#I remember going into a Spencer's Gifts when I was like 9 and it was like wall to wall Chucky and Bride of Chucky

[giantkillerjack]

The biggest problem with this movie is the same as in the first movie, which is to say, the careless appropriation of voodoo is still gross.

Watching the end of this one, I don't know why they didn't just go with, "the company making these dolls is so evil that it invites evil spirits into the dolls" or something.

(Or like maybe there's like a freak accident involving lightning and some real son of a bitch working there. Or you just make up a different fake evil magic rather than ascribing "evil magic" to a real life religion practiced primarily by Black people. It's not hard to find an explanation. It's a camp horror movie. But anyway...)

Because the climax of this movie takes place in the most unsafe factory in the history of the world. 🤣 They have at least one fire exit ONLY accessible by climbing through a killer machine that has no off switch. A HUGE vat of acid with a big bumpable handle at hip height that in turn releases a JETSTREAM of acid spraying across the entire room. How do you get to the second floor? You gotta climb up a downward slope of metal rolling pins, of course!

It makes for a really fun videogame-like ending! Like, pure kid logic in a fun way that works for the genre. But also if anyone's going to be summoning evil spirits, it's a company going for the Guinness World Record of OSHA violations! There were just so many ways to not make it racist!

Child's Play 2 is satisfying to watch because the main kid is genuinely SO smart while still being believable for his age. He is like, 'yup I gotta appease the adults by saying I'm fine, and THEN I GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE', and starts packing to run away from the foster system so Chucky can't find him anymore! He knows not to go in the dark basement without a weapon, and it saves him! He knows to double check any Good Guy Doll to see if it has batteries because in the last movie Chucky was running without batteries! Bless this kid.

[littleslaywrites]

dixieland delight | professor!spencer reid x student!reader 

summary: spencer reid is your professor, and you find out he’s never been to a football game. you take him to the last game of your senior year. (in honor of going to my first iron bowl tomorrow. roll tide beat auburn.)

word count: 2.3k

cw: f!reader, fluff, minor age gap (reader is 21, spencer is about 15 years older), possibly niche references to bama gameday traditions, excuse to write fanfic of bama winning since we can’t do that irl this season apparently

As Spencer Reid’s student, you spent a good amount of your time visiting during his office hours. In fact, that’s how you got close enough to him that he asked you to become his girlfriend about six months ago. It was his first year teaching, and your final year in college. You assumed, considering that football was a prominent part of the campus culture, that he had been to at least one game this season. Therefore, it came as a surprise to you when he revealed that he had never been to any college football games. Something about him being a little too young and far too nerdy to enjoy the environment.

You had made it your mission for the past two months to convince him to come with you to just one game. He was resistant at first, but eventually you convinced him to attend the last game of the season. Your selling point was that it would be a great way to observe the minds of college students. A weak argument, sure, but he secretly wanted to spend time with you. It was the school’s big rivalry game, and he felt that he should experience it just once. He thought of it as an opportunity to do something he could never enjoy when he was younger, and if he could go with you, that would make it even better.

The week before the game, you made sure to prepare him for the traditions. First and foremost, you went to the store on campus and got him a polo with the team logo. He had to wear something nice to match you, but he couldn’t wear a suit and tie, or he’d end up looking like a pledge. You gave it to him in a gift bag with tulle, along with a shaker in the team colors. When you presented it to him, he was grateful for the gift, but not too thrilled about the outfit. You eventually convinced him to wear it, saying that he’d stick out in his usual outfit. You couldn’t convince him to forgo the mismatched socks, though. Next, you sent him all the chants and songs he would need to learn, Dixieland Delight being the most important. His reply was something about chants being passed down to each generation and popular culture transitioning to folk, but you were more focused on him focussing on not messing up the words come the fourth quarter. It was just one instance of many where you were grateful for his eidetic memory. Most importantly, you make sure he remembers the four most important words in the English language: “Roll Tide” and “Beat Auburn”. 

The morning of the game, you wake up bright and early at 8am. You told Spencer to meet you outside of your sorority house at 9:30. He was a little taken aback, considering the game didn’t start until 2:30, but you insisted on him getting the full experience, including early morning tailgating. It took you longer than usual to get ready, considering it was a full glam event. You put on your dress and boots, put your gameday pin on, and walked down the stairs, grabbing a sticker with your letters on it for Spencer. 

He is waiting outside your house, looking slightly out of place in the enthused crowd of girls that were taking pictures along the row. 

“I like the shirt,” you say, complementing your own taste.

“Thanks,” he replies, “I had a fantastic personal shopper.”

You laugh, pressing the sticker on his chest. He politely grabs your hand, intertwining his finger with yours.

Making your way to the quad, you tell him about who you’d be tailgating with. Some were clubs and organizations you were in at school, others were friends that lived nearby. He listens intently, curious about the peek into your world. 

“I brought earplugs,” he says as you walk to the grassy plain of pop-up tents. 

“Are you serious?” you say, lightly laughing at him.

“You know, repeated exposure to loud noise due to crowds can cause permanent hearing loss, especially–”

“Alright, I get it.” You smile at his aversion to even the slightest form of risk-taking. It’s hard to believe he rushed into danger as a special agent, but his innate instinct to help others must’ve driven him, you conclude. He smiles back, admiring your outfit and hair. He hardly ever gets to see you done up like this, so the picture of you makes his heart flutter like the first time he saw you.

By the time you’re done tailgating at about one, Spencer is tired from all the social interaction. Of course, he enjoyed meeting your friends, but he’s not necessarily the social type. Noticing his quickly draining social battery, you reassure him that he won’t have to be as conversational once you get to the stadium. 

“I know it’s a little hectic,” you reassure him. “Believe me, I was just as lost as you were as a freshman.”

You think of yourself at the beginning of college, an out-of-state freshman who’d never been to a big SEC game before. You were grateful for your sorority sisters who had shown you around, and you were excited to be that person for Spencer.

You stand together outside of the steps of the library, watching the band play the elephant stomp. Once they finish their routine, you follow the band, along with the crowd, to the stadium. Spencer is mesmerized by the crowd and their traditions, as well as their passion for the team. You follow his eyes, seeing your younger self in him, a reversal of the usual dynamic where he sees his younger self in you.  

His one request was that you wouldn’t sit in the student section. He could picture how thousands of drunk college students would be, and decided that it would set his germaphobia off as soon as he got there. You two are sitting near the field, Spencer not minding spending the extra for a better view. As you told him, if he was going to do it, he should do it right.

Before you take your seats, you stop by the concessions. You get stadium essentials: pretzels, Denny dogs, and popcorn to share. When you walk out of the tunnel, Spencer is instantly blinded by the sun. The fans are astonishingly excited, considering there’s still 45 minutes until kickoff.

“Are they a little more peppy than the crowds at your comic cons?” you ask, seeing his eyes widening.

“A little.” he smiles down at you, following the lead of your clomping boots up the stairs. 

When the game starts, he follows along in the fight song, thankful it’s not too hot. He brought sunscreen along, explaining to you that UV is damaging even when it’s cloudy. At his request, you put it on, wanting to make him happy. 

Throughout the game, you lean in to his ear to explain the plays. He opts not to wear the earplugs, wanting to hear every word you say. 

“So they get four more downs?” he asks after one particular play where the announcer calls out “first down Alabama”, and the crowd replies with a Roll Tide. 

“Exactly,” you say, proud of how fast he’s learning. “You're almost as good of a student as you are a teacher.”

He smiles at your compliment. “It helps when the rest of the crowd is giving hints.”

At halftime, he finds he enjoys the band performance a little more than the actual game, but he’d never tell you that. He makes sure to sing along when they play “Yea Alabama”, knowing it’ll make you proud of his memorization. Your enthusiasm in his interests made him feel supported, and he wanted you to feel the same. He knows what it’s like to be ignored when ranting about whatever fun facts he had to share, so he takes effort to not make you feel the same. 

He tentatively wraps his arm around your waist, reassured when you lean into him. He’s always nervous to be affectionate with you, knowing you were worried at first how people would see you when you started dating. Slowly, you got more comfortable in his presence, allowing him to steal a kiss every now and then. He was professional in class, but after that, you were just like any other couple. In a sense, the game was a milestone. Not only were you in public with him, but surrounded by your peers. It warmed his heart that you were proud enough of your relationship to let others see you with him. He always feared he would date someone who would be embarrassed by him, but you were the opposite. You were enamored by everything about him, you loved his brain, his looks, his heart. Enough that you even asked the people sitting behind you to take pictures of the two of you. 

You smile down at the image, the two of you in your gameday outfits with the field behind you. 

“You look downright southern,” you say, turning your phone to show him. 

You both laugh at this, him asking you to send the picture to him. He likes to print his photos out, organizing them in physical albums rather than on his phone, like you did. He makes sure to remember to get an extra for you. 

At the start of the fourth quarter, they play “Basket Case” by Green Day, the only song he knew before his lessons in football. He dances along with you, embarrassment escaping him due to your carefree moves. 

It’s not too sunny but not too cold, the perfect weather, in your mind, for a game. You wish it was a night game, but the rivalry makes up for it. 

When “Dixieland Delight” comes on, he pulls out the shaker you bought for him. 

Holding my lover with the other, a sweet, soft, Southern thrill 

For a moment, he understands why the crowd doesn’t make you feel claustrophobic.

Hold her up tight (against the wall), make a little loving (all night) 

There’s a unity he feels with the other fans as they chant the same words as him.

The sun begins to set over the stadium, dipping below the edge of the upper bowl. You comment on it, and Spencer says something about why the colors look the way they do, but you’re instantly distracted by the Tide running in the game winning touchdown with a 1:32 left in the fourth quarter. The stadium erupts right as Spencer finishes talking, confusing him as he wasn’t really watching the game as his attention was on you. 

You’re jumping around and cheering, so he joins in. He would usually feel weird being so enthusiastic, but with the crowd all screaming, he’d almost feel weirder if he didn’t. As the clock runs down, he remembers the final tradition of the game: Rammer Jammer.  

When you made him learn all the traditions, you told him that this one was for when you won. Not if, but when. He pointed out your phrasing, but your reply was only “we’re Alabama, of course we’ll win”. 

You assumed prior to the game he’d be opposed to heading down to the strip afterwards, considering the crowd would probably pack the streets. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to go to Rounders, anyway. However, as everyone filed out of the stadium, he turned to you and asked what you were doing after the game. 

The high from the win was infectious, and, realizing how fun your traditions were, he wanted to do it all. 

“What about Taco Bell?” you ask, making the executive decision to rule out any bars. He agrees to that plan, holding your hand as you two walk down University Blvd, packed on all sides by the celebrating students. 

“You people go crazy when you win, huh?”

“You should be glad this wasn’t against Tennessee,” you reply.” “I would’ve made you pull out a cigar with the rest of the crowd.” 

He smiles, just slightly concerned at the tradition, but choosing not to mention the health risks of smoking. Since you’ve been dating, he’s loosened up, your spirit infectious. 

Crammed between the rowdy crowd, he looks at you and smiles. He can tell you have a hint of concern for him, so he squeezes your hand, signifying that he’s enjoying himself. 

“I’m glad you convinced me to come,” he says, taking in the energy. 

“Me, too. I just wish I convinced you before my last home game.”

“I guess we’ll just have to come back next year.”

This makes you blush, being the first time he’s mentioned anything long term. Part of him enjoys seeing your reaction. He’d usually fumble over his words, explaining himself away, but he sticks with it this time, meaning what he says about the future. 

The two of you grab your food, watching everyone on the street from inside. 

“A little different from CalTech?”

“A bit,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t call it a party school, and we sure didn’t do football like you guys do.”

“Ever wish you went somewhere down South?”

“I think today was about enough for me.” 

You both laugh at this, knowing, even if he wasn’t as young as he was in college, he wasn’t in his element. 

He walks you back to the house afterwards, hugging you outside the door. In bed that night, you find yourself smiling at a future where you can drag him along to more games, hoping his comment of “next year” would ring true by then. Or this year would work better, a playoff at Bryant-Denny or even the Rose Bowl. Now that you thought about it, that’d be even better. You fall asleep with visions of a national championship (with Spencer and you in the crowds watching) dancing in your head. 

Lucky as a seven, living in heaven with my dixieland delight

a/n: This fic is majorly based on my own life and my own daydreams about our boy Spencer if he worked at my school. Reading it over it sounds like I’m crushing on bama football more than Spencer (which might be true oops). Anyway, I'm gonna start going thru requests soon but I just had to put this idea into writing 🫶

[gold-onthe-inside]

ataraxia

ἀταραξία | a lucid state of robust equanimity characterized by ongoing freedom from distress and worry.

summary: piper can't sleep, pondering on philosophy and permanence, afraid of how moments of bliss keep slipping through her fingers. who: spencer reid x oc (piper bishop) content warnings: grief, child death songs: dying is absolutely safe by the architects a/n: before any of you come at me, piper is going to therapy, i swear

She's awake in the middle of the night, just watching Spencer in bed beside her breathing and she slid his hand to his chest, searching for his heartbeat to ground her. He's alive. Not dying.

She remembers a long time ago, what feels like a lifetime ago at this point, when it had stopped, when the heels of her palm went numb, her muscles aching, trying to pound life back into him. The first time her lips had touched his and it hadn't felt exhilarating, it had felt terrifying. That fear coloured every aspect of them, his fear of dying of Anthrax before getting to tell her how he felt, his fear of her death finally pushing him to move in with her. It still beat, a steady thump that usually could put her right back to sleep as she matched his breath, but tonight, she's soaking in the fact that he's alive, not another picture on her shelf.

She still remembers Arthur's chest, cold and still under her palm. She remembers sneaking into the morgue to see Ethan, the mortician taking pity on this 9 year old with big brown eyes and a stiff upper lip that could only stay hard for so long, and matches that 9 year old's motion of putting her ear to his chest. He's alive. Not dying.

She feels him adjust, even in sleep, making space for her to exist with him, his arm shifting so his hand lingered by her lower back gracelessly. She can't remember if it's something she's read where every heartbeat is a march to the death, left, right, left, right, wait, or is it right, left, and then she's trying to imagine Spencer's walk. Which foot does he march into Death's door with? She hopes it's the right foot, it's meant to be more holy, if she remembers Indira's mother's words right.

As Spencer stirs, feeling her head against his chest, he can sense that something is bothering her. He slowly rolls over, his arm wrapping around her waist as he tugs her against him. "Nightmare?" His sleep-laden voice is groggy and thick, his hand gently sliding over her skin, resting on her waist.

"No," Piper whispers. "Go back to sleep."

His brows pinched as he opened his eyes, looking over at her.

"What’s wrong?" He asks, his eyes scanning her face, trying to read her expression in the dark room. He frowns slightly when he couldn't see her expression very well with the lack of light. It's through sheer familiarity that he finds her cheek, hand lifting to slide along her neck, the tips tangling in her hair.

"Nothing," she replies softly. "I promise. Go back to sleep." Spencer's studied philosophy, he loves the challenge of not knowing the right answer, but he's not Arthur. Arthur who gifted Piper his annotated copy of Meditations on her birthday, the same dog-eared book he pored over for months, all to convince her that there was more to the Stoics than gritting your teeth and carrying on. Arthur knows philosophy. Spencer knows her.

"Piper. I'm not going back to sleep until you tell me what's wrong," he says, a slight edge to his tone, the kind that has no give. He's not the only one who uses it either, they're both intellectuals, both trapped in their own head.

"Just… existential anxiety. Normal 3am things."

A soft sigh escaped him, feeling a bit frustrated that she wouldn't tell him what was truly bothering her. He moved his hand to her face, gently cupping her cheek. "Piper," he murmured her name gently, "I'm going to need more than that. Please. Talk to me."

Piper shifted up in bed, turning on her bedside lamp, illuminating her half blue, half amber. Spencer blinked at the sudden light, letting out a low groan as the light filled the room. Once his eyes adjusted, he sat up beside her and pulled her into his side, pulling the blankets over them.

"I know there's more. You're lying to me, Piper."

"Only if you count omission as lies."

"You're trying to confuse me," he sighed, his thumb gently running along her back. "Come on, angel. Talk to me." He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Please? I know something is wrong, so please, talk to me. Tell me how to fix it."

"Everything that exists is already fraying at the edges, and in transition, subject to fragmentation and to rot," Piper recited softly, her hand closing around his wrist, searching for his pulse. She was convinced she was a ghost when she was 5 because she couldn't find her pulse on her wrist. Ethan hadn't found it either, and they'd run around the library at Berkeley, pretending to haunt the building.

Spencer frowned, hearing her recited lines. He gently flipped his hand over so her fingers were resting over his pulse. For some odd reason, hers was always harder to find. He gently pressed her hand down against his wrist, making sure she could feel it.

"Piper," he murmured, his thumb grazing the back of her hand. "That- you can feel that, right?"

"That's the point," she murmured. "The very fact that you exist eventuates your death."

His frown deepened, leaning his head back against the headboard as he held her tightly. "Why are you reciting these lines to me at 3am?" He asked softly, feeling his heart race slightly in his chest.

"Cause you asked me what's wrong," she said, looking at their hands, her pulse beating between both of his. "Impermanence. You never step into the same river twice." He's gonna tell me to shut up and go back to sleep any minute now, she thinks. "And if you know that... then you decide not to step out... you think it'll still stay the same... except the river just keeps flowing around you..." Maybe if I keep talking, he'll give up and go back to sleep. "Which means, whether you step in or step out, the river's gone."

He gently closed his fingers around her hand gently, cutting off her rambling as he gently intertwined their fingers. "Piper," he mumbled, his thumb gently tracing her knuckles.  "Stop talking about rivers. Please. I don't like this metaphor." Of all things, that's what bothered him. The river metaphors. He gently guided her hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart, feeling it thump against her palm.

"Tell Heraclites that," she said softly.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, but there was a playful tone in his voice as he spoke. "Heraclites isn't here right now." He mumbled. "You are." He gently pressed his hand over hers, holding it against his chest. "Is this what's bothering you? Impermanence? What's going on, Piper?"

"We're dying... right now... as we speak," she said.

Spencer stiffened slightly, feeling a chill run down his spine. He felt the pulse beneath her thumb, his heart speeding up slightly. "Why are you thinking about this at 3am?" He asks softly, gently squeezing her hand. It was morbid to be speaking about at this time, but he couldn't deny that he was curious about why she was thinking about it.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just couldn't sleep."

He let out a sigh, resting his chin on top of her head. "And you're just thinking about the inevitability of death?" He asked, his other hand gently running up and down her arm.

"Pretty much," she said, elongating every second phoneme.

He hummed softly, his hand continuing to run up and down her arm gently. He didn't know whether it was soothing her or himself. Perhaps it was the both of them.  "That's a morbid thing to be thinking about at 3am," he murmured, pulling her closer to his chest. "You're alive though. I'm alive. Right here. In this moment."

"Yeah, but that's what I'm saying about the river," she said. "Like... even if I choose to focus on this moment, even if I try to hold onto it, reality will keep changing. The river flows around you."

"You're thinking about this way too deeply. Maybe you need to sleep." He murmured, gently lifting her hand from his chest and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, pressing gently against her pulse. It calmed him somewhat, knowing that she was alive and well beside him.

"Have you ever tried just not thinking about something?" Piper asked, snuggling into his chest. "Especially when the something is that everything ends?"

He hummed softly, resting his chin on top of her head, his eyes fixated on a spot on the wall across the room. "Not thinking isn't exactly something I'm good at," he murmured, gently holding her against his chest. "Everything does end. People, ideas, concepts, empires. It's inevitable. But you being here at this moment, me holding you right now, that's not going to end anytime soon." He murmured softly, his thumb tracing over her arm gently.

She let out a breath, tucked inside his arms, her forehead pressed to the base of his throat, and she feels so small. She wants to be nine years old, huddled with Ethan with a flashlight under the covers as they promise to go to Azerbaijan. But Ethan's gone, and so is her mother and Arthur and Emory. Her throat feels tight and she really doesn't want to cry into his chest because then he really won't go back to sleep. "I don't want to lose you," she whispers into his chest.

His hand pauses against her arm, his breath catching at the sudden confession. He knew there was something weighing on her mind, but he wasn't expecting this. He gently wraps his arm around her tighter, pressing another gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Hey. Look at me, angel." He murmured softly.

But the way she's wrapped in his arms means she has to shuffle in bed so her head rests on the pillow. He looks pretty in this light, he always looks pretty. She can't see the gold in his eyes, dark and half-lidded, and not for the first time, she thinks, he really does have perfect bone structure.

He gently cupped her cheek, pressing his forehead to hers, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone gently. He was scanning her expression, feeling her pulse still beneath his fingers, which were still resting on her wrist. "You're not going to lose me. Not today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. Even if that time does come, you won't be alone. I promise you that." He murmured softly, gently rubbing his nose against hers.

She doesn't want to be this way - she wishes she was more like Penelope or JJ. Blonde and blue-eyed and wonderful and blindly optimistic. But Piper's life is marred by loss like her skin is marred with scars, and no matter how many times he says he loves them, scars are still scars. "I feel alone," she whispered.

His other arm wraps around her waist, tugging her even closer as he closed his eyes, gently bumping his nose against hers and resting his forehead against hers again. "You're not alone. You have so many people who love you that I couldn't even count them all. You have me, and I'm not going to go anywhere. I promise. I'm staying, because I love you," he murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to her forehead.

She let out another shaky breath, wishing she could just be placated and go to sleep. She's tired of living like this, in the knowledge that every moment could be their last and she can already hear the pluck in the phrase of 'living in the moment', like it's not exhausting to be mindful all the time. "Everyone says that," she murmured, hating herself for being wired this way. God, just shut up and fall asleep. 

He couldn't believe the words that just came out of her mouth. It felt like a sucker punch to his heart, his arms instinctively tightening around her. She felt so small wrapped up in his arms, and he found himself rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her. "You don't believe my words?" He asked, his voice soft. He didn't want to be argumentative. He never wanted that. But her saying 'everyone says that' felt like a dagger to his chest.

"I do believe you, it's just…" She thought she had forever with Ethan, she still has their atlas that she never gave back to the Blakes, still sees him spinning her mom's globe, telling her all the places they’re gonna go. She thought she had forever with her mom, working in her lab with her team. She thought she had forever with Arthur, sneaking through her dorm window with a lopsided grin and another dog-eared book. "I know I'm gonna lose you anyway," she whispered.

He felt his chest ache, his grip on her tightening slightly. He never doubted her love for him, but hearing her say that she didn't believe him made something inside of him ache more than words could describe. He swallowed hard and gently shifted to pull her into his shoulder. He felt that same fear of losing her, but he wasn't going to voice that to her. He couldn't.

"Why? What makes you think you're going to lose me?" He asked, his voice wavering slightly as he rubbed her back.

"Because I lose everyone," she said and her chest constricts like it's trying to squeeze her heart into beating.

Now she was really breaking his heart. He felt himself grow slightly cold. Was he just a person on a long list of people that she would lose? Is that what she was thinking? He shook his head, but he kept his hand on her back, rubbing it gently.

"That doesn't mean you're going to lose me. That's not how it works, Piper." He murmured softly.

"How does it work?" she asked.

He sighed softly, gently rubbing her back. "It's not predetermined. It's not set in stone. What happened to Ethan, what happened to the others, it's sad and it's tragic, but you didn't cause that and it doesn't mean you're going to lose everyone." He murmured, biting the inside of his cheek. He was trying to find the words to say. "I don't plan to leave. I just want to love you and come home to you and grow old with you. We are going to grow old together. Do you believe me on that?"

Piper looked at him. "You'd look nice with a little gray in your hair," she said.

He couldn't help but let out a soft huff of amusement, his chest easing slightly. He always found himself caught off-guard at how quick she could go from serious to somewhat light-hearted.

"And you'll be beautiful with a few wrinkles," he murmured.

"Don't say that," she groaned, closing her eyes and scrunching her nose.

"You'll be the most gorgeous old lady walking this earth," he couldn't help but tease, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips and Piper groaned, crashing into his chest. He chuckled softly, his arms immediately winding around her as she crashed into him, pulling her flush against his chest.

"It's true," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her head as he rubbed her back.

"Fine, but if I need a walker, you need to take me out back and shoot me," she replied, looking up at him.

"Absolutely not," he murmured, the playful tone gone from his voice. "I'm getting you a wheelchair, and I'm taking you on dates and pushing you around in it," he paused for a moment, an eyebrow quirking. "Do they do wheelchair basketball in nursing homes?"

Piper laughed, her body shaking in his arms. "You don't even play regular basketball."

"But it's not regular basketball. It's in chairs," he teased, his lips quirking up into a small smirk. He pressed her flush against him, pressing another gentle kiss to her head. "Do you feel better now?"

"Temporarily." Her chest felt lighter, her back less tense.

"Temporary is good, I suppose. I'll take temporary. You were really scaring me there for a second," he murmured, his fingers tracing up and down her spine softly.

Piper inhaled, shifting back to look at him. "Pyrrho said that... well, one of his student's student said that... reality is unknowable. And so trying to understand rules that govern reality is a fool's errand because if everything is unstable and unfixed, then..."

Spencer felt himself stiffen slightly. He listened intently to her words, absorbing. "What? Is everything futile, then?" He asked softly, tracing his fingertips up to the nape of her neck.

Piper let out a difficult breath. "Not that everything is futile, but trying to know everything is pointless. He says it's better to live without judgement. In ataraxy."

"And do you trust what he says? Do you agree?" Spencer asked softly, his other hand gently tracing along her cheek. He loved listening to her talk, and talking to her about things like this.

She shifted to lean on her elbow, starting to lose feeling in her arm, tracing his jawline as she thought about it. "I don't know. I think Buddhists say the same thing. Live mindfully, without casting judgement. And um... God, what's it called?" She rubbed her face, trying to remember. "Post positivism says that uh, not all truths are knowable. That parts of reality can be known and measured, but some things can't."

Spencer listened attentively, his fingers gently tracing along her arm as she touched his jawline. "And do you agree with that?" He asked softly, his lips quirking up into a small, lopsided smile.

"I think... there's a line between not knowing something and living in denial," Piper said, her fingers in her hair, her other hand resting on Spencer's neck. "Pyrrho feels... defeatist. Like... everything's unstable, don't bother trying."

He hummed softly, gently tracing a pattern on her arm as he listened to her speak. He felt a bit conflicted. It wasn't that he necessarily disagree with what Pyrrho said. There was truth in it, but Spencer felt it didn't provide an excuse to not try. To not be curious. "Do you think I'm foolish for wanting to learn everything?" He asked softly, his other hand gently squeezing her hip.

"No," she said instantly.

"You're not supposed to just agree with me," he murmured, his nose gently nudging hers. He knew he was just being stubborn for the sake of argument but he couldn't help it. He loved debating with her.

"But I do agree with you. I think it's worth trying to know as much as you can. But how do you... keep going when you know everything ends eventually? Maybe not now, not soon, but at some point. How do you not panic when you know there's a countdown but you don't know how long you have?"

"Well, that's the thing," He murmured, gently thumb tracing her cheek again. "You don't know how much time you have. It could be a week. A month. Years. And I think it's best to just go through life with the goal of enjoying the moment and spending it with loved ones," he murmured softly, his lips quirking into a smile. "There's no point of focusing on the uncertainty of death when you have the certainty of life right now."

Piper let out a sigh, pursing her lips as she lay on her back, Spencer on his side, his hand finding her stomach. Spencer rested his head on his pillow, resting his forehead against hers again, gently pressing against her. He ran his fingers along her stomach, the fabric of her shirt soft beneath his fingers. He could feel the anxiety and uncertainty radiating off of her. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" He murmured softly. "Thinking about these things. Obsessing over this?"

"Because it's real," she said, looking at the ceiling. "If reality is unstable, ungovernable, if the essence of the universe is change, and that change always leads to degradation…"

He hesitated for a moment, hearing the wavering in her voice. He wanted to tell her not to think about it again, but he hated stifling her. He felt his heart ache. She was right, but he never had that fear like she did. This constant panic. This sense of overwhelming dread over things out of their control. She was right, it was real.  "Why does it scare you so badly?" He murmured softly.

"Because there's nothing I can do about it," Piper said. "It's like trying to hold onto water."

He let out a soft sigh, gently tracing shapes against her stomach with his fingertips. He didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to fix any of it. But he was going to try. "But you and I are real right now. I am right here. That's what you should focus on," he murmured softly.

"That's what I'm saying. This is water. This is my river. No matter how hard I focus, how hard I hold onto it, this is slipping. The river is flowing around me," Piper said.

Spencer hated when Piper did this. He didn't understand why she got so wrapped up in these philosophical metaphors. Sure, they were smart. A smart way of explaining things. It was just how her mind worked. But it didn't make him understand any better. "So what? Is that the problem? That the change is inevitable? That it's impossible to control how life changes around us?" He murmured, his fingers tracing shapes against her stomach still.

"Yeah," she breathed out.

He gently pulled back, meeting her eyes as he looked at her. His hand cupped her cheek after a moment, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone gently. He felt his heart ache, seeing the look in her eyes. "Is that what scares you? That you can't control change? You can't control how fast it goes? You can't stop how quickly time passes?"

"I know it's ridiculous," Piper said softly.

"Hey," He murmured, shaking his head as he gently ran his thumb along her cheekbone. His eyes met hers, searching her expression. "It's not ridiculous. Don't say that. It's a valid fear. I don't understand it, sure, but it's valid," He murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her nose. "But if the time doesn't pass, then this is all we have," he said. "If you stop time to stop the bad things, then you also stop the good things. Like playing geriatric basketball." Piper let out a fond scoff as he smiled at her. "If you freeze this moment, then we don't wake up together, or have breakfast tomorrow.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, looking back at him. "Okay."

His arm snaked over her waist, pulling her closer to his side again. He kissed her forehead, gently resting his cheek against the top of her head. "Try to get some sleep," he murmured. He hated this. He hated seeing her like this. He felt his heart ache.

"Okay," she said, moving to turn the bedside lamp off. "But for the record, you need like, ridiculous upper body strength to throw a basketball in a wheelchair--"

Spencer didn't reply, instead letting her ramble until he pulled her back to bed, pressing a kiss to her lips to shut her up. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her melt into the kiss instantly, her lips soft against his own. The river could keep flowing. She didn't care.

[xspeter]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤, ��𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ఌ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭.𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭 ꨄ

november 14, 9:36 a.m.

you weren’t sure when the last time you got a full nights rest was.

it’s hard, when every time you close your eyes you see her face. everytime you close your eyes you see the bullet go through her skull, see the way her body fell to the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing.

everytime you remember it, you recall a scream. it might’ve been hers, it might’ve been emily’s, it might’ve been yours.

you aren’t sure.

“y/n,” someone whispers against your skin, you aren’t sure who.

everyone’s voices seem to jumble together at this point.

“you have to get ready.” they say.

you pull the blankets closer to your chest.

“for what?” you mumble.

“for the funeral.”

oh yeah.

november 14, 2:43 p.m.

she always said she wanted her funeral to be like a big party.

“well, i just don’t want everyone to sit and cry and be sad. i want- i want them to celebrate me.” she swallows, and you nod.

“that’s understandable, but i can’t promise you i won’t cry at your funeral.” you say.

she shoves you, “don’t say that.”

you shrug, “i mean, it’s only logical that one of us will die first- not to sound like, morbid or something.” you shudder.

she laughs, “no. we live together, we die together. promise.”

you bite your lip as you weave your way through the crowd. there’s people dancing, most of them are teary eyed.

there’s a large memorial right in the center of everything. there’s flowers piled up in the worst way, gifts that she’ll never be able to open- you think you might throw up.

spencer grabs your arm when you waver, his brown eyes filled to the brim with sympathy. “are you okay?” he asks.

you don’t respond.

you don’t know if you’ll ever be okay again.

you take a breath as you lay down the flowers right next to her the canvas that holds her photo.

“i’m sorry.” you mumble.

“i’m so, so, sorry.” you cry.

the tears come before you can even stop them.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you repeat like a mantra, your breath coming in gasps. spencer is quick to fall to his knees next to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you close to his chest.

you barely even notice him.

all you can focus on is her.

how you failed to save her. you failed her family, failed your job, you failed yourself. how were you supposed to come back from this,

“it’s okay, you’re okay, i’m here.” spencer whispers in your ear.

but it’s not him that you want.

december 3, 7:34 p.m.

you aren’t sure if this is your third glass of wine, or your seventh. you don’t really care.

this is the only way to numb the pain. the only way that you can forget.

sometimes you catch yourself going to call or text her, and then you remember.

the front door opens and closes with a slam, you don’t notice.

“y/n?” a female voice calls out.

“what?” you sing-song.

a brightly colored woman steps into view, and you immediately recognize her as penelope garcia.

you gasp, “pen!” you giggle, clambering to your feet to give her a hug. she returns it effortlessly.

spencer stands behind her, his bag slung over his shoulder.

penelope pulls away with a sigh, her eyebrows are nut together and her eyes are glassy. “what’s wrong?” you ask.

“y/n, are you drinking?” she asks.

you furrow your eyebrows, taking a step away from her.

“what does it matter?” you spit.

she shares a look with spencer.

he clears his throat, “we’re worried about you, sweetheart. everyone is- the whole team.” he mutters, reaching out to place a hand on your arm.

you swat him away, tone dripping venom as you scoff out, “i’m fine! there- there is nothing wrong with me.”

penolope wipes away a tear, “y/n, how many glasses of wine have you had?” she asks.

you scowl, “i don’t- i’m not keeping count! why does this even matter anyway?”

spencer picks up your glass and drops in the sink. you flinch at the clang it makes.

“because y/n, this is not how you deal with grief. we are all here for you- everyone of us. and we want to help you, but you aren’t letting us! everytime i try to talk to you you shut down, and all your doing is making yourself worse with all this drinking.” he cries.

he bites his lip and sighs, “sweetheart, the alcohol is not going to make it go away. it’s just going to make it worse.”

your bottom lip begins to quiver at that, and your shoulders shake as you stumble to the couch.

you hold you head in your hands as you sob. spencer and Penelope sit on either side of you, whispering about how loved you are.

and for the first time, you think you might get through this.

december 18, 8:42 a.m.

today is your first day back at work since she died, and your feeling more excited than nervous.

you’ve missed everyone, and you’ve missed working with them.

as soon as you walk through the door with spencer by your side you’re surrounded by the team you’ve grown to love.

“oh, i’ve missed you so much!” emily says, gathering you into her arms in a bone crushing hug.

you laugh and agree with her.

when everyone finishes the mini reunion, hotch calls you all into the meeting room to discuss your next case.

penolope explains that teenage girls in a small town right outside of phoenix, arizona have been going missing and found dead three days later with a singular bullet shot through the skull.

one shot through the skull.

december 19, 12:21 p.m.

should anyone honestly be surprised that the mission turns out like this? that as soon as you see the body of the newest victim, you’re brought back to there.

to that place where the most important person in your life was taken from you?

“y/n, baby, just look at me, okay? look at me.” spencer instructs as you gasp for air.

“follow my breathing,” you do as he says.

“good, just like that.” he praises, continuing to slowly breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

when the crowd surrounding you disperses and your tears have long dried, you and spencer sit in the hotel room together.

you on the bed, and spencer on the desk chair.

you both sit in silence for a few moments, before you finally say it.

“i cant keep doing this anymore.” you mutter.

spencer swallows.

“what do you mean?” he asks.

you swallow, blinking away the tears that begin to form in your eyes.

“everything- i just, i need to get away.” you cry.

spencer furrows his eyebrows and bites his lip, “y/n, please don’t do this.” he pleads with a sob.

you let the tears fall freely now, “spencer, i have too.”

he falls to the floor in front of you, clasping your knees. you avoid eye contact.

“please, i can- i can help you! we just have to get through this-“

you shake your head, “no, spencer. i have to go. i need to get away from- from all of this!”

he frowns, “i’ll go with you! just- please, please don’t leave me.” he sobs.

you shake your head, softly pushing him away from you and standing. you grab your bags, and quietly make your way to the hotel door.

“i’m sorry, spencer.”

september 21, 4:43 p.m.

two years later

you really never thought you’d be back here.

when you left that fateful day in december, you had been so positive that that was it.

and now you’re back.

you try to ignore the anxiety in your chest when you walk through the threshold of hotch’s office, a smile on your face.

hotch looks up at you, and his eyes soften.

“y/n. you look healthy.” he says.

you shrug, “well, time heals all i suppose.”

hotch smiles.

he actually smiles.

“they’re all in the meeting room. i didn’t… i didn’t tell them you were coming back. i just said we have a new member.” he explains.

you nod and go to leave his office, but he stops you.

“y/n?” he says.

“yeah?” you hum.

“spencer, he, um, he’s engaged.” he says.

you hate the way your heart drops at that.

“oh,” you clear your throat, “okay.”

what right would you even have to feel hurt by this? you left him.

“she was your replacement when you left,” he explains, “her names callie.”

when you walked into the meeting room, you could’ve cried from joy.

everyone immediately pounced on you when you entered, their excited rambling is hard to keep up with, but you barely notice.

because all you can see is spencer.

and the woman next to him.

and their hands clasped together.

when hotch settles everyone down, you take the safe route and sit next derek as garcia gives a briefing on your case.

you do your best to pay attention, you really do, but it’s hard when you know he’s staring at you.

he doesn’t even try to hide it either. everytime you glance at him he doesn’t look away, he just stares.

the plane ride is even worse.

“hi, i don’t think we’ve met! my names callie.” the woman who was holding spencer’s hand says.

you smile and take a seat across from emily, “i’m y/n.”

she laughs, “believe me, i know! when i first joined the team, all anyone ever talked about was you! especially spencer.” she laughs.

you feel your shoulders tense, but you just laugh it off.

september 25, 8:36 p.m.

you sit at a bar, and order a glass of water.

the bartender looks at you funny, but you just shrug, “i’m not in the mood for alcohol.”

when he serves it to you, you sip on it moderately, watching the football game on the television that hangs a few feet in front of you.

you almost don’t notice when someone sits next to you.

almost.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.” you say back.

you ignore the way your shoulders tense and your heart flutters when he scoots just a little bit closer.

“why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” he asks, you shrug.

“what was i supposed to say?”

he shrugs.

silence.

“i’m sorry,” you swallow.

he nods, “so am i.”

“you have nothing to be sorry for, Spence. i… i did what was best for me at the time. and you got something good from it anyway! you met your fiancé, and believe me, when i saw that ring i just knew you loved her.” you gush, ignoring the ache in your chest.

he frowns, toying with his fingers.

“it was supposed to be yours.”

you swear your heart stops at that.

you eyes begin to feel glassy, and you bite your bottom lip.

spencer looks as heartbroken as you feel.

“it was my moms, and she gave it to me two weeks before… she died. i wanted to take you somewhere really romantic and propose, but… then you left.”

“spence…” you mumble.

he smiles, “i don’t blame you for leaving.”

you wipe at the tear that rolls down your cheek, clearing your throat, you mumble, “i’m sorry, spence.”

“i know you are.”

and then he leaves.

why are all my spencer posts always super angsty ???

[obsidiancreates]

One Undead To Another (Chapter 9)

Theoretically, no-one should get any sleep that night. For one, it’s almost over. For two, they’ve all been through something unimaginably horrific, multiple times, in only a few hours. Really none of them should ever sleep again.

But Shawn gestures for all three to get onto his bed. “Guys, come on. I can’t… if you’re not helping me with the body, then you’re not watching me take it out either.”

“Spencer, if you think I’m sleeping in this pigsty you call an apartment–”

“Are you going home, Lassie?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then just get a couple hours, man! I’m going to be… busy, anyway.”

“No going out unsupervised, remember?”

“Well, I can’t exactly  get rid of the body and stay right here with you at the same time, and you are the one who said you won’t help me move it! All three of you!”

“I don’t like how casually we’re starting to treat this,” Jules says, putting her hands out. “Shawn, just– take him to a hospital, maybe?”

“A hospital? … Jules, I don’t think they can help him there.”

“Well what did you have planned?”

“I don’t know yet! Just– could you guys go to sleep so I can deal with this, alone?”

“You’re the one who was giving a speech about needing friends a minute ago.” Lassiter doesn’t even sit on the bed. Shawn lowers his head and takes a deep breath– it’s less effective than it used to be in helping him keep it together.

“Lassie, Jules, I’m trying but this is… not something I just know how to deal with, okay? It’s getting through one step at a time, right? That’s what you do when something is fu-”

“Shawn.”

“Really, Gus? I can’t say anything stronger than ‘dammit’? Even after all this?”

“Your soul is damned enough already.”

“Great. Really reassuring there, buddy.”

“... Sorry.”

“Just– would you all go, to, sleep?” He looks each of them in the eye as he emphasizes it, and feels something… happen.

It’s almost indescribable. It’s not a physical sensation, and ‘mental’ is close but not quite right, but ‘spiritual’ feels too… light, for what it is. Something just happens, something he feels and is keenly aware of but knows his friends aren’t, and they just…

Do it.

Gus yawns. “I am pretty wrung out.” He lays down. “In all four years we’ve been doing this, nothing’s come close to this bad.”

“Agreed.” Jules covers her mouth as she too yawns. “Just… be careful, Shawn. And come back. Promise me.”

Shawn blinks. He still feels… whatever, that is. Like a… thread? No. A string? No. A tie of some kind? Closer, but not quite. It’s almost impossible to grasp, this… connection, is the best word he can scrape up for it, but still that’s just… not… enough. There’s not a word for what he’s experiencing as Jules lays down and he knows it’s because he did something. He didn’t mean to. It just… happened.

“... I promise I’ll be back.” He means it. He hopes he follows through with it. But his track record of Controlling Himself tonight is pretty terrible. 

Lassie yawns next. “Fine. But if you’re not back when we wake up, I’m putting out an APB.”

“Fair enough.” Shawn watches them all settle in, close their eyes, and… sleep. For a second he just stands there and stares. He wishes he could say it’s because he’s trying to figure out what exactly happened. He tells himself that’s what it is, at least. Too bad he’s great at identifying lies.

He swallows the creeping dryness and ache in his throat, turning to the living room. Now he stares down at the body. He gets a flash of memory, of being behind the man and reaching out and–

He shakes his head, pressing his wrist under his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t mean to, and– and it wasn’t really him, right? It was… what is this? A curse? An infection? A possession of some kind? All the vampire movies call it something different. The only one he’s sure he can rule out is Gift. It’s literally anything but a Gift.

He crouches down and sighs. “So uh… since ghosts are real, apparently, if you’re still lingering around I just want to say, uh… I’m sorry, for… drinking you, I guess. Ahem. And-and for the fact I’m about to put your body somewhere where it probably can’t be traced back to me. You should know I usually solve murders, so, if anything else had happened to you I would’ve caught them. … I guess that doesn’t help you out much now.”

“I am actually psychic, apparently, so if you’re still here and I can do anything for you to… I don’t know, fulfill a last wish, maybe help you move on… wherever dead people go to rest, I don’t know. I probably should know that now, right? … I guess if I’ve been psychic my whole life I should’ve known the whole time. Sorry, that was, totally off topic. Back to you, uh… whatever your name is. … Was. Seriously, I don’t know how this all works, but, if I can do something to make this… a little less horrible, tell me.”

Silence. Well, no, not silence. He can hear all three heartbeats in the other room, hear the way they all have different patterns to their breathing, hear Gus mumbling in his sleep. He can hear the buzzing of a neon sign left on in the window across the street, he can hear someone shuffling around in the trash behind the street at the end of the block, he can hear everything and the longer he listens the more intense it gets and the farther and farther away he can hear it all and it’s becoming less can and more being forced to and why did he start listening anyway–

‘Fighting.’

Shawn gasps a little as he’s dragged back to himself. His left hand is pressing a finger to his temple, and that voice wasn’t real. Or, it was, but it wasn’t… here. It was quiet, but laid over every other sound, drifting clearly above them, like a single cloud giving relief of shade on an overly sunny summer day. Shawn presses his hands to his chest, then his face, then his legs, trying to reconnect with his body– it’s not the first time he’s had to deal with straying a little too far out of The Here And Now, but it’s the first time he’s wondered if it’s something abnormal.

“Fighting,” he repeats. He looks at the corpse. “Was that you?”

‘Fighting. Badass. Make me look badass.’

The words float through his head, and he thinks he has experienced something like this before, but it was… not different, but, less. It could’ve been his own inner voice, his own thoughts, but maybe it wasn’t. He knows it isn’t this time, at the very least.

“Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Seems like kind of a tame last request for the guy who killed you, though. Do you want uh… an explosion? Big car chase that sent you into the ocean, maybe? How about uh, oh! Secret spy ring?”

He waits. He tries to focus in only on the sounds of his immediate surroundings, resist the wave of everything coming at him– not just sounds, but smells, sights, even tastes. The air has a taste, and it doesn’t taste like a flavor but it tastes… distinct. It tastes like… like…

Like the feeling of standing on a cliff, or the moment he was flying through the air when that van ran his motorcycle off the road all those years ago, or the moments between seeing Yin and diving in to save Abigail. It tastes like anticipation.

Not anything he’d ask for a soda flavor of anytime soon. Maybe an Oreo limited run, if it came with the golden cookies instead of the chocolate, just to balance out how heavy the main flavor is. But anything more concentrated like he’s getting right now, and it’s too much.

It’s too much.

“Come on, man. Give me something, or I’m going to make it look like you went out fighting a group of robot cats or something.”

‘Burned something down.’

“Burned something… you want to look like you died doing arson to fight someone? Okay, uh…” Shawn thinks, and then…

Candles set up in a ring, bordering some weird ritual circle. He sees himself be shoved to his knees in the middle of it. Flash, grain, he’s being dragged out by Gus while fighting happens all around them. Flash, grain, he and Gus are gone and Jules drives a shard of wood into the chest of a woman dressed like an accountant if not for the blood running down her mouth and chin. The woman screams, and then burns starting from the shard going outward– but her bones remain, dusting Jules with ash as it crumbles.

Shawn has to catch himself on his hands after that vision leaves, panting for breath he doesn’t really need anymore as the film grain still swarms his vision. He pushes himself back to a kneeling position and presses his palms into his eyes.

“Okay,” he gasps out. “Okay. Two for one. Got it.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus wakes up slowly, from a mostly dreamless sleep, with someone’s arm over him. And with sheets that definitely aren’t his under him. And a pillow that’s not even close to the right fluffiness–

“Morning, buddy.”

Gus sits bolt upright, screaming at a pitch that makes Shawn scream as well, clutching his ears and falling off where he sat on his dresser! Jules and Lassiter bolt up next, both screaming as well! All three share a look, Lassiter realizing he has an arm slung over Gus, Jules has an arm wrapped around Lassiter, and they’re all in Shawn’s bed, and the screaming starts again!

They stop only when Jules notices, and then smacks both men on the arms and points out, that Shawn is literally curled into a ball on the floor trying to shove a pair of socks into his ears.

“Oh my god.” Gus scrambles out of bed. “Shawn, please tell last night was–”

“Wish I could, buddy,” Shawn grits out. “Now do me a favor and whisper everything for the rest of forever.”

“Shawn.” Jules keeps her voice as low as she can, crawling out of the bed over Lassiter and crouching with Gus down by Shawn. “What happened after we fell asleep?”

Shawn holds up a hand in a ‘one second’ gesture. He sits up, slowly, keeping his palms pressed flat over his ears. His eyes are still red, fangs still obvious, and now with sunlight filtering in through a poorly-covered window they can see his hair is distinctly shinier and free of any flyaways. It’s like the best version of his usually preferred style. It is, quite literally, perfect.

“Did you do your hair?” Jules whispers.

“Not since yesterday morning. Why?”

“... No reason. Just– what happened, did you–”

“Well, first of all, I uh, managed to contact his spirit.” Shawn gives a smile that they’ve all seen before, less sharp but still oft-worn, but the inauthenticity pours off of Shawn like the slight chill in the air closely surrounding him. “Good news, he was actually really gracious about the whole thing. He actually had a last request for how I make it look like he died, and great news, it totally aligned with some other loose ends we needed to tie up!”

“Well that’s… good.” The doubt is thicker in Jules’s voice than the hair on Shawn’s head. “But, what do you mean by other loose ends?”

“... I may have also technically become an arsonist last night.”

“Jesu-!”

“Lassie, we agreed no religious expletives!” 

“You agreed to it, Guster, I have half a mind to dip my gun in holy water and unload every round I have at this point!”

“Look, it covered up for you guys too!”

“What?!”

“Look, I had a vision of you and Jules… taking out the vampires. I saw them turn to ash, but their bones stayed. And they had all those candles in the basement–”

“You knocked one over while we left, I remember.”

“I did? … I guess that’s why I found that singed robe when I went back.”

“You went back?!” Gus falls back a little, rubbing his face.

“The spirits, told me too! The guy wanted to look like he died fighting in a big ball of fire, so it… worked out.”

“You framed the man you killed in a state of vampiric bloodlust for the murders of the vampires who killed you?!”

“No, I did not! I made it appear they tried to kill him and he started a fire in retaliation that got him too! And, for your information, his spirit totally approved of it! I got the spiritual equivalent, of a thumbs-up text.” He gives a thumbs-up just to demonstrate.

“Well, great job, Spencer. By explaining that to all of us you just made of accomplices to murder, arson, and a cover-up!”

“Jules asked!”

“Shawn!”

“You did.”

“Thank you, Gus!”

“Sweet lady justice, as if this wasn’t bad enough, we overslept!” Lassiter finally tumbles out of bed. “O’Hara, I have emergency clothing changes for both of us in my trunk.” 

“Oooh, actually Lassie, they’re on my couch.”

“On your- oh, no, no.”

“Look, I tried to run like the wind, I really did, but I think some of the vampire stuff is taking longer to sink in than others.”

Lassiter turns bright red. He reaches for his gun.

“Carlton, calm down!” Jules puts her hand out. “Let’s just get dressed, get to work, and see how bad this actually is!”

“Are you guys sure you should be going?” Shawn stands up, still pressing his hands over his ears. “You all look like… well, like last night happened.”

“Shawn’s right. You and Lassie should at least wash the ashes and blood off.”

“Oh- Carlton, we slept with blood all over us!”

“And?”

“We can’t show up to the station like this!”

“I am not using Spencer’s shower!”

“Just– how about you three go home, and I’ll try to talk The Chief into letting you have the day off? Or, The Chief and whoever Gus’s boss is right now.”

“No need for me. I have over a hundred vacation days saved up, Shawn, I’m taking a full week off and I’m vampire-proofing my entire apartment.”

“Smart move. You should fix your window latch while you’re at it, that thing stands no chance against a well-maneuvered pocket knife.”

“That’s how you get in?!” 

“Sometimes.”

“Tsk!”

“Shawn, you can’t just go talk to The Chief right now. For one… your face.” Jules gestures to her own eyes and mouth for emphasis.

“Oh, right. … I’ll get on trying to cover that up. But, you and Lassie need to take a day, seriously, maybe more.”

“Shawn, you know we can’t do that.”

“You have to, you–”

“What about you, Shawn? I mean you… you went through more than any of us last night. You can’t just be okay this morning.”

“Jules, when has anything ever stopped me from doing my thang? I got shot and jumped on top of a car, I’ll be fine! Just… please.” Shawn takes Jules’s hands in his, looks her in the eye, and…

Gus isn’t actually sure what changes. Maybe nothing does. He just knows that when Shawn says “You need to take today off,” Jules blinks once, and then nods, just like that.

“Okay. Okay, maybe you’re right. But you have to convince Lassiter too, and I don’t know how much luck you’ll have.”

Gus would think he imagined it, if it wasn’t for the confused pinch of Shawn’s brows, the alarmed look in his unnatural eyes, and the tightness around his mouth. He knows his best friend, and he knows what Shawn Who Can’t Figure Out Something That’s Freaking Him Out looks like.

“I uh, I think… I’ll have plenty, actually.” Shawn turns, goes out into the living room, and after a few moments of some arguing (mostly from Lassiter), there’s a beat of silence, and…

“Alright, Guster, O’Hara, get in the car,” Lassiter says as he enters the room. “You two parked at my apartment, right? Pick up your cars, go home.”

“Wait– really?” Jules and Gus share the same shock.

“We’re not going to be any help to anyone like this,” Lassiter growls. “Besides, we have to try and get our stories straight.”

“... Alright.”

Jules and Lassiter go straight to the car, but Gus stops before leaving. “Shawn.”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Lassiter said last night you can’t go anywhere without a chaperone.”

“Oh yeah. … Guess he’s too tired to remember.”

“Shawn.”

“Just– go home, buddy. Please. Let me try to fix some of this, man, it’s… it’s all my fault anywa–”

“Whoa, this isn’t anybody’s fault, Shawn, except those undead dead a-holes.”

“Wow, you feel really strongly about them, huh?”

“They killed you, of course I do!”

“Right. … They wouldn’t have killed me if I hadn’t gone in.”

“They were after psychics. They’d have found you eventually anyway.”

“... Maybe.”

“Just… remember how you convinced Lassie to let you go, okay? Don’t try to deal with this alone.”

“I won’t, man. It’s just today. I’m going to smooth things over with The Chief, and maybe make sure they piece together the cult and the murders and all that. I tried to leave some evidence out, but the best piece was that crystal, and it had my blood all over it.”

“Crystal?”

“I’ll explain later, I… kind of started remembering pretty much everything when I went back.”

“Shawn–”

“Later, Gus, I promise.”

“No, Shawn. It’s not just The Chief and the other detectives you’ll have to make sure believe you.”

“What?”

“Your dad, Shawn. He’s there today.”

“... Oh, crap.”

[grassclippers]

❀˖°three cheers for a hopeful Future ❀˖°

⋆˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

summary-if only y/n didn't have a curious mind and they just went on there way to. But they knew they could never go back to the regular hustle and bustle of there their old life. especially since they meant a pipe cleaner of a man. ⊹𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

T/W: cats,iced chai,suicide?,murder?

About: /first person/ italic words are thoughts you have a cat - tiki bar: a fat brown cat that you found behind a chilis y/f/d: your favorite drink pronouns: they/them y/n: your name y/n/n: your nickname y/h/l: your hair length y/h/c: your hair color y/n: is an outgoing person who likes chai and is learning to become a archaeologist and minor in film.but on there way to class they meet someone ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

A/N- i'm sorry i haven't written in a while but i realized after i watched criminal minds that this needed to be made, this fic is a bit out of character . i am planning to turn this into a series. i will also be using season one ,spencer, since he's an awkward little goof.

september,15,thursday, 9:00 am, 2005 ⋆your pov⋆

oh shit, i think as i wake up on my desk. i cranked my up to feel the knot start to emulate in my neck. if only i was in culinary school then i wouldn't have to worry about these outlandish projects.i think as i stare at my laptop that seems to have have died while i was asleep. i stand up and began to stretch my limbs. i quickly scan the room only to notice that the lights are turned off and stare in the mirror, i was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. My y/h/l was tasseled. I look like a hobo. i quickly turn n the light and searched for my laptop charger. ⊹𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊 I plug my laptop in and as i wait i go to the kitchen in my apartment. i note that my roommate has left for her classes , and that tiki bar is napping on the plush armchair you were gifted by your dads. You trudge to the kitchen and grab y/f/d. As you enter your room you observe you have an hour till classes. you turn on your phone and play your morning playlist as you open your laptop and double check that you finished your film project and turned it in. you gaze slowly shifts to your door, tiki bar has entered. you register that you should probably get ready for class .

9:45 am ⋆ spencer's pov⋆

four college students have committed "suicide" on every seventeenth since may ,on the same bridge, all at 7:15:27 am.

probably a cult or maybe a- Spencer ,morgan yelled my name. i slowly look up at him. i give him a confusing look, were here he told me as i notice we were parked on what seemed to be a the bottom level of a parking garage. i remembered that this particular parking garage, the gravet garage, from the map we were that were shown of the place in which they lives were ended.

9:45 am ⋆ your pov⋆

I quickly grab my key to my moped and shoved my phone into my bag. i gently put my headphones into my ears. i slowly drove to the ,gravet garage, that was close to my classes and by far the best garage since it was near the cutest little coffee shop. I park the colorful moped near a black suv. as i walk to the coffee shop i notice a decent amount of people almost huddled around the outside of the shop. i slowly maneuver myself around them since they seem like they could beat me up. i walk up to the counter as i am about to order i notice a skinner man who seems to be apart of the group that was taking up lot of space outside. ⊹𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊 I watched as he slowly scanned the menu that was filled with sugary coffee, interesting teas, spiced chai, and breakfast foods. He looks undecided and cute. I blush at my own thoughts. "Hey do you need any help deciding on what to order?because when i say they have a killer iced chai latte. I mean it" i say to him and as I smile. He gradually turns his head to me. We make eye contact." oh my name y/n but my friends call me y/n/n. well if i had any friends." I say my smile emulating joy. "h-h-hi " he says . He stutters that is so cute."my name is spencer, did you know that chai was thought to be found at least 5,000 years ago, it was supposedly made for king. they made chai as a remedy for all his illness"spencer says. " what that's sick . did you know chai is one of my favorite drinks". ⊹𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊 I say happily. "are you ready sir" the attendant behind the counter says. "may please have caramel frappe" " anything else sir" "that's all" he pays and casually walks to place where you pick up your coffee "hey, can i please i have and iced chai latte with oat milk" I walk next to spencer as I wait for my coffee to be made. "so are you with the group outside or do you also not know them?" "I-I am with them" "okie dokie, so why yall in town. i am genuinely curious. since yall look like your from the matrix" our coffee are presented to us.and we take them. "we are all apart of the FBI, and we are reschearing the suicides that happen on the north east bridge" "Thats cool, weren't they apart of a cult or something" "we are lead to think that but-"he gets cut off by a voice outside that tells that they are leaving. "well it was lovely to meet you maybe we could talk in the future" I take a napkin and write my number on it. "everlong, spence". i quickly rush out the door.

10:00 am ⋆spencer's pov⋆

I quickly shove the napkin in my pocket. Shit, i think i just flirted with someone. Morgan was the one who interrupted our conversation and he again is yelling for me to come outside the coffee shop. "were walking to the main campus to conduct interviews on friends and other college students" Morgan says. As we investigate i realize that the only thing my mind is y/n. They were so kind. i will have to try chai now.

[juniorgman187]

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid. 

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail. 

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them. 

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match. 

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one. 

The newest addition to the list is her. 

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible. 

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him. 

A trillion. At least. 

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him. 

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening. 

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior. 

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book. 

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach. 

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him. 

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it. 

And probably because she just said it to me right now. 

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence. 

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity. 

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.” 

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels. 

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.” 

That surely kept us apart. 

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that. 

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work. 

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age. 

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.” 

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?” 

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me. 

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too. 

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me. 

What was going on? 

What is going on?

“What’s going on?” 

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before. 

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with. 

“What do you think about me dating again?” 

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue. 

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is. 

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch. 

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that? 

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted. 

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought. 

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish. 

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.” 

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.” 

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine. 

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?” 

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …” 

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag. 

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one. 

Red. 

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice. 

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect. 

_ _ _ 

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes. 

That story for later? This is the one. 

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do. 

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really. 

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates. 

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down. 

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word. 

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.” 

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered. 

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.” 

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise. 

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well. 

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand. 

If he kissed me.  

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here. 

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _ 

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe. 

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting. 

I don’t wanna seem the way I do 

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all. 

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way. 

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half. 

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress. 

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes. 

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner. 

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently. 

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go. 

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that. 

But I’m confident when I’m with you 

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained. 

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it. 

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke. 

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable. 

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me. 

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again. 

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.” 

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said. 

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.” 

_ _ _ 

“In what way?” 

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer. 

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated. 

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet. 

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.” 

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him. 

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?” 

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock. 

“You think I’m perfect?” 

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.” 

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed. 

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.” 

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was. 

“How am I wrong?” 

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?” 

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.” 

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own. 

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger. 

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice. 

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine. 

_ _ _ 

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission. 

I was the first. 

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him. 

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t. 

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line. 

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face. 

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.” 

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!” 

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand. 

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day. 

_ _ _ 

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter. 

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility. 

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg. 

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things. 

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?” 

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.” 

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me. 

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite. 

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else. 

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered. 

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite. 

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

If you’re on this taglist, I strongly suggest commenting, reblogging, or liking! 

CLICK HERE TO JOIN A TAGLIST

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid​ @spenxerslut​ @you-sunshine​​ 

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”  

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”  

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.  

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.  

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them." 

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me." 

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever." 

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.  

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.  

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.  

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.  

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.  

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.  

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

[mrs-dr-reid]

I posted 1,127 times in 2022

84 posts created (7%)

1,043 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@stranger-nightmare

@libraryofloveletters

@boldlyvoid

@samuel-de-champagne-problems

@leossmoonn

I tagged 648 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#logan speaks - 414 posts

#logan shitposts - 77 posts

#<<< that’s a new one - 66 posts

#logan writes - 63 posts

#logan reads - 20 posts

#anj 👩‍🚒 - 18 posts

#hope🦇 - 15 posts

#logan yells - 14 posts

#<<< i can already tell that’s going to become a popular tag on my account - 14 posts

#logan recommends - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#and my family is leaving me at home but i wanna go with them but i also don’t wanna go but i also don’t want to be at home by myself

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Taking inspiration from this post I saw on my dash from @boldlyvoid:

I’m gonna tell you what color a handful of my comfort characters remind me of, but will provide no explanation as to why. (I agree with the characters and color associations she mentions, so they won’t be covered here)

1. Evan Buckley from 9-1-1 is a marigold yellow

2. Steve Harrington is like an olive green

3. Wanda Maximoff is like a pastel red. Not a full crimson, but soft like a little bit of pink is mixed into it to make it blushier

4. Matt Murdock is like baby kitten grey

5. Peter Parker in any form is baby blue, be it Toby Peter, Andrew Peter, or Tom Peter

6. Benedict Bridgerton is indigo

7. Remus Lupin is chocolate brown

8. Harry Potter is like Heineken bottle green (if you’ve ever seen a Heineken bottle you know what I mean)

9. Newt Scamander is like a rich lapis lazuli blue

10. And Percy Jackson is seafoam green

No I will not elaborate

11 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

#4

My Personal Spencer Reid Headcanons

Part 1/?

The only things he knows how to cook before meeting you are Ramen and Box Mac and Cheese (and even then he still isn't very good at it)

He memorizes all of your clothing sizes so he can just tell people right off the bat for gift-giving purposes (or for him to get you things *wink wonk*) instead of having to ask you first

He genuinely enjoys hearing you talk, so he’ll ask questions that trigger info-dump sessions on purpose just to hear you ramble on about whatever hyper-fixation he asked you about, because you always do the same thing for him

He is ENDLESSLY fascinated by makeup, so if you’re the type of person who wears/knows how to do makeup, he will sit and just watch you do your makeup, occasionally asking what a product is for or what techniques you’re using

The books on his bookshelf are organized via the Dewey Decimal System, and you buy him a label maker for that express purpose so he can label the space on the shelf instead of having to put a bulky lamination on all of his books

Despite never wearing matching socks, all of his socks are organized by color (you helped him get divided drawer inserts for that)

He does not know and cannot for the life of him figure out how to play Snaps, Black Magic, or any of those other weird mind-numbing camp games, which you always laugh at him for whether you know how to play them or not

He can successfully fold a fitted sheet because his arms are so long, and it endlessly pisses off everybody

He still doesn't know how to use chopsticks

He dotes upon you whenever it's your time of the month, because he hates it when you don't feel good and he wants to help you feel better

Even though he tries his best to avoid germs, when he does get sick, he's the biggest man-baby imaginable and you have to drop everything to take care of him (even though you'd do that if he WASN'T a man-baby)

You somehow convince him to read Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, and all those other fantasy/dystopian fiction novels for kids and young adults, and even though he tries to act all cool and say they weren't as good as Chaucer or Vonnegut, he actually really enjoyed them

He sucks at remembering to drink water, so you have to get him an obnoxiously neon colored water bottle so he'll remember to use it

The only form of exercise he can do well and for a prolonged period of time is sit-ups, so he has pretty decent abs

He had no idea how to properly care for his wild curls until you came along and helped him research how to do it best

He likes podcasts, specifically ones about books, movies, and tv shows, but he does have a select few true crime podcasts that he likes to listen to, even though he's very familiar with most of the cases they discuss

He only gets an iPhone so he can receive pictures and videos of his godsons from JJ and Derek, and eventually so you can send him pictures and videos of your sons and/or daughters (also for certain word and math puzzle games that you download for him when he first gets it)

He really likes the home organizing shows they have on Netflix, and once you came home to find him Marie Kondo-ing the entire apartment

16 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#3

My Personal Matt Murdock Headcanons

Part 1/?

(And yes. I have discussed a handful of these with my beloved moot @leossmoonn before)

Due to his enhanced senses, he knows the perfect time to flip a pancake, never burns anything, always makes the most perfect toast, and he always kills flies on the first try

As much as he pretends to hate it because it’s kinda blasphemous, one of his favorite songs is Take Me To Church by Hozier. He also really likes Devil’s Advocate by The Neighborhood and (don’t tell anybody) Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

He’s really good with kids. Like, unnaturally good. Like, you’ll walk into a room and see him regaling your nephews with stories of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, or all of your nieces doing their best to put his hair in ponytails or “forcing” him to sing Disney songs with them (and melting when he actually gets really into it)

The most chivalrous little shit on earth. Always opening doors for you, pulling your chair out for you when you go out to eat, helping you out of taxis, kissing the back of your hand, shit like that. Simply because he loves hearing the heat rush to your cheeks

He’s annoyingly good at hide and seek, at least from a seeking standpoint because of his super weirdness. He can’t hide worth a damn, because he’s almost six feet tall and not that flexible, so he ends up trying to hide behind the big plant in your living room and you can just barely see the tiniest bit of his fluffy hair peeking out over the top of it

He’s a complete pansy when it comes to spicy food or strong flavors. The only spicy things he can kind of handle are Hot Cheetos or Takis, and even after those he has to chug like half a gallon of milk

He’s surprisingly good with animals. Like, say you’re at a petting zoo for a younger relative’s birthday party. You’ll end up finding him in some obscure corner of the animal pen with a baby goat fast asleep in his arms. Or if you’re at a family member’s house for a holiday and they happen to have a dog or a cat, you can bet the second he sits down that animal is going to make themselves at home on his lap or around his shoulders. It’s even funnier if the dog that picks him as their dog bed is huge, like you just walk into the living room to find him being borderline smothered by a very self-satisfied fully grown Great Pyrenees

His favorite times of year are the beginning of spring when all the flowers and trees are blooming, and the holidays because of all the yummy baked treats you’re constantly making that make the whole apartment smell like a real deal bakery

He can’t bring himself to go within 50 feet of a Bath and Bodywork’s or a Yankee Candle because of all the competing robust aromas, so he’ll just tell you what candle or bath product he’d like, because he physically can’t go near either of those stores without getting a wicked headache

After a particularly rough night out on patrol, you’ll most likely find him on the couch cocooned inside a weighted blanket with his expensive noise cancelling headphones over his ears, because sometimes the only way he can get calm enough to meditate is if he can’t hear anything and he doesn’t have any outside stimulation

He loves audio books, especially the ones where the narrator uses different voices to distinguish what character is speaking. Knowing this, you buy him the Harry Potter audiobooks, and it’s safe to say they quickly become his favorite because Stephen Fry is the MVP of character voices

Because his senses are so refined, you, Foggy, and Karen come up with a game where you give him five of the same thing but from different places or brands (like four black coffees from four different coffee joints and one homemade or five pints of vanilla ice cream from five different brands) to see if he can tell the difference between them. Annoyingly enough, he can, and it pisses you guys off to no end

He memorizes the heartbeats and walking patterns of the people he cares about (aka you, Foggy, and Karen), so he can pick you guys out of a crowd of thousands and instantly tell when there’s something wrong be it your heart rate is slightly irregular, your walking pace is accelerated, or god forbid you have a slight limp

Much like Anakin Skywalker, he can’t really handle the texture of sand (of course you quote that one scene whenever he mentions it just to mess with him), so he’s not the biggest fan of the beach. Then one year for a vacation you take him to your relative’s condo in Coquina Beach, Florida, and the second he feels how soft the sand is, he changes his mind about beaches, and you two decide to try and find the beach with the softest sand in the world

He loves it when you wear his clothes, especially his old Columbia sweatshirts or tees. Once when he came home, you were wearing one of his white work button ups and no pants, and he just about lost his remaining five marbles

He unironically loves VeggieTales, especially the Silly Songs with Larry. You’ve caught him humming “Oh Where is My Hairbrush?” to himself while he’s getting ready for work too many times for it to be a coincidence

He has a really good singing voice, but he only ever busts it out at a karaoke bar after a few too many whiskeys, and yet he still sounds coherent when you drunkenly usher him onto the stage. Once he sang “Hold Me While You Wait” by Lewis Capaldi, and the entire female population within the bar (and a couple of dudes, tbh) basically melted into the floor, because he has no business having the voice of an angel when he’s drunk off his ass

He likes going to museums with you that specialize in your niche interests just to hear you infodump to him about the stuff you already know and the new stuff you learn while you’re there, because he loves listening to your voice in any context

30 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#2

I Swear

(A Spencer Reid Fic)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Platonic-ish Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader decides to clean the apartment, but she finds something of Spencer's that she was never supposed to see

Genre: Pretty angsty right in the middle, but it gets sweet and fluffy at the end, I promise

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of Spencer's no-no juice arc, mentions of the circumstances that CAUSED said no-no juice arc, crying, general ouchies.

A/N: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins' Roommate Challenge. I apologize in advance for any pain this may cause. And this is post-finale, but Reader doesn't meet Spencer until around the middle of Season 13, so she isn't fully aware of all the crap our favorite boi went through

Word Count: 1121

———————————————————————

When Y/N set out on her spring cleaning mission, she was not expecting it to end in tears. Well, she usually doesn't expect anything to end in tears, but especially not tidying up her shared apartment with her best friend.

Y/N is the owner of a very small and homey second-hand bookstore that just so happened to be Spencer Reid's very favorite place to go when he needed to de-stress after a rough day at work. One day while he was in about two and a half years ago, she helped him find a book he was looking for, they struck up a conversation, and they've been friends ever since.

About 6 months ago, Y/N's apartment building got condemned for a multitude of health and safety violations, and she didn't have anywhere else to go because all the apartments available for rent were too far away from her shop. She vented all of her frustrations to Spencer when he came into the shop that day, and he very generously offered to let her live with him in his apartment.

Anyways, Spencer was off at Quantico for what he assured her was only going to be a cut-and-dry paperwork day, so she decided to get some cleaning done, because between him being an avid reader, her making a living collecting and selling second-hand books, and both of them working so much, the apartment was starting to resemble a small post-apocalyptic library.

She reorganized the two large bookshelves (one for him and one for her), scrubbed the kitchen counters until they were spotless, emptied the fridge of any spoiled food, and wiped down all the surfaces in the bathroom. And she had to admit to herself that she did a pretty good job at making the apartment look habitable again.

Then Y/N started cleaning up the floors of her and Spencer's bedrooms so she could vacuum, and while she was picking up all of the mismatched socks strewn about in Spencer's room, she knelt down to make sure there wasn't anything under his bed, and she found a small wooden box with a clasp on it. She dumped all the socks into his hamper (while reminding herself to start on laundry later), then grabbed the box from under the bed to investigate.

She sat on the end of his bed, then undid the clasp and opened the box to find three small glass vials filled with clear liquid. Y/N's eyebrows furrowed, then she picked up one of the vials and turned it around to read the label. She almost dropped the box when she read the word "dilaudid" on the little sticker, and tears started coming to her eyes. Y/N knew that Spencer had been through a lot from when she first became friends with him, but she had no idea that he'd had these kind of issues, and that was probably on purpose on Spencer's part.

The front door opened, and she heard Spencer call out, "Y/N/N? I'm home!", so she used all of her resolve to contain more tears and slowly left his room while holding the little box. He hadn't noticed her come out of the room, and he continued hanging up his jacket while saying, "Hey, did you clean the apartment? It looks great! You know you didn't have to do that ri-...?", but he cut himself off when he saw Y/N standing in the living room with tear streaks on her face holding the object he hadn't even thought about in almost 3 years.

Spencer's face immediately fell, and he said, "You were never supposed to see that," which only made Y/N want to cry even more. She tried to fight it, but she broke down sobbing, and had to grab the back of the couch to stop herself from sinking onto the floor, because she knew that if she did, it would break Spencer's heart even more.

Spencer ran forward, gently took the box from her hands, then scooped her into his arms bridal style before carrying her to the couch and sat down with her. Y/N buried her face in his neck and cried harder than when her family had to send the dog they had since she was four across the Rainbow Bridge right before she graduated from high school, and Spencer could feel tears welling up in his eyes as well, because he'd never imagined seeing her this broken up over him.

After she had calmed down a little, she whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?", so he replied, "Because I didn't want you to see me as some fragile broken former addict. I just wanted you to see me as Spencer, the guy who nabs all the good books from your store before anyone else can get them, the guy who makes you watch Doctor Who with him all the time, the guy who teases you for not being able to handle Indian food, just... your Spence," his voice breaking at the very end.

Y/N looked up at him and said, "You'd still be my Spence if you had told me. Your past mistakes don't define the kind of person you are," before wiping her eyes and letting out a tiny sniffle. Spencer nodded and said, "It's a long story, but I know you won't judge me now, so... here goes nothing," with tears in his eyes.

He told her his whole story, about Tobias Hankle and his multiple personalities, about his kidnapping, about his struggle with substances, and about how ten years of sobriety were ripped from him when he was drugged and framed for murder in Mexico, and Y/N listened intently the whole time.

When he was finished, she asked, "And the box I found under your bed?", so he said, "I haven't even thought about it since before we met. I've been sober again for almost 3 years, and I'm not planning on giving that up again anytime soon, I swear," which made her smile before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. He hugged her back, then kissed the top of her head before saying, "Thank you for being my friend," so she squeezed him even tighter and said, "Thank you for being mine," and they just stayed like that for a while.

Y/N said, "Wanna watch Doctor Who?", and he said, "I swear you can read minds sometimes," before grabbing the remote off the coffee table and going into HBO Max. Y/N snuggled into his side, and they watched the show peacefully for a few hours before falling asleep that way on the couch, more in sync than they ever have been before.

———————————————————————

CM Taglist: @homoose, @libraryofloveletters, @hurricanejjareau, @xgoldentigerlilyx, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @boketto2-0, @aryaarathornson, @houseofhotch, @spoookymuulders

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

54 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

My Personal Eddie Munson Headcanons

Part 1/?

He always has you do his eyeliner before his shows with Coroded Coffin because he insists he’s terrible at it, but he really just likes how you sit on his lap and hold his face while you do it

This little shit is the biggest gentleman on the planet, and you wanna punch him in his stupid perfect face because of it. Always helps you step over puddles, always gives you his hand to get out of his van, and you haven’t opened a door for yourself when you’re with him since you first started dating

He tries to teach you how to play the electric guitar, but you’re horrendous at it. He has more luck with acoustic though, and when you get good enough to sing and play at the same time, he loses his shit because he taught you that and you’re amazing

This man is such a cuddle monster. Like, his 5’10” ass koalas around you the second you’re in bed or on the couch, and he buries his face in your neck to be as close to you as he possibly can (he’s only the littlest bit touch starved)

He has no idea how to react when you compliment him. He’s so used to being insulted and called awful names by all the douchebags at school, that when you brush hair away from his face and say “You have the prettiest eyes, Eddie”, he frickin melts like a popsicle on the 4th of July

He pretended to be annoyed by it at first, but now he openly loves it when you play with his hair and put braids in it and all that jazz

He loves it when you lay on his chest while he’s reading or sit on his lap while he’s writing out a new campaign for the Hellfire boys. He especially loves it when you ask him to read to you or offer up ideas about what bullshit to put the boys through at the next Hellfire meeting

He takes Will under his wing the second he meets him and makes him his Junior Dungeon Master. They combine forces and make the most elaborate campaign either of them have ever made based on their escapades with the Upside Down stuff. They even manage to get Max, Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan to design characters for it and play through it

He and the other Hellfire boys give you their old dice sets when they get all beat up and worn out so you can make crafts with them. Every member of Hellfire has a bracelet you made them with their respective dice sets, and they treasure everything you make them with every fiber of their beings

He’s really good at climbing trees. Like, you can blink and the dumbass is halfway to the top of the tree already. He says it’s because he likes to see the town from a different view point, but you know he just likes to show off

Metal may be his main wheelhouse, but he secretly loves Cyndi Lauper. You’ve caught him singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” in the shower on numerous occasions, but you never say anything about it

This man can’t keep his hands to himself worth any type of damn. He always has an arm around your waist or around your shoulders, always holding your hand, or he has his arms wrapped around your middle from behind while he presses kisses against your neck. He’s a leg man too, but y’all can jump to your own conclusions there

He taught himself how to knit once when he was stuck at home with chicken pox, and now you and the Hellfire boys have a collection of scarves, hats, and mittens he’s made for you, and they actually do a good job of keeping you warm in the winter months

He has a rock collection that he started way back in third grade, and everytime he finds a cool rock, he takes it home and puts it in a big Tupperware tub he nicked from the kitchen when he was little and first started his collection

He makes guitar pick necklaces from random abandoned picks he finds in the parking lot behind The Hideout, and he gives them to the people he cares about. So you have about 13 different ones, his uncle has a handful of them, and the Hellfire boys all have one or two

He begrudgingly allowed you to paint his nails black once, but then he realized he looked kinda cool, so now he always asks you to do them for him

He gave you one of his rings on a chain as a sort of promise ring situation because your fingers are too small to actually wear it

He secretly loves the movie Dirty Dancing, but nobody else besides you is allowed to know that, because he thinks it’s embarrassing. You think it’s cute though, and you always tell him “I’ll be the Baby to your Johnny any day, Eds”, which makes him blush

70 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[spenciegoob]

What’s That Vegas Saying?

Request(?): Just saw this tiktok where a girl and her friends were drinking shots, and the alcohol was in these tiny test tubes. the one girl had the end of the tube in her mouth, grabbed her friend’s face so basically the alcohol was being fed to her and I immediately thought of doing that with Spencer.

The request (?) was gifted to me by the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GenderNeutral!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warning: alcohol consumption, intoxication, major pining (lol oops)

Masterlist

___

Team bonding with the BAU was not as simple as it sounds. They couldn’t just stay in the woods on a camping retreat; they’ve seen too many cases in the woods. Going to the beach was just... weird. And apparently hunting down the sickest minds or eating pasta at Rossi’s mansion wasn’t “team bonding” enough. 

“How about we go to Florida?” You asked the group seated around the conference table. The chorus of unenthusiastic groans of disagreement served as your answer.

“If we want to be surrounded by drunk teenagers, maybe,” Derek piped up, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at his sarcasm. As sarcastic as it was, though, he was right. It dawned on the group that there was possibly no where to go that didn’t either have bad memories, or would definitely create some.

That was until Spencer Reid broke the silence.

“What if we go to-” The suggestion didn’t need finishing; they all knew what he was going to say. As quickly as it left his mouth, regret etched his features with the realization that not only was the team going to hop on the idea, but if he had not spoken at all, they might not have even considered it.

“Boy Wonder does it again!” Penelope shouted in her usual enthusiasm, although unlike most times, this held a bit of mischief as well. 

“That’s it,” Emily jumped in. “We’re going to Vegas, baby.”

And that’s how the team found themselves on a plane heading straight for Las Vegas, Nevada. More importantly, how you found yourself next to a more than usual jittery Spencer Reid. You knew for him, going home wasn’t exactly a team bonding vacation, but more anxiety than normal.

Anxiety about what exactly?

The question remained in your head for the first hour of the trip. That was until you couldn’t ignore the way his leg basically shook the whole plane, and his constant moving eyes flickering between anything he could out of the tiny window.

“Hey,” you said putting your hand on his knee softly, the bouncing immediately halting. “Are you okay?”

The bouncing didn’t return when the question left your mouth, but tension in his muscles returned. His whole body went rigid at your words.

“Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” The question came with no malicious intent, but the speed at which it left his mouth confirmed his growing worry.

“I’m not going to pry, but I will tell you this,” you say as you squeezed his knee before releasing it. 

Spencer would never say it, but he missed the warmth of your hand on his skin too soon after it was gone.

“This could be your chance to let yourself go and finally have fun in the one place that seems impossible for you to do so.” You hoped your words reached him as you watched his eyes flicker rapidly again, the movements so subtle that if the small lights above you were off, you may have never noticed.

He was trying to let your words sink, wrap his brain around logic that had no scientific reasoning or fact to back it up. You could only hope he heard you, really heard you, and when his eyes halted and a small smile stretched his features, you couldn’t help but return the gesture with a fluttering heart.

“You may just be right.” He finally made eye contact with you, causing both of your smiles to grow wider.

With a new found serge of confidence with the hot doctor who unknowingly held your heart, your smile turned to a smirk and you leaned in so your cheek was besides his.

“And you know what they say.” You turned slightly so your eyes could rest on his side profile and gauge his reaction. It didn’t last long, because sensing movement, Spencer turned slightly too. His face was stoic, but behind his eyes there was something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You let your eyes drift to his partially parted lips, and then back to his eyes, all within less than a second.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

The same day the plane landed the team found themselves in a club that night. It was 9:57, but from the way half of the team joined Penelope is taking back shots, you could tell it was only the beginning of the night.

That’s when you noticed that Spencer wasn’t like you or Aaron pacing yourselves for the night. Actually, the doctor wasn’t drinking at all.

“Spence, you’re not drinking tonight?” You asked over the loud music that pulsed through your body. When Spencer’s eyes met yours, however, your heart beat faster than the club’s rhythm. 

“No, I um- I don’t think really like alcohol.” Something about that answer didn’t sit well with you, but apparently you weren’t the only one.

“You don’t drink for the taste, Boy Wonder,” a very drunk Penelope yelled from across the booth. 

“I’ve just never drank anything I liked.” That was definitely the worst thing Spencer could say. The second the words left his mouth, Penelope and your head shot up to meet one another’s eyes. 

The “Let’s Get Spencer a Drink He’ll Like” plan blossomed in your one second of shared eye contact.

“I think it’s time we change that, Pretty Boy,” you said with a smirk Spencer melts for, even if that look meant trouble for him later on.

“On one condition,” he started, and turned his body to face yours directly. “You try everything I do.”

You contemplated for a moment. His request meant getting shit-faced in front of your coworkers, but the saying does go what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“You’re on.”

Penelope all but dragged a slightly less drunk Derek to the bar to fetch Spencer and you some drinks. In the meantime, Hotch stared at the two of you looking at each other, smiles beaming.

“You know,” his voice broke through the trance you two unknowingly had on the other. “I’m not helping either of you out of here when you two get too drunk.”

“I’m with the boss man on that one,” a very, very drunk Emily slurred. 

“That goes for you too, Prentiss.”

Before either of you could defend yourselves, Penelope was back with a tray of assorted shots. There were at least 7 different types of shots, two for each.

“Alright here’s how this is going to work,” she said as she put the tray in front of you two. “I will tell you what’s in them after you’ve taken them.” 

The two of you stared at the tray, your face full of excitement, Spencer’s nervousness. When you two looked back at each other, he gave you a soft smile.

“Hey.” You put your hand on his on the table as you spoke. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

His hand flipped under yours to give you a reassuring squeeze, his smile growing into a smirk as he did so.

“Let’s do this.” Your hands pulled apart as you both decided to start with the clear liquids first. The smell alone was enough to make you want to gag. 

Spencer stared at it quizzically before turning to you.

“Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

You both knocked them back as quickly as you could. You couldn’t help the scrunched up face you made as the liquid burned it’s way down your throat.

Spencer had the same face you did, obviously not enjoying the first drink of the night. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't find his scrunched up nose and eyes adorable.

“That was vodka!” Penelope through giggles as the team laughed at you and Spencer’s disgust.

“Yeah, no shit.” The next shot you and Spencer picked up was also clear, but Einstein did say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. 

“Oh god, here we go again,” you mumbled before throwing the shot back, Spencer following your lead. 

Tequila.

He slammed the shot glass back on the table with a slight cough.

“That was so much worse than the first one,” he squeaked, and you couldn’t help the giggle from escaping. Spencer looked over at you and let out a breathy laugh.

“Regretting your decision now?” He asked.

You grabbed the next shot off the tray, this one having a small brown tint. He grabbed the matching one.

You clicked your glasses together and said “Never,” before finishing the third shot of the evening.

By the time the tray was finished, Spencer did not find a drink he enjoyed, but neither of you could remember what the actual goal was.

Spencer and you were both lightweights, so by the time the shots were cleared, you caught up to the rest of the team’s drunk level.

Sloppiness was a better word for it. At one point you stood behind Spencer with his head leaning back into your hand as you poured another tequila shot down his throat. At another, you had been dared to give JJ a lap dance that you didn't object to doing. 

Now, the team found themselves seated at the booth sharing drunk horror stories.

All of a sudden, Spencer shot up from his chair on legs that can only be compared to a baby deer’s, drawing the attention of the entire team.

“I think I have something to say,” he yelled, and while he seemed uncertain that he wanted to say what was on his mind, there was no uncertainty in his next statement.

“I have a crush on Y/N.” Smiles spread around the table as the team realized it only took a little alcohol for this to happen. The only two not smiling was Spencer, who was staring at his now empty chair with confusing on what the fuck he was doing etched all over his face, and you, who’s jaw was on the floor.

“Hell yeah drunk confession!” Emily yelled, breaking the silence amongst the group that the music had the courtesy to fill.

You realized it’s been way too long for you to not say anything, and whether it was the alcohol or the confirmation you needed, you yelled back at him.

“Oh my god no way.” His head turned to you, the look of confusion replaced with... regret? Anticipation? Hope?

“I have a crush on you, too!” You said it as if the two of you realized you like the same TV show, or are wearing the same socks.

Your casualty about the whole thing made Spencer feel significantly less awkward, and he made a mental note to thank you later.

“No way, for how long?,” he mimicked you from before in the same tone. The two of you stared at each other with wide eyes and bright smiles.

“Since my first day six years ago!”

“Me too!”

The rest of the team just sat there, laughing at the two who finally admitted their feelings for one another. 

“You know what we should do?” Spencer asked you, excitement spread through every inch of his face, and his hands moved between the both of you.

“Especially since we’re in Vegas,” you finished his question, catching on to what he was trying to get at.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He needed confirmation that he was not the only insane person at this table. 

Insane and drunk were interchangeable, right?

“Let’s get married in Vegas,” you both said at the same time, and the relief you both felt when you realized the other was as insane as the other came out as two laughs.

But, as the idea was shared between you two, the team sprung into action.

“Oh no. No, no, no no no,” Derek grabbed Spencer’s shoulders and kept him firmly by his side, JJ doing the same to you. 

“How about we get you two to the hotel instead?”

And then you woke up in your hotel bed with no recollection of how you got there. Your head was pounding as the sunlight seeped through the cheap hotel curtain right in your eyes.

You groaned and shot up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes the best you could. To your right on the nightstand were two advil, a glass of water, and a note. 

You took the advil as soon as you laid your eyes on them before picking up the note to read.

Lunch at noon Next time, we’re going to Florida -JJ

So JJ was the one that brought you to the room after...

Oh god, oh no. That was so stupid. Getting married in Vegas is so stupid why is that a thing? You internally screamed. But wait, Spencer likes you?

You needed to find Spencer. Grabbing your nearest jacket, you threw it on before basically running out the door.

You didn’t get very far, because the second you turned the corner, you ran into something hard.

No, not something, someone. Spencer stood before you in the same state you were in; disheveled, hungover and a little worried.

“Hey, I was just coming to find you,” you said, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness between you two.

“Ye-yeah me too. I uh, I actually wanted to ask you s-something.” Well so much for alleviating awkwardness. 

“You can ask me anything, Spence.” He looked up at you and gave you his signature tight lipped white boy smile.

“I know they say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but when we get back, would you want to maybe grab a coffee or something?” He said rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Like a date?” You didn’t even bother to hide the hopefulness in your voice and on your face. You wanted nothing more than to go on a date with Spencer Reid.

“Yeah, a date. Is that.. okay?” The longer it took to get a yes or no, even a maybe, was enough for the anxiety and regret to start to blossom. You wouldn’t let it grow anymore, though.

“Of course it’s okay, and yes, I would love to get coffee or something.” You giggled back at him, looking up to meet his eyes that matched the ones on the plane; filled with love. 

Love for you.

____

Join a taglist here Tell me your thoughts on this fic here Have a request? Send it in here

[wonderlandhatter]

what is your favorite spencer reid canon, then write a drabble about it!

probably that this genius man  with a bookshelf of degrees wants to be a cowboy, i love that scene where he says it and when jj asks what he would do with cows he's just like (idk id look at them and pet them).

i think penelope would find out about this an for his birthday or just on some random day she would take him to one of those farms thta lets you pet andfeed the animals, hed be so happy. i have a vivi image of him while petting a fluffy cow he would start talking to it and knowing him hed start giving the cow facts about cows lol.

You and Penelope had been friends for as long as she could remember, she knew you had a farm with the most beautiful horses, the fluffiest cows and the softest sheep, she also knew Spencer dreamt of being a cowboy and that she needed a birthday present for him that would be as perfect as her boy genius was, and maybe she hoped the shy genius would fall for the vibrant cowgirl.

when they arrived at the farm Spencer felt like he was on cloud 9, he had started bouncing on the passenger seat when the car drove past the  the most majestic horses he had  ever seen. 

when they arrived Penelope introduced him to your father who whad agreed to take them around the farm while you took care of the last of your jobs around the farm. He first took Penelope and Spencer to see the cows as those were the ones he had seemed the most excited about.

Spencer nearly squealed when he saw the fluffy cows but held himself back as to not embarrass himself infront of just a manly cowboy. Penelope did no such thing as soon as she saw them she started jumping and running to the edge of the fence, how she did that in her heels was a mystery to spencer and physics.

Spencer stood beside Penelope, your father left them there so he could work and informed them you'd be there to help them as soon as you were free.

 They looked at the fluffy cows , enjoying observing them in silence, relishing in the peace., “I think that one looks like a Stephanie” piped up Penelope pointing to cow that looked particularly sassy, Spencer turned to penelope  amused at her statement and asked what he knew she wanted “why do you think that Garcia?”, “well just look at her pretty boy she has all the bulls at her feet, and look at her hair all the other cows would be jealous, she's just so confident and sassy and ahhh oh my god wonder boy one of them is coming to you”. Spencer nearly gave himself whiplash turning to look at the cow that was about to make him the happiest man alive.

He would have been more than happy just looing at them, getting to pet one might actually make him explode with happiness, and he was fine with that, he could die a happy man  having pet a fluffy cow. The cow came right up to him, closer than he was expecting, sniffing his lovely button up cardigan

“His name is Camile” you piped up now standing beside him, Spencer  jumped at the sound of your voice not having hear you approach as he was completely wrapped up in the cow in front of him, after he composed himself he glanced at you and had to double take, you were beautiful just like an angel sent to earth purely to make him a stuttering fool in front of you.

You almost (key word there is almost lol) made him forget about the fluffy cow in front of him. You looked at him and smiled at his flustered expression at being caught staring, having such a cute man look at you like that made you blush too and look down, you spoke up again quickly trying to get his attention off of you, “you can pet him, you know, he's very friendly and loves the attention”.

Spencer was apprehensive at first, he didn't want to accidentally hurt her, he looked to his left to see if Penelope would do it first but she had found some baby ducklings following their mother and was taking pictures to send to Hotch because she said they were the ducklings and Hotch was the mother. 

“Here I can do it first” you said as you put your hand on top of Camille's  head and started to scratch, Spencer giggled when he saw Camille's reaction, you really weren't lying when you said he’d like it,.

Spencer slowly put his hand on Camille's head after being comforted by eeing you do it and after giving him an encouraging smile and head nod toward Camille. As soon as he touched her fur it felt like heaven, he started scratching  Camille with both hands, “she's so soft, its amazing” you milled at him, he looked adorable, “yeah she is, she's probably one of the softest here”. 

“Did you know cows have 32 teeth, they will chew about 50 times in a minute, making their jaws move about 40000 times a da.. sorry I didn't mean to start that”, you had enjoyed hearing his little fact he looked so happy telling it and it broke your heart a bit when his face fell when he stopped himself, “no no keep going I liked hearing it, and i think Camille did too”, Spencer smiled at the Camille comment and then looked at you to find any microexpretions that'd indicate you were lying but he found nothing but your genuine eyes and kind smile.

“Um well the main stomach of a cow, the rumen, holds up yo 50 gallons of food that has been partially digested.” he was about to keep going when  felt the fluffy cloud of heaven move away form him, “did I hurt her? I'm sorry I didn't mean to oh no she must hate me “,  you stopped him before he would make himself feel worse “hey hey no don't worry you did nothing wrong it’s just feeding time, she’ll be back in about half an hour”, Spencer was slightly embarrassed at his reaction, you just thought it was cute, “oh ok”. You both stood there for a minute not wanting to leave yet, just looking at the lovely cows being gathered so they could eat.

You were the first to speak up, “um penny said you liked horses”,  Spencer brightened up at that, “yes I really do, when I was younger I had a friend that had one and it was the most beautiful animal I'd ever seen, I spent most of that summer pretending I was a cowboy” he said smiling at the beloved memory, “well we happen to have horses here, we could go see them if you'd like”, “really?”, “yeah of course, they are my  personal favourite, I could ride them all day, you know if you'd like you could ride one”, Spencer's eyes nearly popped out of his head ,”really?”, “ yeah of course, you've got the boots for it”, spencer looked down admiring the boot Penelope had gifted him for his birthday. 

“Let me just get the saddles, give me a minute ok” you ran off to the barn leaving Spencer behind as he stared at your running figure, you were perfect, the farm was perfect, this was perfect.

[astarryon]

Promise Me

You’ll Always Have Me

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s not one for unsolicited physical contact — except, of course, when it comes from you.

A/N: This is a gift more one of my best friends, @johnmulaneyslut​! Congratulations girl, by turning me into a Reid stan you’ve officially guaranteed yourself a whole lot of fluff in the near future, and THAT’S on the season 9 haircut.

Masterlist

Spencer doesn’t like the way lies taste in his mouth.

He knows there’s no logical reason for it. Lies are only constructs of the human understanding of deception, after all. They aren’t tangible, they aren’t edible, and they certainly aren’t accompanied by the acidic tang characteristic of citrus, yet even still he’s never been able to tell one without the bitter taste of lemon blooming across the tip of his tongue.

So he tries not to tell them very often. Not to unsubs, though it had been unavoidable during this last case and the mental gymnastics he’d had to perform to keep the guy from unloading a gun full of bullets into a slew of innocent bystanders — including one of his fellow agents. Not to Hotch, or Morgan, or any of the rest of the team, not since he’d gotten clean and stayed that way. And not to you, despite the fact that he’d wanted to tell you he wasn’t even a little bit tired when you’d sat next to him on the jet and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.

He’s still getting used to having you around — or, more accurately, you’re still acclimating to being around him. You haven’t rolled your eyes in irritation at his rambling yet, or poked fun at his habit of volunteering fun facts that may or may not be only somewhat related to the original topic of conversation. It’s hard to wrap his mind around, especially when you respond to his tangents with wide, curious eyes and genuine smiles, or even the occasional enthusiastic chime of your voice when you have something to add yourself. You haven’t yet fixed him with a pointed look implying that you wished he would learn to take a hint and stop talking.

Most notable, Spencer thinks, is that you haven’t made him feel other. He’s been waiting for it to happen. It always does with new agents, like Prentiss, before they’d gotten to know each other very well, and then Seaver, who he never quite figured out how to talk to. But things are different with you. Easier. Which is why falling asleep sitting next to you on the jet came natural as breathing, even though he knew he’d catch flack from Morgan about it once you weren’t around to hear the teasing.

It’s your voice that brings him to, your soft, honeyed tones a gentle encouragement toward consciousness. You’re humming some achingly sweet melody beneath your breath, and the way the notes carry through the silence of the cabin, underscored by Morgan’s light snores nearby, tells him that everyone else is fast asleep. It nearly breaks his heart when you fall silent at his sudden stirring.

“Spence?” you murmur, prodding at his shoulder with your palm. He doesn’t remember falling asleep laying in your lap — he’s never done it before, or asked to, or been invited to — but the way your voice hits his ears and your words fan his cheek mean he must have. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t know what makes him stay silent. The warmth of your palm leeching through his shirt, maybe, or the way that the scent of your perfume lulls his breaths into a slow, deep rhythm to catch more and more of it. It might have something to do with the way his name floats off your tongue, making him feel those things in his stomach that are way too intense for anyone who claims to be a casual friend. Spencer can’t really say one way or the other. All he knows is that he’s... not quite ready to break the moment.

So he doesn’t.

“You look so calm when you sleep,” he hears you breathe, an odd note of fondness he’s never noticed before lining the edges of your words. He’s so distracted trying to figure out the reasoning for its sudden appearance that his body almost forgets to process the feeling of your warm fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

Symphonies. Nonstop bursts of fireworks, so loud and jarring he can barely make out your words over the cacophony drumming through his skull. His own heartbeat magnified twenty times louder than is normal, harmonizing with the beat of yours, which he can hear from where his ear presses against the lower edge of your sternum. Maybe that’s why he can’t taste the lie of pretending to be asleep — his senses are already too overloaded to register much of anything else.

“You’re really pretty, you know,” you laugh quietly as the pads of your fingers gently skim across his forehead. He wants to open his mouth to repay the compliment — it’s only right, he thinks, especially considering you’re much prettier than he could ever be (not that you would ever let him tell you that) — but doing that would mean sacrificing the feeling of your hands in his hair, and he’s not really sure when he’ll ever get the chance to feel that again. “But I’m sure all the girls tell you that.”

They don’t, actually. The only person who tells him he’s pretty on a regular basis is Morgan, and even then, Spencer’s pretty sure it’s just to get under his skin in the teasing fashion of an older brother. His mother’s called him handsome before — or, rather, she’s mentioned how handsome he would be if he’d ever get a proper haircut. But no one’s ever just... meant it. Not the way it seems like you do right now, with your hands rhythmically running through his curls, nails dancing lightly at the nape of his neck. He can’t pay too much attention to the way it makes his stomach flip — he’ll shiver if he’s not careful, and then the ruse will be up — but he files it away to pore over in his privacy later on in the night, just like he files away the curiosity that comes when he thinks about why you’re whispering to him while under the impression that he isn’t awake to know the difference.

“I know you’ve been going through a tough time lately,” you tell him. It’s ridiculous that he’s entranced, captivated, hanging on your every word, but he is. He is. And laying here, with his head in your lap, he’s not particularly sure he minds. “But you know I’m here for you, don’t you? You’ll always have me. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or... I don’t even know, if you just want someone to sit next to in complete silence. I’ll be that person for you.”

He can’t understand why you’re saying this to him now, while you think he’s unconscious and dreaming. He admits he’s been touchy lately. It’s getting close to the anniversary of everything that happened with Maeve, and though it’s been two years now, he still has issues coping with those events, or even talking about how they’d made him feel in the aftermath. It’s hard. He doesn’t want to forget her — even if he did, he knows he’d never be able to figure out how — but he also knows he can’t always become a haunted shell of himself for four to six weeks every year. It’s not conducive to productivity, and it’s certainly not conducive to keeping his coworkers from worrying after him.

On the other hand… there’s no way that the thoughts you inspire are especially conducive to productivity, either. He’s caught himself staring across desks in the bullpen much too long for subtlety, offering little waves and funny faces every time you catch him, each one in the hopes of making you smile. His face betrays his eagerness each time Hotch pairs the two of you together on cases, which, lately, seems to be more often than not. He’s started bringing you coffee most mornings, except for those ones where you text him hours before he even wakes up — he can’t tell whether you’re an early riser or a chronic insomniac — with a Morning, Sunshine! Sweet treats on me ;) and Spencer doesn’t know what it is about the winky face, but it’s stuck around in his mind for weeks now and it doesn’t appear to be in danger of going anywhere any time soon. It’s all of these things and so many more that have his mind racing, swirling with thoughts of you and whether what he ponders while he lies awake at night is in breach of the sweet little slow dance the two of you have been doing since you joined the team after Emily left.

Something warm and soft presses to his forehead, then. The sensation is so foreign that it actually takes a full five seconds before he realizes that the only possible explanation is that you’ve just kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper gently against his skin. “I just… I hope you know I love you.”

You go back to carding your fingers through his hair, then, without so much as another word. Resisting the urge to protest is difficult — your voice has fast become Spencer’s favorite sound and you’ve spoiled him to the point of entitlement in the last five minutes. He wants to hear you say his name again, if only to play it on a loop in his mind until the next occurrence. He isn’t above making the request, either, but that requires revealing that he’s been listening to your heartfelt prattling and he doesn’t want you to think he’s the type to eavesdrop, despite the fact you’d been speaking to him in the first place. But then you start humming again, some cordial tune he can’t put his finger on, and Spencer is mercifully spared from having to decide whether or not he should betray himself.

And as he lets himself drift back into sleep, the feel of your hands in his hair and the warm, quiet tones of your voice lulling him peacefully along… Spencer realizes.

—

Chapter Two: Red is a Wondrous Color

[the-fandom-queen]

Just a number, Never a child

Summary:  When Spencer is faced with the opportunity to let his daughter skip grades, he realizes some flaws with his own education

Warning: None? Just sadness

Includes: Angst, Anger, School trauma. References to Past Bullying, spencer is going through it, Introspection, lots of projecting, No beta we die like Maeve, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad, Hurt/Comfort kinda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 917

A/N: I honestly just wanted to write this because 1) I too am a burnout gifted kid and 2) the way canon handles spencer's public education and the whole timeline and ethics around it really pisses me off and I feel like it was a missed opportunity for angst. Also, spencer's daughter is named after Emily because Spence loves his big sister. This is the link to read on AO3. 

Emily Reid was the best thing that could have ever happened to Spencer. From the day she was born he knew that she would change his world for the better, and she has. So of course Spencer just wants the best for her,

Which leaves him in a tough spot.

What is best for Emily?

Her teacher seems to believe it's skipping her from 5th grade to 10th, an opinion she made known in the conversation she had with Spencer at their last parent-teacher meeting.

“Dr. Reid, we are both aware of how gifted Emily is. She knows more than all the kids in her class and I'm worried she isn’t being challenged enough with the curriculum I teach. Which is why I think you should consider having her skip grades.”

The idea itself was not a difficult one to fathom. Emily is very advanced (in part thanks to who her father is) and is definitely more intelligent than the average 11-year-old. Still, Spencer wasn't sure about having her skip so many grades.

Spencer himself had skipped many grades when he was a child and graduated high school by age 12. He knew firsthand the many benefits of it. But that also meant he knew the downsides as well.

Spencer was bullied viciously when he was in high school. He learned very quickly that kids would attack anyone they saw as different, which honestly is the same for most adults.

Besides Emily being a potential target, he also thought about the problems it could cause her to face later in her life. After being pushed so far so fast, Emily could succumb to the pressure around her and fall victim to burnout, something Spencer understands all too well. He remembers the crisis he had when he turned 30, worrying that he wasn’t doing enough with his life and that he was just a waste of potential. He never wants Emily to feel like that.

Sitting there on his couch Spencer tries to think of a way to allow Emily to progress academically without hurting her. As he runs through possible solutions, he realizes they all come back to one thing he didn’t have: Support. Spencer was 9 when he was rushed into high school and 10 when his dad left him and his mother alone. He had no one to lean on. No parents, no teachers, no friends. He was all on his own. And he never fully realized it until now.

Spencer's slow yet sudden realization had filled him with anger. He was a child! And yet he was just out there, unprotected. He doesn’t even understand how he was allowed to be put in such an environment. Schools were supposed to look out for their students, not throw them to the wolves and hope they survive. How was it even ethical for a 9-year-old to be in the same class as 15-year-olds? The short answer is it’s not.

He spends the rest of his night there, on his couch, seething over the past while being terrified for the future. He forgets the present altogether until the alarm on his phone goes off, telling him it's time for him to wake Emily up,

The next few days are more or less a blur to Spencer, who is still reeling from his moment of clarity a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t until JJ caught him in the parking garage that he came back to reality.

“Hey Spence, you’ve been a little out of it lately. Is everything ok?” She asked, concern clear in her voice.

“Yeah JJ, everything’s fine.”

As Spencer turns to continue walking to his car, JJ steps in front of him. “No way mister. I can tell something is up and we’re not leaving here until you tell me what.” She crosses her arms to emphasize her point and watches him expectantly.

Tired of holding it all in, after the last few days and decades of his life, Spencer tells her everything. About how Emily’s teacher thinks she should skip grades all the way to high school. About how he’s scared of what that might do to her and her development. About how it affected him and his development. About how the adults in his life never saw him as a child, but as his IQ. About how he was never protected. About how much it all makes his blood boil. And about how he never wants Emily to feel this way. He doesn’t even remember when he started crying but by the end, JJ is pulling him into a hug and telling him how sorry she is.

Once he has calmed down, Spencer asks JJ what she thinks he should do.

“Talk to her about it. Explain to her your worries and see how she feels. And no matter what, support her.”

And that is exactly what Spencer does.

Once he gets home, he sits Emily down and asks her how she feels about skipping grades. Not his expectation, she finds the idea thrilling. After talking about it some more, they come to a census; Emily would skip two grades, that way she could be challenged academically without rushing her social and emotional development.

That night when Spencer goes to bed, he feels more at ease than he has in a while. He knows there is nothing he could do to change his past, but he is happy to know that he is able to be there for Emily and her future.

[teamhappyme]

a series of promising events (1/5)

aaron hotchner x female! reader

word count: 7.9k :)

a/n: hello hello hello! this is my first hotch fic, and the first of three parts (edit: it’s actually 5 now lolol). it’s going to cover 8 (maybe 9?) events over the course of several years, so it needed to be broken up in the most rational way possible. this is my baby, and has been in the editing process with my lazy brain since september. please, please, please, let me know if the timeline or anything is confusing to you! i have a tendency to under explain things (as my profs will testify to), and i don’t want y’all to be confused. i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys!

also, big shoutout to @winterscaptain, you are a gift to the world, tali. i am in love with the ajf universe, and that shit inspired me to polish this piece up for the tumblr verse to see. 

alright friends, here we go.

link to part 2: here

**** 

June 2005

You wouldn’t forget your first day in the BAU for as long as you lived. It was forever ingrained in your memory, the good, bad, and embarrassing moments all stored away. Stored away that is until Derek Morgan decided to dredge it back up as you passed your six month mark on the job. 

Derek, Prentiss, Reid and yourself were finishing up paperwork in the bullpen after an unusually slow friday. You were usually the first one done, earning a groan from the doctor across from your desk. They all envied your English degree and professional writing skills. 

“Hey bobo,” The nickname Derek had assigned to you was named after your alma mater, and extremely annoying. “Remember your first day, when I tricked you into doing Prentiss and my paperwork for almost two weeks?” You shook your head, not having to look at Morgan to be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you think I could trick you again?”

7:47. Thirteen minutes earlier than you needed to be. Yet the room full of agents you were supposed to join was already filled. You liked these people already, they were punctual and functioned in the morning. 

You pushed one of the glass doors open with your ballet flat, juggling your box of office supplies while keeping your crossbody balanced on your shoulder. The sound of fingers pounding on keyboards, phones ringing on loop welcomed you into the BAU. Along with a shove to your back, causing you to lunge forward. You felt something cold run down your back, cursing yourself for wearing a white blouse.

“Are you alright?” You looked up to find a tall mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking down at you. “Well, I’m a little damp.”

He nodded while looking at your box full of sticky notes and pens. “You must be y/n l/n. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. We’ve been taking bets on what time you’d arrive. And you beat us all with your extreme punctuality.” You laughed. “Sorry to let you down. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” You extended your hand for him to shake, but he just stared at your extended limb.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that sort of thing.” The new voice came into view, shaking your hand that was meant for Reid. He was tall like Spencer, but was lean with a smile on his face. Confident. “I’m Derek Morgan. When JJ told us the new recruit graduated with an english degree, I expected someone with tweed elbow patches and big round glasses.” 

“You’re an english major? Statistically speaking, only three percent of the agents that have been recruited for the BAU didn’t have any background in law enforcement or field experience.” This wasn’t the first time you’d been questioned at the FBI for being a liberal arts degree profiler. Your english degree and your fresh age of twenty five left many people to dismiss you through your time in the academy. But you got used to it. 

“Sorry to disappoint your stereotypical profile of an FBI agent,” You started, shifting your weight between your feet, now uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of your new co-workers. 

“Oh I didn’t mean it as an offense. I-” “He’s a genius, but he lacks some social cues. You’re the first girl he’s been around that’s his age in the workplace.” Morgan added and Reid elbowed his ribs. You covered the smile on your face as the two of them started to quietly bicker. 

“Let the poor woman go and settle in at least before you harass her.” A brunette woman in a black pant suit came walking toward you. She had a stern face while looking at the two men, but when she turned to you, her face softened into a smile. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss. You do not understand how happy I am to have another woman out in this bullpen.”

You laughed as she led you to the empty desk across from Dr. Reid’s. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks.” You placed your box down before taking the place in. “I’m supposed to meet with SSA Hotchner,”

“Agent l/n,” All heads turned to the man descending the stairs into the bullpen. He was taller than the other two, and that was saying a lot since they practically towered over you. He had a clean boys haircut, paired with a suit and tie. No question that this was the unit chief you were to report to. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the BAU.” He shook your hand before looking at the others. “JJ’s ready to debrief in the conference room.”

And just like that, the three agents sprung into action, leading the way to the board room. “We can go over the particulars when we get back from Nebraska. You ready for your first case?”

His face didn’t change, no change of tone in his voice. He lived and breathed for the BAU. Until you noticed the wedding band on his left hand. It was always the first thing you looked for when you met someone new. It was shallow and patriarchal, you knew, but it was instinct. And it put you at ease knowing there was someone out there he was doing this for. Someone he didn’t have to hold this demeanor around. 

“Ready.”

“Funny. But if you have any other insults to give, direct them to the head of the english department at Bowdoin. Mention that you’re talking about y/n l/n, with the 4.0 GPA.”

Prentiss led a slow clap as Derek shook his head. 

“I think that’s what the kids are calling a ‘mic drop’.” Spencer added and you couldn’t help your laugh. “Alright kid, why don’t you get out of here before we inevitably find ourselves back.”

You turned off the lamp on your desk and grabbed your crossbody and backpack. “Have a good weekend guys. And Reid,” He looked up, and you laughed as he pushed his hair out of his face. “Please recite the old testament for these two if they mock me while I’m gone.” He gave you a mock salute as Prentiss flipped you off on your way to Hotch’s office. 

In the six months you’d been here, these three people you shared the bullpen with had quickly become the siblings you never had. Morgan acted as your annoying older brother, constantly picking on you and Reid. Not only were you the newbie, but you were now the youngest, only a year behind Spencer. Emily Prentiss on the other hand, was the protective older sister you always dreamed of. She was confident and held her own against the male dominated team, but knew when to be soft spoken and caring with victims and the team when needed.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid. The smartest person on the planet, in your book. Sure, he was a little socially awkward and didn’t know when to stop listing off all the stats he knew, but you understood. He was consistently the youngest and smartest person in every classroom he walked into. There weren’t many people that wanted to get to know him without bullying him or picking apart his eidetic memory. Despite the problematic first encounter you shared, the two of you stuck together considering your combined intellect and young age. He taught you the ins and outs of the BAU, and helped you get accustomed to D.C. Although, Spencer himself hadn’t really ventured out into the city in the four years he’s been here. So the two of you tried to see as many things as you could in the rare weekends that you weren’t working a case. You worked your way through a third of the smithsonian's, and saw the Declaration of Independence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little emotional while looking at it. Spencer had called you a nerd, and you didn’t mind one bit. 

You walked up the steps to Hotch’s office, case reports in your hand from this week. The blinds were open, you could see him working through the stack of files on his desk. Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, his sport coat was still on, tie still impeccably tight around his neck. Even when he was in private he kept up the put together facade.

You knocked on the door, and heard a quiet ‘come in’ as you twisted the door knob. “L/n,” “I have my case reports from this week.” “Just place them on my desk.”

“How much longer are you here for?” He let out a sigh while closing the file in his hand. 

“Another hour or two.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch. “And before you offer to stay and help me, I don’t need any help.”

“You just don’t want to listen to me singing Coldplay under my breath.” He huffed out a semblance of a laugh. A month into your bout here, Morgan had accosted you on the jet on the way home from Milwaukee. None of you had slept in three days, and you were currently enthralled in your new mp3 player and Coldplay's newest album ‘X&Y’. After the third song, a paper cup was thrown at the back of your head, followed by a ‘I’m trying to sleep, bobo’ from Derek. It was a habit of yours that you had yet to kick. 

“That’s part of the reason.” “I knew it.” He opened another file, and you took that as a cue to wrap up the conversation. You rummaged through your purse, looking for the blue envelope you sealed this morning. 

“Um, I also wanted to drop this off. It’s for Jack, you mentioned he was being Christened this weekend.” You placed the card on top of the pile of paperwork, your cursive handwriting on top. “I was going to get him a stuffed animal or some type of toy, but he’s only three months old and wouldn’t know the difference. This check may be the penny that helps you guys afford Harvard.”

A real laugh escaped his lips now, as he picked up the card. “Thank you, y/n. You didn’t have to do this.” You smiled. “I know, but I wanted to. He’s a cute kid.” 

He looked at the framed picture of Jack on his desk, then back up to you. No one else had mentioned the Christening after Hotch first brought it up. He was quiet, and only liked to talk about his family if he initiated the conversation. You could tell you were the only person who had reached out like this, with a simple gift. 

Hotch had been the hardest person to get to know in your time here. Despite Morgan saying there are no secrets kept among the team, you knew these people had their demons. And Hotch certainly had enough both professionally and personally. You didn’t want to push the professional boundaries, but you always wanted to be present in the lives of people that you shared time with. To let them know you were thinking of them, and cared for them. It was probably your most damaging personality trait.

“I’ll let you finish your work so you can get home at a reasonable hour. Tell Haley I said hi.” He nodded. “I will y/n. Have a nice weekend.”

****

December 2005

You pride yourself in the fact that you haven’t shot your weapon in the year you’ve spent with the BAU. It meant that you were successful at connecting to these people’s emotions, despite the asterisk next to their name labeling them as a serial killer or sadist. Guns were there to protect you, and they were always the last result. But as you pulled up to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, you had a feeling your record was going to be broken.

The team was working a case where six bodies, two adult males and four teenage males, were found mutilated, along with a cut from sternum to belly button. It was the first case you worked that had no female victims. A small victory, in your mind. But, it was also the first case you worked that the profile of the unsub fit a sixteen year old girl, who had most likely been assaulted as a young child. When children were involved, the team acted differently. They were failed by the people that were supposed to care for them, they were consistently hurt with no one to turn to. And as a result, they would spend the rest of their lives paying for it. 

You, Prentiss, and Hotch got out of the suburban, strapping the bullet proof vests onto your bodies. Thanks to Garcia, you had found the unsub’s location once she turned her cell phone back on. A cruiser pulled up behind you guys, two more cops falling out. 

“Prentiss, you take the two officers down with you to the exterior basement access. L/n and I will take the main floor.” Hotch ordered as he pulled his gun from his holster. 

You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, but there was no time to calm it down. You barely had enough time to strap on your vest. 

“Ready?” Hotch looked at you before taking another step toward the cabin. You nodded, pulling your own gun from it’s holster. “Ready.”

You followed him up to the front porch, announcing yourselves before kicking the door in. You cleared the living room as Hotch cleared the dining room and bathroom, leaving you both to meet up in the kitchen. 

That was where you found her. You saw her first, hiding half of her face behind the rifle that she had pointed at you. She was trembling, dried tear streaks left on her cheeks. She was petrified. 

“Stephanie Moore?” Her grip on the gun tightened at the mention of her name as you heard Hotch’s footsteps get closer. “My name is Y/n L/n, I’m with the FBI. I don’t want to hurt you Stephanie, but I need you to put the gun down.”

Hotch joined you on your left, both of you directing your weapons toward the young girl. “I did what I had to do to survive. They took everything from me, every last shred of dignity I had. I wasn’t going to let them kill me.” You never thought it would be possible for your heart to break while listening to an unsub. But this tiny girl standing in front of you, with her whole life ahead of her, it just hit you too hard. 

“I know you did, Stephanie. You were so brave and so strong. Not many people could survive what you did.” She started to loosen her grip on the rifle, you were getting through to her. “I’m here to help you. I want to put an end to all of this.”

You glanced at Hotch and he gave the slightest nod, giving you the okay to take a step forward together. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.” Ever so slowly, the gun started to lower in her hands. 

“You’re doing great. Just a little lower and this will all be over.” Before she could completely lower her weapon, you heard the storm door to the basement slam shut. 

Stephanie jumped, raising her weapon back up in her hands.

“You said you were here to help me!” She exclaimed, the gun pointed at you as Hotch took another step forward. “I am Stephanie, but other members of my team are trying to help the boy you took.”

Fresh tears started to fall down her cheeks and you knew you were losing her. “Y/n,” 

He whispered to you and she moved the gun from your chest to Hotch’s. “Shutup!”

“Stephanie, hey, look at me,” She shook her head, continuing her stare at Hotch. “He’s in on it, he has to be!”

“He’s not! He’s my boss, trust me, Stephanie.” You heard the safety go off, and before her foot landed as she took her first step towards Hotch, you emptied two rounds into her chest. He rushed forward as she fell, kicking away her gun and checking her pulse. Nothing. 

You lowered your gun as your breathing increased, looking at the lifeless sixteen year old lying in front of you. A hand covered your mouth as you realized what you’d done. 

You killed her. 

You remembered what it felt like to be sixteen. Struggling to find your identity, wanting so desperately to be noticed by someone. For anyone to reach out and help you. 

But you took that away from her. You ended her life before it even began.

“Are you guys okay?” You heard Prentiss come up through the basement, but your eyes were closed as she entered the room. “We’re good. Y/n took the shot.”

Hotch stood up and dared a look at you, taking in your grief stricken state. “Did you find the boy?” 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Before Emily could greet you, you ran to the corner of the room, heaving up whatever was inside your almost empty stomach. Your throat burned as you threw up for a second time, vaguely registering two people calling your name.

“You’re okay, y/n,” Prentiss approached you, gently resting a hand on your back. You coughed a few more times before a towel was being rushed to your side. “It’s okay.”

The whirring of more sirens forced you to open your eyes and straighten up from your sick position. Prentiss had eyes filled with concern, not letting go of you until you gave her a slight nod. She handed you a water before she exited the house, letting two uniforms in. They went straight to Hotch, asking questions and looking over the body before their eyes landed on you. You felt exposed, like you were the one lying lifeless on the ground for all to see. You took a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control, and tore your gaze away from Stephanie. 

Hotch finished his conversation with the officers before walking over to you. “Hey,” He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but flinch. “It was a clean shot, but protocol states they have to take your gun and badge as well as give a statement to IA.” You nodded, taking your badge from your pocket. “They’re gonna take you back to the station and do an interview. This should all be wrapped up in a few hours. We’ll meet you back there, alright?”

You glanced up at his big brown eyes, warm as they bore into yours instead of their usual slanted nature. “Okay.”

The two officers escorted you to their patrol car, taking your badge and gun before you got in. You felt naked without them, like you were a nobody wandering the streets looking for someone to help, or looking for someone to help you.

It was a good thirty minute ride to the station from the cabin, and when you got there a detective from IA was already waiting for you. They led you into an interrogation room where they already had Section Chief Strauss hooked up through video call. Great. 

The questions they asked were pretty straight forward, nothing that couldn’t be answered by a crime scene report from the technicians. But the government insisted on interviewing cops involved in shootings, just in case it wasn’t legal. As if anyone wanted to deal with the psychological repercussions of taking another’s life. 

It took them nearly an hour and a half to get through the interrogation. In part due to you almost throwing up a third time as Strauss asked you to repeat the moment you shot Stephanie. They gave you a few minutes to regroup, some ginger ale and crackers from the vending machine to help settle your stomach. They took your fingerprints last, letting Strauss finish up with the bureaucratic discussion.

“That’s all for now Agent L/n. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning when you’re back in Quantico.” “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

They led you out of the interrogation room and back through the lobby leaving you at the conference room your team had been set up in the last three days.

The white boards were still littered with images of the victims, crime scenes, and the unsub. Piles of evidence were scattered along the table, and you tried to resist looking through them again. You knew if you went through the images of the mutilated boys again, you wouldn’t survive the emotional turmoil. But you needed to know that you made the right choice, the only choice to prevent more families from going through the same pain and suffering as the Corbins. 

You turned to the white board, glancing at the first victim. Connor Corbin was fifteen years old, on the varsity soccer team, and involved in musical theatre. He was cousins with the teenager that abused Stephanie. She targeted all the men in her abusers life, letting them know what he did to her. Wanting them to understand the pain she’d had to endure because of their ignorance.

You looked through the rest of the victims, the abusers two younger brothers, father and uncle were among those killed. The boys were only twelve years old. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, remembering meeting their mother on the first day you were here. JJ was the one to speak to her, as the communications liaison, most people trusted her with being the most empathetic. That fact was up for debate, in your opinion. She was a wreck, and JJ needed help comforting her from Morgan. But you understood, boy had you understood. Her whole family was killed. 

“Y/n,” You jumped, startled by the new voices in the room. Hotch, Spencer, and JJ had arrived back at the station. “Did they clear you?”

You nodded as Spencer walked over to you. “Yeah, Strauss just wants to debrief again tomorrow morning.” “Of course she does.”

Section Chief Erin Strauss is a hardass and not the biggest fan of the BAU. “Did they give you your piece back?” Your hand immediately flew to your left hip, void of your gun and holster. “No, I completely forgot about it.” You went to move toward the door, but Spencer laid a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, I’ll get it.” He gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving the conference room. 

You spared a glance at Hotch as you started cracking your knuckles. “JJ, why don’t you call the airstrip, tell them to get the jet ready.” “Yes sir.”

In an effort to keep your mind busy, you started to take down the pictures from the white board, erasing all Reid’s notes in his barely legible handwriting. The boy had three PhD’s, yet couldn’t figure out the concept of penmanship. 

“Are you alright?” “Fine.” You pulled an empty manila folder out, stuffing Connor’s pictures in. “You don’t have to clean this up for them.” “I know.”

He sighed. “Y/n, stop.” His voice was stern now and you dropped the files. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Hotch?” You crossed your arms over your chest, letting a breath out. “We found her, we saved her from hurting anyone else, and we brought closure to Mrs. Corbin. Case closed, the BAU gets to go home.”

Your eyes started to water but you refused to bring your hands up to wipe them away. You wouldn’t let them fall. “We’ve all been where you are right now.”

“I’m confident that you’ve never felt what I’m feeling before.”

“Try me.” He didn’t flinch, his hands remained in his pockets, stare heavy on your own. 

“When JJ presented this case to us, that two teenage boys and their fathers had been murdered, it was a no brainer for all of us to take it. Two twelve year old boys dead, two more teenagers missing, how could we not take it? But then we got here, and we met with the victims' families, we learned the boys' backgrounds, the unsub’s profile.” You scoffed, not sure who you were angered with at the moment. “This girl was raped by a seventeen year old boy and his father for two years, and we’re still supposed to treat her like a monster, like Tim Vogel?” You shook your head. “I’m not condoning what she did, but, can you blame her? And then we went in, and she had a gun raised at us. I would’ve been able to talk her down, I know I could’ve saved her if she didn’t have the gun.”

“But she had a gun.” You nodded. “She had a gun and it was raised at you. And I didn’t even flinch to take the shot. All it took was two seconds for me to forget her pain, her trauma, and reduce her to a sick serial killer.”

Even though that’s what Stephanie ultimately was, you didn’t want to accept it. Because she was a person before she went through all that pain, she was someone’s daughter, who was involved in gymnastics and softball, and had stuffed animals scattered across her bedroom. God, were you ever going to forget what she looked like?

“Feeling guilty about taking someone’s life is a good thing. It means your human, that you care.” Hotch freed his hands from his pockets, taking the file you packed out of your grip. “You’re not like them, y/n.”

You dared a glance at him as you felt more tears spring to the surface. Those big brown eyes could tell a story all on their own, and right now, they were pleading for you to believe him. You would try. 

“Got the goods.” Spencer came back in, your gun and credentials in hand. “They really had the audacity to I.D. me, as if we hadn’t just worked a case with them the last seventy two hours.” 

He got you to laugh, which served you enough cover to wipe your eyes dry. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a rare smile cross Hotch’s face. 

But Aaron knew there was more to your guilt than just this little girl. He was the leader of this team, it was his job to know the people he was in charge of like the back of his hand in order to keep them safe. And in the year that you’d been here, he noticed how reserved you were. Too reserved and too broken for a twenty-six year old. How you took on the giver persona to hide the fact that you were terribly closed off to others and your emotions. You would be the first to offer help, to be a listening ear, or lend your shoulder to cry on. But you never accepted it from anyone. Not that you had to, until today. 

When Hotch started to notice you and Spencer growing closer at the three month mark, he was excited. Proud, even. He knew you were struggling with the gruesome cases (he knew you threw up after every crime scene, despite your best efforts with barf bags and travel size mouthwash) and hoped you could share your burdens with the young doctor. But it seemed like they only grew in time, like the smile on your face. Hotch just hoped you knew your limits.

“Gather whatever else you guys need for Quantico. Wheels up in thirty.” Reid nodded for both of you as Hotch left the conference room, presumably to find JJ. 

“Everything okay in here?” He asked as you continued to empty the white boards, this time at a faster pace. Of course he had noticed the red rim on your waterline and the red tip on your nose. Spencer could read you better than anyone else, regardless of being a profiler or not.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just talked through the case.” His feet stayed nailed to the ground, yet his eyes continued to stick to the back of your head. You sighed and stopped moving, turning to face him. “Spencer, I can feel you boring holes into the back of my head.”

He had a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. We have copies of all this back at the office, I already faxed it over to Garcia. Why don’t we spend the next twenty eight minutes searching for a good burger before the flight home.”

You smiled. “Okay. As long as I can get a vanilla shake, too.”

****

May 2006

Growing up, you always wanted an office job. A boring nine to five with your own cubicle, a script to follow when your phone rang and a customer needed help. You’d have a generic wall calendar pinned on the particle board, sticky notes littering your monitor screen, and maybe a few pictures of pets and future family. It was safe, predictable, and what you were constantly told all you would be capable of.

Now, as you’re sitting on the FBI owned jet with your six special agent coworkers, you can’t imagine living that life you once dreamt of. 

It was nearing two a.m., and you were two hours into the flight home from Los Angeles. Reid was passed out on the couch, Prentiss and JJ in the same state of mind in the cluster of four chairs, legs spread out. Morgan and Rossi were sitting across from one another, each listening to their own playlists. And by the way Rossi was tapping his fingers against the arm rest, you knew it was some genre of opera. 

This left you in the back of the jet, staring out the window as you passed over Nebraska. You always had the map up on your screen, wanting to know every state you passed over. No matter the case, you always looked forward to the plane ride. It calmed you, oddly enough. 

“Not tired?” Hotch took the seat across from you, handing you one of the two cups of tea. “Plane rides are too exciting for me to catch any sleep.”

You took a sip of the hot drink and your face scrunched out of instinct. You never liked tea, but you tried it again and again when people assured you that it would calm you down. It never worked. 

“You could just say no,” He added and you smiled. “I know. But my taste buds may change one of these times.”

He took a sip out of his own cup, no change of expression on his face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips and his eyes narrowed on you. 

“What?” 

“Well, you may enjoy the taste, but it seems like it’s calming chamomile effect has never worked on you, either.” “We’re not supposed to profile each other.” 

“Then don’t even think about rattling off excuses of why I’m not sleeping.”

He looked down at his cup, slowly nodding his head. “Well if you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you, because I know it’s not sleep, I can bore you with Jack’s sleep routine we have to stick to.” You smiled. “You know that I’m the only one on this team that would actually be interested in Jack’s sleeping routine. Hell, anything with that chubby little baby would interest me. Bring it on, Hotch.”

It was no secret that Jack Hotchner was your favorite person on the planet. Not only was he the chubbiest little nugget you’d ever seen, he was the result of two of the strongest people you knew. 

The first time you met Haley, she was six months pregnant with Jack, begging Hotch to leave the office early for a date night. You made the afternoon walk up to his office, dropping off some files for him to sign when you first saw her.

“Come on, Aaron. This baby is going to be here before we know it, and who knows the next time we’ll have any alone time will be.”

Before he could respond, you knocked on the open door. Both of their heads snapped over to you, and a red blush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Just dropping off some reports for you to sign off on.”

You smiled at the petite blonde woman while placing the files on the desk. “It’s okay l/n. This is my wife, Haley Hotchner. Haley, this is Agent y/n l/n, she started about a month ago.” She smiled back at you, extending a hand to shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’ll leave the agent part out, it makes you sound like a robot.” She said and glared at her husband before placing her hand back on her growing belly. You laughed once you heard Hotch let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t offended with her joke. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The smile only grew on your face as you looked at her, admiring her own belly. “Congratulations on the baby. It’s always exciting to bring a baby into the world.”

“Thank you. If only my husband thought going out with me was half as exciting, he would’ve been gone a half an hour ago.” “Haley!” He was more than surprised that she would speak so cavalierly while at the office, especially around someone he had barely gotten a chance to know yet. But the two girls only shared a laugh.

“Hotch, why don’t you go. I can hold things down around here.” “Y/n, it’s not your responsibility to. And quite frankly-” You dropped a file to the desk, boldly interrupting your bosses statement. You were only acting like this because you knew his wife deserved half the attention he gave to this place. “It’s a friday night, and your beautiful, pregnant wife is asking you to go to dinner with her. JJ and I will be here if anything comes up, I’ll even redirect your calls to my desk.”

“I like you.” Haley said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “She means business.”

Hotch let out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his briefcase and punching a few buttons on his phone to make sure his calls went to you. “You or JJ call me immediately if I’m needed.”

“Promise. Now go have fun.” He gave you the smallest smile as he grabbed Haley’s extended hand to him. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” Haley said as they exited his office. But you weren’t looking for a favor in return. You did this to make them happy, and you always felt better when those that surrounded you were at their best.

But Haley did end up paying you back. She asked you to babysit the first night her and Hotch went out after the baby was born. Apparently, she was impressed with your background in social services that Rossi had drunkenly let slip at the office christmas party. And only you would get excited to babysit a poopy baby, for free. And you continued to do it as many times as they needed you to.

You earned a smile from the reserved unit chief, and raised a fist in the air. “I’ll have to add that to the team tally sheet. I’m now tied with Reid for the lead in making you crack a human expression.” “Doesn’t matter who’s in the lead, you’re all behind Jack.” He quipped back and you returned his smile.

You looked back out the window of the jet, the view of any terrain was quite literally clouded. You could see the moon reflecting on the puffy clouds, and you knew then and there you could be converted to a night person if you could look at this view every night.

“I wanted to check in with you, about Randall Garner.” You looked back to your boss, eyes glued to your own, an earnest gaze in them. “With what happened last time-”

“Last time it was a sixteen year old girl. This time it was a psychotic father who was torturing his child. There’s a broad spectrum.”

“So you don’t feel guilty about taking his life?” The way your stomach flipped at the mention of your actions merely hours ago should have worried you more than it did. 

“Of course I feel guilty.” You quipped back, and quickly looked around to make sure you didn’t disturb anyone else. Hotch didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t take this job to play God. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop people from getting hurt. To be on the other side of the heartbreak.”

Before transferring to Quantico, you worked as a social worker in Brooklyn for three years, straight out of college. You saw first hand the horrors and trauma that came with being in the foster system, and you wanted to help children going through the same situation you had. 

This became your life, even after you escaped it. And one day, it became too much. You needed a fresh start, to make a change and help people from a different platform. And with your degree in English, and minor in psychology, the BAU seemed to be a perfect fit for a new career. 

“Why did you leave DCFS?” It irked you to no end how his voice stayed so calm when he was clearly agitated. Especially since the silky smooth tone had talked you off an emotional ledge one too many times.

“Why are you interrogating me? Strauss said it was a clean shot, that she was proud to have a man like that dead and accounted for.” A direct quote from the ever emotionless section chief. If only she had any field experience, she would understand what this job was like. “Besides, I’ve been here for a year and half. You should have my file memorized by now.”

“Half of your file is sealed. Strauss must have a soft spot for you.” You actually laughed at that. Strauss most certainly did not have a soft spot for you. She was however under orders from the Attorney General of New York to keep my file sealed, no matter my employer. 

“My sealed file has nothing to do with the actions I took tonight.” You uncrossed your legs now and turned your body to face him. This conversation wasn’t ending any time soon. “If I needed help grieving this process, I would ask for it, Hotch. I’m fine.”

He wanted to believe you. More than anything else, he wanted to believe that you had found a routine that helped you forget the daily horrors you saw. But he knew that you were the last to leave the office every night, he knew you drove home with the light on in the backseat of your car every night. Deep down, he knew you weren’t fine. 

“We don’t ever truly know the people we work with. Despite the fact that we say there are no secrets in this unit, we all have our own demons we hold onto. I know you’re not fine, y/n.” You let out a strained laugh as you started tapping your foot anxiously against the ground. 

“I do though.” For the first time tonight, Hotch had no idea what you were talking about. His furrowed brow only made your throat tighten. “I know every single one of these people’s secrets. They confide in me because they know about my past with DCFS. Everything I knew was confidential, and it ate me up inside not being able to tell anybody the horrors these children go through.” You ran a hand through your hair; the flood gates were open. You feared there would be no turning back now. “It started out as me just wanting to get to know them. I wanted to be liked, and I wanted to trust my coworkers. And then overnight, I became Father l/n, sworn to secrecy by the Parish of the FBI. I’ve become a suggestion box, papers filling me up to the top and no one is coming to empty me out. 

“But I can’t even be mad at them,” I said as my eyes started to water, remembering what Spencer said to me two months into our friendship. “Spencer told me I’m the only person that’s ever listened to his problems without suggesting that he see someone to talk to. He said I was the only person that’s ever laughed at his stuffy jokes without making fun of him. I can’t be mad at them for confiding in me in their time of need. But I’m just,” You tried to smile as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m just really overflowing.”

Aaron Hotchner was lucky enough to have never experienced a heartbreak in his life. He met Haley his junior year of high school, she was his first and only girlfriend, hurling him into a life of love and happiness, sparing him any pain from loving someone too much. But as he watched you break in front of him, feeling so overwhelmed by the responsibility to be everyone’s rock, to be everyone’s source of light, he experienced his first heartbreak. And he was sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“So confide in me.” You didn’t think his tone could become any softer. His baritone voice had already been strained to keep from waking the others, and he somehow became even softer. But you shook your head, quickly bringing your hands up to wipe the tears that fell down your face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the boss. You have all of us to worry about when we’re in the field. You have Strauss breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to screw up.” He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly leaning toward you. “Most importantly, you have Haley and Jack that need you to be their confidante. That beautiful family needs you to be there when you’re not here.”

“Y/n, if you can’t come talk to me when you’re drowning in your own thoughts, I’ve failed you as a boss.” He sighed at your continued silence. “I can’t force you to open up. But I can’t watch you give and give and give without earning a reprieve of your own.”

So the two of you sat there, in a deafening silence, as you counted the seconds passing by. You were both too stubborn to pull away first, because that would be admitting defeat, and this conversation would end then and there. You counted to one hundred and eighty seconds, three minutes, when you finally got tired of staring into the endless brown eyes of Aaron Hotchner. 

You thought carefully about what you were going to say, what you would reveal in the magic that covered the two a.m. air. And no matter how hard you tried to in those one hundred and eighty seconds, you could not keep your eyes from watering.

“I grew up in foster care.” You started, scanning his face for any judgements. You weren’t going to find any. “The last, and most permanent foster parents I had were horrible. It was basic shit that happened to every kid in foster care, nothing scandalous enough to get them to be turned in. But their birth son,” You swallowed, trying to resist the urge to pick your fingernails. “He moved back in with them when I was fifteen. He was a loser, and he started to take a share of the subsidy checks. I heard him in the living room one night with Charlotte, one of the younger girls that lived there. She was only twelve, and I found him pinning her to the couch, a knife to her throat. And I just snapped. I lunged at him, knocking him off of her. It’s all blurry now, except for when I stabbed him in the throat.” My hand scratched at the side of my neck, subconsciously finding the spot I stabbed him. “He died before the ambulance got there. Charlotte and I both gave statements, and it was ruled as self defense. But the statement still lives in my file, and with some convincing, I got Strauss and DCFS to keep it sealed.”

In all honesty, Hotch didn’t know what to expect when you decided to open your mouth. But he never would’ve guessed this. Not from the doe eyed kid that never forgot a birthday, that got everyone a donut and coffee on Monday mornings. Not from the kindest person he worked with. 

“You know that took a lot of courage to get out, so it would be nice if you could say something.” You started to panic, wondering if he saw you as a monster, as a killer.

“You were the oldest one there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widened, how did he know that? “You grew up quick and took on the role of the parent for those younger kids. You wanted them to be safe, stay innocent for as long as they could.”

You finally tore yourself away from his gaze, starting to become too strong. Baby steps. 

“None of us had a family. I tried my hardest to shelter them from those people and make a family out of the five of us. And it worked. Because all four of them still reach out and tell me how successful they are.”

“But they don’t feel like your family.” You had a sad smile and looked back up at him. 

“Do you ever stop profiling?” He mirrored the smile you gave him. “No, they don’t. But I was old enough to understand that they needed each other more than I needed them. Besides, I found a pretty weird family to take me in.”

You earned another laugh from Hotch as you made a check mark in the air, referencing the team tally. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the cash and cards he had in there. 

“What are you doing?” He pulled out a thin wallet picture and turned it over to you. It was of him, Haley, and Jack on his first birthday. “You’ve got more than one weird family to belong to.”

He extended the picture to you, but you shook your head, the anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. “Hotch, this is your family. I can’t,”

“You can. And this family wouldn’t be half as happy as they are in this picture if it weren’t for you and everyone on this team.” You smiled down at the picture, Jack had frosting from his birthday cake all over his face. You reached out and took it between your fingers. “You’re a giver, y/n. You wear your heart on your sleeve and exude more empathy than we know what to do with.” You let out a laugh as you pulled out your own wallet now, tucking the picture in one of the plastic sleeves. “It’s time you learned how to accept the love you give.”

It was deep, too deep to be coming from your boss on the private jet at two in the morning. But he was more than just your boss, and they were more than just your team. And this job, boy this job was so much better than sitting in a cubicle, answering questions from a recited list.

****

[erin-bo-berin]

And Baby Makes Three

MASTERLIST

Happy Valentine’s Day! To celebrate, I’m bringing some more fluff, but specifically daddy Spencer. This was requested by @one-sweet-gubler. I had so much fun writing this one and got a bit carried away as I ended writing about the whole pregnancy instead of just the labor part, so it may be a little long. I hope you enjoy all the Daddy Spencer feels. :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 4,278

Spencer was over the moon when you finally fell pregnant.

The two of you had been trying for a baby for a year, with many difficulties. After a plethora of negative tests and even a false positive, you were over the moon when you found out this positive test was the real thing.

You’d taken 6 tests to be sure.

After a visit to the doctor confirmed it, you were determined to make the surprise something special for Spencer.

He had been dreaming about having kids almost all of his life. He was so good with children and the children he encountered at his job, an FBI profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It was usually scary situations when he encountered kids , but he was always there with soothing words and gentle hugs.

You, with the help of his work family, surprised him at work one day. You were so close to his teammates yourself, you knew you wanted them to be a part of the surprise as well.

You showed up at the BAU under the pretense that he’d forgotten something at home. 

The team had just gathered around the round table to brief about a new case when you walked in. Of course, Spencer was the only one truly surprised one to see you.

You’d apologized for interrupting and said that he’d left something at home that you needed to bring to him. You held up a paper bag, which only confused him, knowing he’d been sure to grab his lunch.

Everyone had watched in anticipation when he pulled a gift box out of the bag.

He’d opened it to a white onesie that when unfolded said Hi Daddy, I can’t wait to meet you. Underneath it was the first ultrasound picture of tiny baby Reid.

He was so shocked that at first he didn’t know what to do. His gaze moved around all the smiling faces at the table, then landed on you, his face breaking into a huge smile.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really.” Your own smile was as big as his.

He’d rushed towards you, hugging you tight and spinning you around in his excitement before the entire team surrounded you both giving hugs and their congratulations.

You were officially going to be parents.

•

Pregnancy wasn’t exactly a breeze for you, yet it wasn’t as bad as some women’s.

The first trimester was filled with lots of nausea, vomiting and exhaustion.

Spencer assured you that it would normally pass by the end of the first trimester. Thankfully it did, but until that point you felt like you lived off of crackers and ginger ale.

He was always the sweetest with you, making sure your supply of both never ran out. When he was home on cases, he’d cuddle with you on the couch letting you have pick of whatever show you wanted to watch—which of course you’d let him end up picking, no matter what. You would lay with your head in his lap and he’d mindlessly play with your hair. Those were some of the best days of your early pregnancy.

By your second trimester, new symptoms arrived, as did the appearance of baby Reid. By 15 weeks, you’d started to show just enough to look pregnant and not actually bloated. 

Spencer would always rub the tiny bump and talk to the baby, things that made your heart soar. It was little gestures like that that made you fall more in love with him each day.

Not only had your belly grown, but so had your appetite. You had started craving things with a vengeance, something that would often mix horribly with your unbalanced pregnancy emotions. It would be like the two wires would accidentally cross in your pregnancy brain, leading to a meltdown.

One night you’d been craving avocados so badly, you’d gone downstairs to eat the last one that you’d been saving. You found it gone, not even remembering you had already eaten it.

Spencer found you on the kitchen floor sobbing over the fact there were no avocados. He’d ended up running to the store at 9 o’clock at night to buy at least two dozen of them. You’d felt so bad afterwards, but he’d only kissed you and assured you that it was only the pregnancy hormones.

“You’re growing a little human, you’re allowed to be a little crazy sometimes,” he comforted you.

Besides the mood swings, cravings and even heartburn, you were most surprised at the changes in your libido. 

You could attest that your sex life with Spencer had never been more steamy than it was then; you were sure he could agree.

20 weeks came and you’d both agreed to find out the sex.

Instead of finding out at the doctor’s, the team had gotten together to throw a gender reveal party—mainly Penelope Garcia’s idea as she was stoked to have another BAU baby around, so who could refuse her?

Obviously it was a small get together with just the BAU team, Spencer and yourself. JJ had been in charge of getting the results, Garcia had baked the cake with the color reveal in it and of course Rossi had supplied his house as the location, as per usual.

You and Spencer both cut into the cake simultaneously and pulled out the first piece, revealing a pink hued cake.

You were thrilled, but you think it was safe to say that Spencer was ecstatic.

•

Baby names were tough.

You’d yet to start talking about names because Spencer wanted to wait until you’d found out the sex before picking a name.

“I want it to be special,” he whined a little, his bottom lip jutting out, “She deserves a good name.”

“I’m still not naming my child Aphrodite, Spencer.”

You had left it to him to research a name; he was so passionate about it, you couldn’t say no. After all, you wanted him involved in every way possible since he couldn’t technically carry the baby.

“Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty,” Spencer retorted, still flipping through books.

He was on the floor surrounded by text books, baby name books, pregnancy guide books, you couldn’t even figure out what else. He’d always been a big reader, but he made sure thus far to have as much knowledge as he could on pregnancy, childbirth and parenting.

“After all, her mommy is a goddess,” he smirked as he flipped a page.

“Why Spencer Reid, that was actually quite smooth of you.”

You ruffled his hair before leaning down and kissing him on the lips. His hands cupped your belly and he gave it a kiss too.

“Well she wouldn’t exist if I wasn’t.”

You laughed and playfully shoved him, leaving him to his reading.

•

Around 22 weeks, you felt her first movements. At first it felt like a small gurgle from your stomach and you’d stopped what you were doing, waiting to see if you’d feel it again.

When the sensation happened, it was like the soft wings of a butterfly brushing the inside of your belly. You’d ran to Spencer, thrilled that you’d finally felt her move. He pouted when he realized it wasn’t yet strong enough for him to feel from the outside.

“Keep on growing, little one,” he’d whispered to your belly, “Daddy wants to feel your kicks too.”

When she started kicking, she kicked hard.

Spencer’s reaction to feeling her kick for the first time was amazing. You could see all the love in his eyes for the little baby girl you’d both created, growing and getting stronger every day.

“I feel you baby girl,” he smiled at your belly, rubbing the spot she’d just kicked, kissing it gently.

Then he took your face in his hands and kissed you so lovingly it left you breathless.

“Thank you for being amazing,” he’d murmured against your lips before kissing you again.

•

5 months had become 6 months. Six nearly had nearly become seven.

You were almost 7 months and at your third trimester and you still hadn’t picked a name for baby girl.

Although one day, it just seemed to click into place.

“I got it!” he’d declared, looking up from a baby book.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” you said, intrigued.

“How about Arabella? It’s a Dutch name for beautiful.”

“Arabella,” you let the name roll off your tongue and you smiled, “It’s perfect for her. Now what about a middle name?”

He was already flipping through pages again, reading fast as lightning.

“I haven’t gotten that far. I’ve only gotten the first name down.”

You chuckled, “At this rate we might name her by the time she graduates from high school.”

He didn’t reply, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. It was then that a thought occurred to you, or rather a name.

“How about Joy?”

“Hmm?” he asked, still distracted by the text.

“Joy. For her middle name. Because we’re so overjoyed about her.”

He looked up, thinking.

“Arabella Joy Reid,” he said, trying it out, then looking back at you. 

“It’s perfect.”

•

The final trimester was the real challenge.

Your body was swollen and sore, you felt huge and you were constantly exhausted. Spencer was the best at spoiling you and Arabella though. Between the cute baby things he bought—one being an onesie that said Daddy’s Little Genius—he would fix meals when he was home, run a bath for you and cuddle you afterwards.

You would often make remarks about how big you felt but he would immediately squash your insecurities saying you looked even more beautiful while pregnant.

When he left for work or for a case, he’d always make sure to kiss your bump as well as kissing you before he left, his way of saying goodbye to his girls.

As the time crept closer to her being born, his excitement grew. He couldn’t wait for your family to expand. It was so endearing to see him so happy and excited. You knew he didn’t get to have the same experience as you did currently, so you understood that he was more than eager to have her here and bond with her.

He was going to make an amazing dad.

As much as you wanted to meet your little bundle of joy, the impending approach of labor made you nervous. Obviously being a first time mom, you only knew what you’d heard and read, not what the actual experience would be like.

“Some studies have said that childbirth actually hurts more than broken bones,” Spencer had told you.

“Not helping!” you groaned.

He winced, quickly realizing his mistake.

“Well at least there’s medication now for labor pains unlike in old days when they used to—”

You stopped him in the middle of his sentence.

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” you said, “You better believe the moment I can get an epidural, I’m going to get it.”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with is fine by me.”

He squeezed your hand, showing you that you truly did have his support. He hated to see you in pain and he knew labor was going to be strenuous, but you knew he’d be there with you every step of the way.

“Just think in two weeks we’re going to be able to finally meet her,” Spencer beamed, stroking your stomach where one of her feet had just pushed hard enough to show an imprint through your belly.

“It’s about time you carried her for once,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Oh believe me, you’ll have to fight me before I give up holding her.”

You had zero doubts about that.

•

Your due date was right around the corner when Spencer had to fly to Colorado for a case. 

“You’re sure you’ll call me if anything happens, right?” Spencer asked for the third time.

“Spence, I’m sure,” you answered, “Besides my due date isn’t for 5 more days and my doctor said there’s a chance she might be a tad bit overdue.”

“Tell her daddy says to stay in there until I get back.”

“I will. But keep in mind, she’s as stubborn as you are.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, feigning offense.

You laughed, “Go save a life. I’ll call you later. Love you.”

After you’d said your goodbyes, you resumed the cleaning you’d needed to finish up before baby got here.

You’d successfully washed and put away all her clothes, washed all the bottles and stored them in the cabinet along with the canisters of formula and set up her changing table with wipes and diapers.

Your hospital bag had been packed weeks ago and sat next to the door. 

Now you just finished small things like washing dishes, folding laundry and vacuuming. Sweeping was definitely not an option since you couldn’t bend down for the dustpan. Oh, how you missed being able to bend down like a normal person.

It was around one in the afternoon when you decided to lay down because you had become exhausted and your back had begun to ache. 

With a quick text to Spencer, you let him know you were napping in case you didn’t answer and he reminded you Garcia was on speed dial if you needed anything.

You fell into a restless sleep, waking about an hour later drenched in sweat, the ache now have migrated to the front of your body. You sat up to retrieve your phone so you could time the contractions, just to ensure they weren’t Braxton Hicks. That’s when you felt a gush of liquid between your legs, soaking your pants and the bed sheets.

Your thumb immediately hit the 1 on screen, dialing Penelope Garcia.

•

Spencer was standing in front of the geo map he’d been working on, studying it when his phone rang. He reached into his pocket, seeing it was Garcia and none the wiser thought she would be reporting more info on the current case.

“Hey Garcia.”

“Don’t freak out.”

His brows crinkled.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N’s in labor.”

“What?!” His answer was so loud, it startled some officers nearby, “She’s not due for at least a week more!”

“Don’t tell me, tell your offspring,” Penelope retorted, “Cause she’s on her way.”

“Has her water broke? Are they sure it’s not just false labor?”

“Half an hour ago, they’re checking her now. I’m staying here until you get here obviously, but I’d hurry cause I feel like she’s gonna want you here to wring your neck when labor really starts.”

 “Okay, I’ll catch the first flight I can and call you back when I get the flight info.”

He said a quick goodbye and rushed to Emily.

“Y/N’s gone into labor and I need to get the next flight out,” he told her, simultaneously looking up flight information out of Colorado on his phone.

“Spence.”

He was too busy searching to catch the worried tone in her voice. It wasn’t until he saw the numerous amounts of cancelled next to all flights that he looked up at her.

“Normally, I’d say go ahead and go. But I don’t think you’re going to get a flight anywhere in this weather.” She pointed to the window behind him.

He turned to see it snowing so hard he couldn’t see anything else but white.

“All flights have been grounded until the storm is over. We’re stuck here.”

“No,” Spencer muttered, starting to panic.

He paced back and forth, his frustration mounting. In one motion he swiped all of the papers off the desk in his irritation, his frustration and anger at the situation bubbling to the surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, sinking down in the chair at the table, his hands covering his face.

His hands pushed through his hair in exasperation, his curls falling back into place moments later.

He wasn’t going to make it there in time. He was going to miss it all.

The love of his life and the mother of his child was going to have to go through labor without him.

•

“What do you mean you’re not going to make it?!” Penelope shrieked.

“All flights are grounded for the next 48 hours until this damn snow storm is over,” Spencer said. 

“And there’s no way you can make it back?”

“I’ve tried everything,” he said, sounding resigned.

“What am I supposed to tell her?”

“The truth. Garcia, you’re going to have to stay with her.”

“Me? I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies!”

“Garcia this is no time to be quoting Gone With The Wind!” Spencer exclaimed, exasperated.

“Sorry, it’s just, Spencer I don’t know what to do and she wants you!”

“Just be there, hold her hand, give her ice chips, encourage her. I’m not letting her be alone. Garcia, please,” he practically begged.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep you updated. Garcia tech-analyst-turned-midwife out.”

-

You were laying in bed, covered in sweat from just making it through another contraction.

At your last check, you were only 4 centimeters dilated. You still had one more to go before you could get the epidural.

“This suuuuucks,” you moaned.

Your contractions were still at least 5 minutes apart, signaling you were still in the last stages of early labor, if not in early stages of active. All of that to mean the pain medication wasn’t coming until they got stronger and more frequent.

“And they said these are only the mild ones,” you groaned, looking over at Garcia who was grabbing your cup of ice.

She gave you another spoonful and put the cup back.

“You’re doing great though and the doctor said the epidural will help with most of the real intense contractions.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing Spencer isn’t here right now cause I feel like I could kill him,” you muttered.

You were devastated when Penelope told you he was stuck in Colorado. You hated that he was going to miss Arabella’s birth and you needed him here. But at the moment, you were exhausted, sweaty, in pain and very angry that Spencer had gotten you pregnant.

Of course, that was just the pain talking.

-

“I’m so sorry you got stuck with me,” you later panted, having worked your way through the previous contraction.

“Oh, sweetheart, no. I’m honored. You’ve been doing great,” she smiled, wiping your forehead, “Besides I’m thrilled to meet my goddaughter.”

You smiled weakly.

You were currently waiting for the anesthesiologist to set up the epidural. Your contractions had started amping up big time and were coming closer together. It had been several hours since you’d first been admitted to the hospital, the nightfall just outside your window indicating the late hour.

After being propped up against Penelope and neither of you looking at the needle that was inserted into your spine, the epidural was finally taking affect. The sweet sensation of numbness was a relief. You had gone from being in excruciating pain to feeling absolutely nothing and it allowed you to get some rest while your labor advanced.

A few cat naps later, Penelope had sent a selfie of the two of you to Spencer to let him know that you both were still alive and well; things were going smoothly. 

You passed the time by watching tv, talking to Garcia and napping. It took hours for you to progress, but slowly, you did. It was nearing dawn the next morning when it was reported that you were 9 centimeters dilated. It was getting closer to time to meet yours and Spencer’s baby and you found yourself wishing again that he was here with you.

Things progressed fast and by 7 am you were pushing your baby girl out into the world. Penelope was holding your hand as you squeezed it, pushing with all your strength. 

She, the nurses and the doctor kept hollering their encouragement as they told you to push and finally you heard the wonderful first cries of your baby.

You fell back against your pillow, exhausted, overwhelmed, but happy as she was placed on your chest. She was still covered in all the normal birthing elements, but she was beautiful, just like her name implied.

“Oh Y/N she’s beautiful,” Penelope gasped, in awe.

She’d followed the nurses when they’d taken Arabella to clean her off and measure her. 

“Nice and healthy too. Almost nine pounds,” she smiled, “She’s going to be tall like her daddy.”

You smiled and watched as she took pictures of her to send to Spencer.

You reached your arms out and took her from the nurse once they’d swaddled her.

“Hello angel,” you whispered, “You just couldn’t wait until daddy got home, now could you?”

•

It had officially been almost an entire day since you’d had Arabella. 

You’d just gotten her to sleep when you heard a commotion just outside of your hospital room. You heard a mixture of voices, but your heart leaped when you heard your boyfriend’s in the mix. 

Footsteps got closer and you looked up as Spencer practically bounded in, a huge smile on his face. He dropped his go bag and satchel on the floor next to the door and walked over to your side.

“There’s my angel,” he said.

“Which one? Her or me?” you teased.

“Both of you.”

Spencer smiled running a hand over your still mess of hair and kissed your forehead.

“Look at her. You did amazing, Y/N.”

“Well you did kind of help,” you smirked.

“Okay, we did amazing.”

“Yes, we did,” you agreed, handing her to Spencer.

“Hi beautiful,” he crooned, stroking her cheek with his finger, “Daddy’s been waiting a long time to meet you.”

He sat in the chair beside you and snuggled her close. Arabella stretched a little in her sleep, opening her eyes when she heard his voice.

“Someone recognizes daddy’s voice,” you smiled.

“Well hello there Arabella. I heard you had quite the dramatic entrance.”

She cooed, eyes never leaving his face.

You watched the two of them, especially Spencer. He was so in love with her and you were so in love with him.

She yawned and gripped onto his finger. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, looking up at you now that she was contently cuddled in his arms.

“Tired and sore,” you chuckled, “But she was definitely worth it.”

“I’ll say, I mean look how cute our baby is.”

Spencer held one of her feet that had come out of the swaddle.

“Look at those tiny feet,” he baby-talked to Arabella, before kissing the bottom of it.

She pulled her foot away, beginning to get fussy.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” he frowned, covering her foot back up with the blanket.

“She’s tired and probably hungry. She’d barely gone to sleep before you got here.”

His eyes lit up.

“Can I feed her?”

“Go ahead,” you smiled.

You rang for the nurse and while she fetched a bottle, Arabella began to cry.

“I know, I know,” Spencer pouted, rocking her slightly, “A bottle’s coming, baby girl.”

The nurse returned with the bottle and Spencer took it, placing it gently in Arabella’s mouth. She started sucking greedily, her cries vanished.

You watched them with sleepy eyes, a smile on your face. Spencer looked up, noticing you drifting off.

“Hey, why don’t you rest and take a nap? I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

He leaned over, kissing you gently.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he looked down at Arabella, “Tell mommy we got this.”

She made small grunting noises as she ate and he chuckled.

“See? We’re good on our own.”

You didn’t argue. You knew you’d need your rest and better take it when you had the chance. You’d began drifting off when you heard Spencer’s words to Arabella.

“I love your mommy so much. Besides you, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

•

Spencer watched his daughter eat all of her bottle while he talked to her. She seemed to listen too, watching him the entire time.

“Just wait until auntie JJ meets you,” he said, “She might ever want to give you back. She’s never had a baby girl.”

He told her all about the rest of his teammates, talked to her about how he waited so long to meet her, he even told her how he and Y/N had met. He set the bottle aside when she was finished, laying her against his chest and on his shoulder to burp her, like he’d read about.

When she was settled, he laid her against his chest, rocking her just a bit. It wasn’t long until he fell asleep along with her.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when a nurse had woken him.

“I’m sorry Dr. Reid,” she apologized, “I was just making rounds and was checking in on the baby. Do you want me to take her and put her back in the bassinet to sleep?”

“No, I think I want to hold her a little while longer.”

She smiled and nodded before she left the room. He looked down to Arabella sleeping peacefully on his chest. 

His mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that this tiny, perfect little human was his. He was filled with such love for her and Y/N.

He kissed her head gently.

“Not even a day old and you have me wrapped around your little finger.”

He got comfortable in the chair once again, falling back asleep with her in his arms.

Despite all the bad things he saw in his day to day work, good moments like this truly outweighed all the bad.

Tag List: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @fuckthealarm​ @whatspunispun​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @thomasfoockinshelby​ @tinyminy88​ @theitcaramelchick​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @haileymorelikestupid​

[juniorgman187]

About Time (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader’s offer to help Morgan renovate one of his properties makes Spencer jealous enough to confess what he never could before. 

A/N: I try to avoid specific Reid eras in my works so that it can be up to you how you imagine him, but please just imagine seasons 1 or 2 Spencer - I’m telling you it’ll make the experience richer. Also, I might improve this fic in the near future bc I’m not entirely happy with it. Category: Drabble, Fluff Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: None Word Count: 2.5k Playlist: Would You Be So Kind by Dodie

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Clink … Clink … Clink … 

The repetitive noise was barely discernible at first, then it became all that I could focus on. 

In an attempt to find the source, I looked up from my paperwork and scanned the room. It only took me half a second to discover that Morgan was the culprit. 

From across the round table, I watched as Derek absentmindedly stirred his coffee and sugar together, making a ‘clink’ noise each time his spoon hit the rim of the cup. This wouldn’t have been bothersome had it not persisted for more than 10 minutes which, by all accounts, is plenty of time for the sugar to dissolve.

“Derek… ” I sort of sang, trying to capture his attention as nicely as possible. 

“Derek.” I repeated, this time a little less quietly and a little more sharply. Still, my voice did nothing to stop the noisy stirring of his coffee. I stayed silent for a second, just in case he finally noticed I was speaking to him, but when he didn’t, I gave a concerned look to Spencer beside me as if to ask if he was seeing what I was and he returned just the same expression of confusion. 

That’s when I knew something was wrong. 

“Derek!” I said even louder, finally catching his attention. 

His head snapped in my direction, his ghost-like countenance falling away after looking directly at me. I was relieved to see proof of life had been regained behind his eyes. The abrupt reaction made me squint harder in his direction to decipher what was truly going on. “Is everything okay? You were kind of zoning out just now.” 

He sighed while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just had a late night last night and I didn’t go to bed till three this morning.” 

“Oh?” I asked coyly. “And what was her name?” I brought my mug to my lips to hide my growing smirk behind the rim. 

He didn’t catch on right away, which to me was more than enough evidence that he wasn’t well. He was usually the first to be aware of an innuendo, maybe even the one to be making it. “Whose name?”

“The girl that kept you up till three this morning.” I mimicked his voice in crude yet playful imitation.

To this, he shook his head and rolled his eyes with a grin. “Alright, get your pretty lil’ head out of the gutter, Kitten. I was busy fixing up a property I got down in Emporia. Lost track of time. That’s all.”

Whether or not he was hiding something more, I didn’t care anymore. He’d piqued my interest in this new topic. “Emporia? That’s like 2 or 3 hours away.” 

His eyebrows lifted in agreement. “Yeah, like I said - late night.” 

Not even trying to tempt him with my words, I simply remarked, “But I mean it can’t be that hard though, right? Fixing up the house?” 

There was no verbal response from him, only a mirthless chuckle.

I was less careful with my words than I should’ve been, letting them flow through my mouth without filtering them first. “I’m just saying, I worked with Habitat For Humanity for years. We built thousands of houses from scratch, each of them within a matter of days.” 

He sat up in his seat and leaned forward to assert himself. It was nearly the same mannerisms he would display in an interview when he wanted to maintain dominance. “Well, that’s because you got how many people working on one house?” 

When I didn’t answer, he simply tapped the table and leaned back comfortably in his seat, prematurely relishing in a self-proclaimed victory. “Yeah, exactly. Whereas, it’s just little ol’ me fixing up these properties.”

“Okay, then I’ll help you.” 

He only snickered in response, lending way for me to believe he didn’t trust that I’d provide any sort of productive assistance. 

“I will!” I insisted. “Since you’re so convinced those houses were only built as fast as they were because it was a group effort, I want to prove to you that it’s actually because I’m just a fast worker.” 

“It’s not a race, Kitten. All I said was it took me a while to fix up the house. I don’t need you to help. And I wouldn’t be paying you even if you did, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m not doing this for money,” I reasserted. “I’m doing this for pride. I know I’m right, and I want you to know it, too.” 

It’s worth mentioning that Derek and I made these kinds of bets all the time. Our friendship was practically built on the foundation of competition. The first interaction I ever had with him was when he came up to me while I was arranging my desk to ask what I thought the odds were that he could toss his paper ball into the trashcan across the bullpen. 

Years Ago . . .

“What are the chances I’ll make the shot?” I heard a deep, unfamiliar voice inquire from behind me.

“You’re aiming for the trashcan all the way over there? No way.” This voice I knew was Elle’s. She’d been the second person to introduce herself to me and if I had to guess, the deeper voice belonged to the guy I recalled sitting diagonally from her. I made eye contact with him when I initially walked in, but he hadn’t taken the time to introduce himself to me, nor I to him. He seemed a little preoccupied … making a paper ball and all. 

“Actually, if Morgan’s throw had specific arc, the trajectory of the ball would -”

“He’s not making it, Reid.” Elle cut off the small, almost mousy voice promptly, shutting down any ‘pro-Morgan-making-the-shot’ argument he was about to make. 

You could get a lot from just listening. Some might call it eavesdropping, but I like to call it being observant, and from what I’d observed 

A) The one throwing the ball was Morgan. 

B) The smart-sounding one was Reid. 

C) Reid was a proponent of Morgan, so I could assume they were close friends. 

D) There were three very distinct, very different personalities in this general vicinity of desks alone. 

“O’ ye of little faith! Gimme a break, Elle. You’re just busting my balls ‘cause Reid came to me about Lila before he came to you.” 

“That has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right.”

“No, but it means you have bias.” Derek retorted.

“Fine then. If it means that much to you to have an unbiased opinion, let’s ask someone impartial - like Anderson.”

“Actually, I have a better idea,” The deep voice said as soon as I’d placed the last item on my desk - a stack of sticky notes in the shape of a cat’s face that’d been gifted to me the moment I exited the elevator by Penelope Garcia. 

“Excuse me, Kitten,” The deep voice purred. “You think I could get this ball into that trash bin right over there?” 

It took me a second to register that he was addressing me until I realized where the nickname originated from and that it had belonged to me - I could thank Penelope for that.

“Oh, um …” I looked around the room like somehow it would have my answer. In some ways, it did. 

I made contact with Reid first. He smiled weakly at me with tender awkwardness that melted my heart a little bit. Meanwhile, Elle’s eyes were luring me to join her on the dark side and say he wouldn’t make it. To be fair, riling him up seemed like fun. I’d be on Elle’s good side, gain her approval, and if I executed my jest playfully enough, I’d be on Morgan’s good side, too.

“No shot in hell, big guy.” 

Present Time . . .

That’s how it all started - this sibling-like rivalry. Ever since then, we’ve been challenging each other like our lives depended on it. And if I had to make it my life’s mission to win this most recent bet, then so be it. 

“Alright, kitten, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll pick you up at 9 on Saturday.” 

We sealed the deal with a cross-table handshake, and at that moment, I hadn’t realized it - only when I thought back to it, did I notice - Reid had been watching the entire interaction unfold. Misinterpreting every painstaking second of it. 

_ _ _

Sticking true to his word, Derek had taken up my offer in spades. Not the least bit shy in delegating me each and every duty there could possibly be. 

I’ll admit, he used my pride to his advantage. Because while I was practically doing all the handy-work imaginable inside the property, he was resting on his laurels outside, probably taking up the view of rolling green hills that went on forever just beyond the front yard. 

It just so happened that that would be our maintained, respective locations for the unexpected arrival of Derek’s very first (very unhappy) guest.

I was inside painting when I heard the placid squeak of Derek getting up from his Adirondack chair on the wraparound porch. I remember peeking my head out of the doorway for a second to see if he was finally going to come inside and help me, but lo and behold, I caught him walking further away from the entrance. While I might’ve given an eye roll of annoyance at the action, I thought nothing of it. Not until I heard Derek speaking to an eerily familiar secondary voice. 

“What are you doing here?” I could hear Derek ask. My ears had perked up like a dog on high alert. 

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to … to -” The second voice stammered. 

“Spit it out, kid!” 

“You’re trying to steal my girl!” Whoever it was, was desperate to speak with conviction, maybe even malice, to prove some level of strength that could match Derek’s, but they tried and failed. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Steal your girl? What the hell are you talking about, man?” 

“You know I like her! And yet you’re just hanging out with her alone now? On one of your desolate properties? Can’t you see how suspicious that looks? You’re supposed to be my friend.” 

I’d stopped painting completely at this point so I could take asylum behind the closed door. I could place that voice anywhere, and I needed to press my ear against the only thing separating it from me to confirm what I already knew. 

“Reid, I am your friend,” And there it was. Reid? “And as your friend, I’m telling you: lower your voice unless you want her to hear you.”

“Don’t patronize me. Just tell me,” Spencer, if anything, spoke louder. Perhaps he did want me to hear him, or he simply wanted to defy Derek. “Why do you flirt with her?”

“Flirt?” Derek seemed appalled at the word. It would’ve been offensive that he was disgusted at the thought of engaging with me in that manner had I not felt the same way. What we were doing was not flirting - by any stretch of the imagination. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You call her ‘Kitten,’ you both make sexual innuendos that you think fly over my head, you invite her to come over.” 

“Slow your roll, Pretty Boy. First of all, ‘Kitten’ is just a nickname I gave her the first time we met because I didn’t know what her actual name was. You know that - you were there. Second, the sexual innuendos are just playful jabs at the fact that I sleep around. Low hanging-fruit. Third, inviting her to come over might seem suspicious, but if you walk in there right now, you’ll see that nothing is going on between us. She’s just here to help.”

I wanted any excuse to walk out there myself and announce my nearby presence. Confront Spencer and tell him I heard everything. Ask him where any of this was coming from. How he could think, for even a second, that there was something between me and Morgan. 

Turns out, I didn’t need an excuse. I had already walked out. 

Spencer gulped hard when he saw me. And for that I felt sorry for him. He looked so unlike himself. His hair was disheveled like he’d ran his fingers through it a million times out of stress. His outfit was strangely untidy, the buttons of his cuff unclasped. “Could you ... did you-”

“I heard everything,” I clarified to the dumbfounded shell of a man standing at the base of Morgan’s stairs.

It was a triangle of stares between us all. Exchanging quizzical glances in a battle of wills to see who would fold first. I was looking at Reid, Reid was looking at me, then he looked at Morgan, who looked back at him, then at me. Like I said, a triangle of stares. 

“Um ... I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll just be inside.” 

I suppose there were worse ways to finally get Morgan off his ass and working. 

Reid trailed Morgan with his eyes, while I simply waited for the sound of the door shutting behind me. It took a few more seconds until one of us had the gall to speak.

“Did you mean what you said? About liking me?” This question that I posed went unanswered for what felt like minutes. Looking at Reid, I could tell he wanted to say something, he just didn’t know what. 

The soul was willing, but the flesh was weak. 

“If you’re not ready to admit it, that’s okay. But then why did you really come here, Spencer? To yell at Morgan for possibly making a move on me? Because now’s your chance. Make your move, Spence.” I descended the stairs, stopping to stand on the very last step so I’d hover a mere inch above him. “Make a move.” 

Make a move, he did.

Warm, clammy hands that were disproportionately bigger than the rest of his body caught my face so that unbelievably, inconceivably soft lips could make their fierce attack with no resistance. His fingers laced through my hair until his hand found the nape of my neck. He used that as leverage to pull me impossibly closer. 

When he was just one step away from sucking my soul out of me, I laid my palm on his chest and pushed him slightly backward. I think I heard him laughing when I did this, probably to hide the shame of letting himself commit so fully to the moment that he forgot just how intense his passion was. 

His eyes fluttered open and his lips were still contorted in a pucker. It took him a second, but it finally came. 

“I meant what I said,” He confessed ever so nonchalantly as though it were the easiest thing in the world to him, despite being unable to come even close to admitting it just minutes before. “I like you. A lot.” 

It was me who laughed then, both from the sheer elation hearing him say that brought me and the distant, exasperated comment that came from within the house. 

“Well, finally! It’s about damn time!” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

If you’re on this taglist, I strongly suggest commenting, reblogging, or liking!

CLICK HERE TO JOIN A TAGLIST

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid​ @spenxerslut​ @you-sunshine​​ @spencerreid9​ 

Tag not working: @josiemay20