sorry ALSO inspired by a situation I lowkey went through myself hence why there's things spencer would never say/do, sorry

you’re sitting in bed with your computer atop your thighs, stressing over the third essay you have to finish by the weekend, when you hear a noise coming from outside. you ignore it, at first, thinking it's just a raccoon or a stray cat, until you hear a very human grunt from right beneath the window. immediately, you jump to grab the small—and frankly, quite useless—knife that you always keep in your bedside drawer in case of an intrusion or something of the sort.

you pull out your phone, contemplating dialing 911, until you see spencer's head pop up at the window. putting down the "weapon", you run across the room to open it, laughing confusedly as your boyfriend stumbles in. you help him inside, taking his hand in yours, which he holds onto like he might fall right now from right here.

you open your mouth, but he starts mumbling breathlessly before you even get the chance to say anything.

“i don't know what i was thinking, i’m never doing that again. i don't think just reading the stealthy guide to climbing roofs was enough, i mean, the writer didn't even take into consideration everything that could've went wrong. do you know how many terrible things could have happened? i could have fallen and broken my neck, someone could've seen me and called the police, or– doesn't your dad have a shotgun? do you think he heard me? god, i'm all dirty, i’ve got leaves all over me, i don't–”

you press a quick kiss to his lips, the most effective way you've found to shut him up. when you pull away, he's frozen, trying to catch his breath, cheeks rosy from the physical exercise–something he doesn't usually engage in–and from your touch, as well.

“what are you doing here?”

“sorry…” he mumbles, staring down at his fingers as they fidget with the sleeves of his cardigan, “i wanted to see you. did i wake you up?”

“oh, baby” you giggle, patting away the dirt and leaves from his body gently, “don't apologize, i'm glad you're here. i wasn't asleep, don't worry. you scared me, though. i thought someone was breaking in.”

“oh, i'm sorry, i didn't want to scare you, i’m really sorry. i should've called you.”

“no, don't worry. it's okay. it’s a nice surprise.”

“yeah…?” he asks, glancing up at you hesitantly.

“mhm.” you nod before taking his face in your hands. he tilts his head, leaning into your touch, similar to an animal who wants to be pet, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. you chuckle and give him another kiss, your fingers moving up and tangling in his hair.

“why did you go through the window, though? you could've just knocked on the door, my dad doesn't have a shotgun. he's a sweet little old man, he would've let you in just fine.”

“i don't know, i was scared. i'm sorry.” he says shyly. he's blushing furiously, heart almost jumping out of his ribcage, and it doesn't have anything to do with the adrenaline from the climb anymore.

“no, it's okay. you're fine, it's fine. are you hurt, though?”

“i- uh, i hurt my hands a bit, but it's nothing major, i’ll be fine.”

“aw, you poor thing. lemme see.” he looks down at his palms, and you take them in your hands to see they're all scraped, red and raw, blood mixing with some of the dirt. “jesus, spence. we should get that cleaned up, no?”

“no, no, it's fine. we– it's okay, we don't need to, i'll be fine.” he tries to pull his hands away, but your grip on his wrists doesn't let him, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

“hm, no, c'mon, that's gonna get infected or something. then your hands will get necrosis and fall off. do you want your hands to fall off, baby?”

he shakes his head, and you can tell he's holding back a chuckle, “well, that– that's not really how necrosis works, but–”

“no, it is, shut up.” you cut him off and give him a playful nudge, “please, just a few band-aids?”

he looks at you reluctantly, and after a second, he sighs and finally nods, “sure. but just because you're worried. i wouldn't get necrosis either way.”

you giggle and press your lips to his again. as you pull away and walk to the closet, you point to your bed and mumble, “go sit down,” which he does immediately, settling awkwardly at the edge of it.

while you search for the first aid kit, you notice spencer looking around your room with a smile. he's been here a few times before, but never at night, and he finds awe in the way the moonlight reflects off a mirrorball that sits on your desk, and the way your posters look when the only other source of lighting comes from a few vanilla scented candles.

it’s actually quite ironic how much you two fit together. no one would have to look at you twice before guessing your interests, and they'd be right if they were to say things like pop music and cheesy 2010s romcoms; but there's a side of you, a side only spencer reid has ever met, that matches him perfectly.

after a while, you walk back to the bed, little box in hands, and you sit down on the ground in front of him, looking up at him with a smile.

“please, don't sit on the floor.” he murmurs as you settle between his legs.

“why not? it's clean.” you mumble as you start rummaging through the first aid kit.

“no, but, you're– this is– just… it'll hurt your back.”

“it won't, though, don't worry.” you give him a smile, and before he can protest again, you put out your hands, “gimme.”

he gives you his wrists once more, where you hold as you begin gently wiping his palms with antiseptic. he winces at first, and tries to hold back a noise so as to not worry you even more.

“what were you thinking about?” you ask. he answers with a hm?, that makes you say it again, “when i got back. you looked like you were thinking about something.”

“oh, just… your room.”

“what about it?”

“it's so… you. i mean, the space in which one lives does tend to be a reflection of themselves, but… it's like you took everything that makes you yourself, and you spread it all around the place. it's adorable... like you.” he mumbles awkwardly.

you chuckle, looking around the room, glancing at him, then turning your attention back to his hands. this time, when the wipe touches his raw skin again, he hisses. “ooh, sorry, that hurt? i’m sorry, baby. i’m trying to be gentle, i swear.”

he shakes his head. “no, you're being gentle–” very gentle, more than anyone had ever been to him before, “–it's just the alcohol. it- uh… alcohol molecules activate the same nerve receptors in your skin that let you know hot is hot, so it burns. it's chemical. you're being very gentle, don't worry, it's not you.”

you hum, smiling and nodding, before you both go quiet. he's staring down at you as you work, brows furrowed as you concentrate on his hands. “y'know, i could've done this myself,” he mumbles.

“mm, yeah, well, we could do it all by ourselves. we'd be miserable, though, no?”

he's quiet for a second, thinking about a way to deny that, but when he can't find one, he just mutters a soft yeah and goes silent again.

scared of the situation getting too awkward, he starts rambling on about his day, telling you all things he believes you’d find interesting as you listen and nod and hum along and laugh. it's like he doesn't notice the words coming out of his mouth when they do, “i missed you at school today.”

“oh, i’m sorry, honey. i, uh– i wanted to talk to you at lunch, but, i– i wasn't sure you'd want to see me. i don't know, i didn't know if you'd want to be around the girls, and they wouldn't leave me alone, so... i didn't want to make you uncomfortable.” you say, looking at him between placing band-aids.

“of course i would've wanted to see you. yeah, your friends are… a lot. i think they don't really like me. but i don't mind being around them, if it means being around you.”

“no, they like you. don't worry about that, they like you."

“they sure have a strange way of showing it”

“yeah, well, they're– they look a bit, like, uhm… mean girls, but they're not. they're nice. they're just a bit... vain and shallow.”

“vain and shallow usually means mean girls.” he whispers with a chuckle.

“nah, not really. just means boring. to be fair, you're much cooler than them.” you answer with another laugh, to which he shakes his head in disbelief, right as you finish bandaging his hands.

you place two gentle kisses to his palms, which you can notice makes his breath hitch a little, and you put the kit to the side. you shuffle closer to him and tilt your head, resting it on his knee and smiling up at him, “i missed you, too.”

he nods and tucks a strand of your hair behind an ear, his touch lingering at your jaw. there's another moment of quiet, in which you just stare at each other, grinning. he looks at you and touches you almost as if you're not real, almost as if he's convinced this isn't actually happening.

he can't help but be fascinated by the intimacy of this moment. a few months ago, he had never even been looked at for more than a few seconds, and now he's doing staring contests with the captain of the cheerleading team, in her room, at night.

sure, the people at school still see him as a loser, but that doesn't matter to him. all he cares about is you. you're here, holding and taking care of him, looking at him like he's worth something. that's all that matters right now.

“hi.” you break the silence, though barely, your voice a quiet whisper.

“hi.” he whispers back with a smile, “please, will you get up from the floor…?”

you chuckle and stand up again, him being sat allowing you to press a kiss on his forehead while your fingers run through his hair. when you do so, he wraps his arms around your legs and burrows his face into your stomach, letting out a noise, almost a purr as he nuzzles against you like a kitten.

after a while, he pulls his head away to look around the room again, and his gaze falls on the laptop that had been sitting in your bed this whole time, the essay abandoned. "when is that due?"

"history class on friday."

"i could help you with it, if you want."

"no, no, no, you don't have to. don't worry. i'll get it done... sometime." you say with a chuckle.

he nods–he woke up the next morning and finished it for you while you got ready–and hides his face back in your shirt.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask, and it makes him lift up his head to look at you once more.

“can i?” he mutters reluctantly, “i don't want your parents to wake up, and see– y'know… a boy in your bed. and we've got school tomorrow, so…”

“do you want to sleep over?”

“mhm” he hums with a nod, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt.

“my parents won't mind, then.”

“are you sure? i mean, teenagers are–” he starts rambling again, and you shut him up with another kiss.

“my parents won't mind.” you repeat after pulling away, leaving another peck on his nose, “and we can just skip school tomorrow. it’s gonna be boring, anyway. we don't even have any classes together. we can spend the whole day here, yeah?”

“okay, yeah.” he mumbles under his breath, trying not to look too nervous.

you smile and lie down on the bed. he immediately follows suit and curls up next to you, face buried in your chest, arms around your waist, leaning into your touch and clinging to you like you'll be gone if he lets go. “i love you,” he whispers, his warm breath against your skin sending tingles down your spine.

“i love you” you whisper back, placing yet another kiss on the crown of his head. it's not long after you start running your hands through his hair that he falls asleep.

and in the end, you realize that, in a sense, it actually was a stray cat at your window.

#fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #fluff #high school au #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #love u #🐁

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peanutalergy · 29 days ago

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getting by ✮ s.r. × reader

in which fem!reader goes back to the toxic situation she's been stuck on with spencer reid. part one here . . .

tags: angst very angst but also very suggestive content, not sure if it counts as smut but this is def 18+!!! mentions of reader not eating, idrk know what else sorry i forgot

w/c: 2.4k

a/n: i hate this somehow more than pt one but whatever! i've been trying to make it better but i can't is the best it'll get it's really ooc and terrible read at your own discretion you've been warned

do i wanna know?

you're not sure how long it's been since you got to your apartment. maybe a day, maybe a few weeks. you can't think about anything else after the conversation you had. the minutes feel like hours and the days feel like seconds, every tick of the clock that sits in your bedside table sounds like spencer's voice when he calls — called? — you baby, the way you're holding the stuffed animal you've always slept with reminds you of the way you held him.

you can't help feel guilty when you remember all of your fault in this. it's not much, but your mind manages to amplify it enough to convince you that this never would've happened if only you cared a bit less. you were both happy just having things how they were, and now the two of you are suffering because you're too emotional, too sensitive.

you also feel a bit guilty whenever your thoughts wander to how spencer is doing now, how bad he is. deep down, you hope he's going through as much as you are.

you’re somewhere between the 56th and 57th consecutive hour of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling when you hear a knock on your front door. you'd think it was spencer, but it wasn't in the pattern he always knocks in. still, some part of you hopes it's him as you struggle to stand up and walk towards the living room.

but no, when you open the door, you're met with two blonde women, looking at your disheveled state empathetically. one much more colorful and bright than the other, both of which you know you've seen before, but you can't quite place when or where due to how tired your mind is.

immediately, the unicorn resembling one says your name in a pitiful tone and closes the distance between you two, her sparkly heels clacking loudly against the floor as she walks up to you. she pulls you in for a breathtaking hug (literally), and when she tugs your face to her shoulder and you smell her perfume, you remember who they are.

jj and penelope, spencer's co-workers you had met when he took you as his date to a wedding between two colleagues from another department – casually, as one does.

“oh my god, sweetheart, what did he do to you?”

you look at jj, dazed and slightly breathless as you stand there and wait for someone to pull away. “hey, penelope, she can't breathe, come on” she says awkwardly, and you let out a breath as penelope reluctantly does so.

now looking at both of them having a better idea of who they are, you can't help but feel embarrassed. this was the second time you saw them, and while they were in their work attire – as shiny as penelope's might be – you had been wearing the same outfit for the past few days, spencer's caltech t-shirt and the first pair of sweatpants you saw when you were leaving his apartment. you haven’t washed your hair in god knows how long, and your face is all puffy from all the crying and sleeping you’d been switching between.

“how are you doing?” jj asks, running her hand up and down on your arm in what is supposed to be a soothing manner, speaking in a tone so sympathetic that it almost sounds like she's the one who's hurting.

“i- uh, yeah, getting by, i guess- i’m sorry, why are you guys here, again?”

penelope brings to your attention the bag in jj's hands. “oh, spencer asked us to drop off your clothes.” of course he did.

“would you mind if we- uh, came in?” jj asks as they look you up and down for the millionth time with that pitiful look in their eyes that makes you feel like a fragile, sick, dying animal.

“yeah, sure, i guess.” you murmur under your breath as you nod and take a step back, allowing them to walk through the doorway. as soon as they're inside, you realize just how much of a mess you and the entire place actually are.

to your defense, the apartment was left empty for quite a while, since you'd been basically living with spencer for the past four months. it was dusty and there were clothes everywhere, from the times you'd stop by to pick an outfit and make a mess as you were deciding. you wouldn't get home to the clutter, though, you'd get home to spencer, so it didn't matter.

“jesus, guys, i'm so sorry, this place is so messy, i didn't-” you mumble as you pick up some of the clothes thrown around the sofa, but you get cut off by penelope's hand in yours, taking the clothes from it and shaking her head when you look up at her.

“oh, honey, don't worry. we know what you're going through” she says, already collecting the other clothes herself “we're here to help you.”

“no, no, no, please, you don't have to, i swear, i’m okay. you really don't have to”

they spend another five minutes or so convincing you that they want to help you get back on your feet, and penelope even said i like cleaning, which you're convinced cannot be a true statement but you let it slide. jj made you go take a shower while she unpacked and organized all your clothes in the closet – which you later noticed she did exactly how you do it – and penelope did a bunch of laundry along with dusting the place.

you've never received this much care before, and it's almost annoying to you. you know they're just being good people, but you can't help but feel like it's a bit patronizing, in a way. they're a few years older than you, and the way they're looking and talking to you, like you're someone who needs saving (you are, deep down, but that's not something you'd ever admit aloud), a child, a weak tiny thing. it’s embarrassing, more than anything else.

you’re mad at spencer, as well, for sending them here. not only did he not have the guts to look in your face and give your stuff back himself, but he felt the need to get his friends — people you’ve seen once before in your life — to help you get through it, as if you need it. you do, but that's also something you're in denial about. some part of you doesn’t want to be helped, either. lying in bed wearing spencer’s shirt, that still smells like him, while your mind goes over all the memories of your time together, feels a lot easier than having to forget him.

when you got out of the shower, you found out they had brought dinner along with them — your fridge was totally empty aside from the old two liter bottle of coke that sat there since october — and it's only when you smelled the pomodoro that you realized you hadn't eaten in three days and you were starving.

you had dinner together while you told them about you and him, cried a little bit, and they made sure to let you know they'd give him a huge talking to the next morning at work. they also told you about how he's doing, and the knowledge of the fact that he's also not great brought some weird sort of comfort to you.

he's not doing as bad as you are, though. of course, he feels terrible. he's depressed, and the only reason he gets up from bed when he's home is because he's too much of a germaphobe to not shower at least once a day. he's not doing good. but this comes from the fact that he's lonely, and not that the person he loves can't love him back, like it is for you.

they told you about who he used to be, as well. you knew he went to prison, but you never wanted to push him too far by asking questions about it. you didn't know how much it had affected him. maybe that's why it's harder for him to get attached, to fall in love.

one thing they didn't talk about was his ex, and you’re happy they didn't. he had told you they were together for four years, and that she was there with him through prison. maybe that's why he could love her, but not you. that thought alone was enough to get you spiraling all throughout your “relationship” (?), so you're glad they didn't tell you anything else about her.

the girls went home after a few hours, having done the dishes from the dinner and made sure you had everything you needed. despite your insistence that she didn't have to, jj promised to stop by next morning with some groceries and things you may need. you're thankful, although annoyed.

throughout the week, emily and tara also stopped by a few times to check if you were okay, and just like that, spencer's co-workers fixed up what he broke. despite not enjoying being a charity case, you can’t say it’s not helpful. of course, you weren't necessarily happy but that's a strong word, no? this time, you actually mean it when you say i’m getting by. you're getting by, for exactly three weeks.

until a number you forgot to block called you on a friday night. you were lying in bed, watching tv, when you heard it ring from where it sat atop the dresser. you knew it was him, he had a special ringtone. you knew you shouldn't pick up, shouldn't give in so easily, especially after all the work those people put into fixing you up. so you let it go to voicemail and hope he takes it as a sign you don't want to see him. but he doesn't, he calls again.

and you're not that strong.

seeing his picture on your phone screen made you want to cry, but it let the more pathetic and needy side of you take over.

“can you come over?” he says immediately after you pick up, and it's followed by a long moment of silence, where you're thinking about what to say. can you come over? yes. should you come over?

“yeah, i'll be there in ten.” and you hang up.

during the cab ride, some stupid part of you is hoping that when you get there, he'll get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and say he loves you. although, you're not that disappointed when he opens the door and doesn't say a word before bringing his hands up to cup your face and pull you in for a kiss. you can't complain.

it's angry, at least from your side. you kiss him with all the anger you've felt for the past month. as he pulls you inside, you turn him around and press him up against the door, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

as for him, he's soft. passionate, but sweet. he has a gentle grip on your jaw, and it stays that way when it, after a while, moves to your waist, walking the two of you blindly onto the couch. when you sit down on his lap, straddling his hips, and loop your arms around his neck, you can feel him smiling into the kiss. and you've never been angrier.

he's never been so gentle, and that says a lot. he's always held you like the most fragile thing in the world, and especially now. you're certain he's doing it in some manipulative way to get you to stay, but it's okay. you don't care anymore. every ounce of self respect left your body as soon as you picked up the phone.

eventually, though, the sweetness coming from his lips seeps into yours, and you're reminded of the reason you love him in the first place.

his hands move away from your waist to the hem of your shirt, and he pulls away to look up at you, panting.

“is this okay? do you want…?” he whispers breathlessly, and when he's answered with an eager nod, he takes it off.

usually, he'd make you say it. he's all use your words and i know you can talk, but he doesn't want to tease you and make you even more annoyed. he'll take what he can get.

before you know it, you're naked in his bed and he's inside you again. and you've never loved him more. he has his head in your neck, where he's placing kisses as he mutters things along the lines of god, you feel so good and please, don't leave again and i missed you so much, sweet girl and you’re so perfect. you're pretty sure you must've moaned out another confession of love in the heat of the moment, but if he heard it, it didn't show. so you didn't say anything, either.

after he's cleaned you up, you lie down with your hand on his chest and head on his shoulder, and he places a kiss on your forehead. he always does. he holds you like one would hold a small child after they scrape their knee. maybe that's how he sees you, but you couldn't care less. at least he holds you.

suddenly, guilt flows over you, and you wish you could redo it all. you’re sure penelope, jj, emily, and tara would be quite disappointed to find out you did what you did. but they’re not your friends, you don’t owe them anything.

it does upset you, though, that you've undone weeks of healing just like that. you hate yourself for being so weak, and you hate spencer for taking advantage of that.

there’s so many things going through your head, but as soon as you make up your mind and decide you should leave, spencer starts running his hand through your hair, and you forget about everything you told him in the fake arguments you’ve had in front of the mirror over the past weeks. he's the love of your life, now.

“we don't have to talk about it” you whisper, your eyes fixed on your fingers tracing patterns along his bare chest.

“you know we should, this'll only hurt you more.

“no, we shouldn't. you said it yourself, let's go back to how we were. i can pretend. please. let's just forget about it. pretend i never said anything.” you say as you tilt your head to look up at him, an embarrassing almost begging expression in your face.

he nods after a beat, tucking your head back into its designated spot in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss to your temple.

at least he holds you.

#fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #angst #criminal minds fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #im not actually allergic to peanuts #love u #🐁

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