#Spencer Rose

[leveragecentral]

Leverage + Textposts 2

[thewritingofspencerrose]

book: The Day You Knocked pairing: Joshua “Josh” McKnight & Ella Aldridge

“I think that’s my last round for the night,” Josh says, standing from the bean bag on the floor next to my chair. 

“Seriously? Just one more game, dude,” Kallie tries to convince, tossing his controller back to him. 

“Seriously Kal, I have a lot to do tomorrow,” He explains, standing and leaning against the wall, glancing down at me. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“Oh, definitely. I wouldn’t miss a Toussaint lecture,” I assure, smiling slightly and earning one in return. 

“I’ll see you all around,” He assures, pushing off towards the door, being followed by everyones goodbyes as they echo behind them, door closing. 

“Ella,” Liz speaks up, gaining my attention from the book in my lap. “Weren’t you going to give that back before he left?”

“Give what back?”

The look on her face reads Are you serious? but her lips say, “His sweatshirt. That you’re wearing. Right now.”

“Oh! I totally forgot!” I answer, glancing down at my chest as I unfold myself from my seat. “I’m going to go try to catch him.”

“You do that,” Kallie jests, shooing me from the room, me exiting with just socks on my feet, sweatshirt still on. Padding along, I can hear the elevator ding at the end of the hall, signaling it is just arriving. I jog a bit now, rounding the corner to an empty hall but a still open elevator, stepping into the open door to stop its closing. 

“Ella?” Josh’s low tone draws my eyes, an amused smile on his face as I notice him glance down to the reindeer on my socks. 

“Uh, you forgot your sweatshirt,” I tell, gesturing to the crew neck that’s still on my body.

“I didn’t forget it, I was just going to get it back another time,” He assures, running a hand through his hair. “You looked comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah, I was,” I admit, tugging the overly large sleeves over my hands. “But Liz reminded me I had it so I wanted to return it. I know it’s your only sweatshirt.”

“It’s not my only sweatshirt?” He denies, furrowing his brows. 

“Well how would I know when it’s the only thing you wear?”

“I- am not even going to argue with you on how wrong you are,” He denies, shaking his head. “So...?”

“Oh! Yes,” I exclaim, remembering why I am holding up the elevator.

“You should probably just step in here and ride upstairs, eventually someone will realize the elevator isn’t responding and will call maintenance,” He advices, tugging on the sleeve of the sweatshirt I’m fiddling with enough to pull me in. 

Why must my brain fly out the window every time it’s just us?

Instead of answering, I pull the sweatshirt over my head, leaving me only in my my cropped t-shirt and pajama pants. 

“Someone’s ready for Christmas,” He jest, eyeing the snowflakes on my pajama pants.”

“I- shut up, and take your sweatshirt,” I instruct, tossing it for him to catch, something he does easily. He just chuckles, shaking his head again. “Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“It’s no problem, it looks better on you anyways.”

Was that flirting? He can’t be flirting with me. He has a girlfriend.

“What?” I ask.

“I said you looked better in it,” He admits once more, obviously not seeing the issue. 

He’s been like this for months. At first I didn’t notice it. 

That’s a lie. I absolutely did.

The intense, admittedly hot jealousy when he thought CJ was crushing on me. 

Walking me to my lab with our hands touching every time we moved. 

Everyone else pointing out things, like when Kallie told me that all he talks to her about at band is me, not his girlfriend, but me.

“Josh, can I ask you something?” He nods, and I take this as my go ahead. “What is going on here? You flirt with me, and you make me feel all fluttery which isn’t an experience I like because there is no scientific reasoning for it and -”

“And I don’t have a girlfriend,” He interrupts my rambling, taking the wind from my lungs. “Abigail and I broke up last week when we were home for Thanksgiving.”

“You, you what? I’m so sorry,” I apologize, knowing it must hurt. Nearly three years together and suddenly it’s all over. 

“You have nothing to be sorry- well maybe a small thing to be sorry for,” He explains.

“What does that mean?” I question, the elevator door dinging, signaling our arrival at the fifth floor. I step out of door, entering the hall that connects to his room. 

“It means,” He begins, following me out, “That your only reason to be sorry is the fact that you’re the reason we broke up.”

“I’m the what?” I question, stepping back quickly. This can not be happening. This is just a very vivid dream entirely fueled by my obsession with friends to lovers books. 

“You,” He begins, taking that step back towards me, “Ella Aldridge,” He begins again, this time taking my hands that were clicking away at my side. “Are the reason we broke up. I told her I was interested in someone else-” Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, “so I couldn’t be with her anymore.”

“Josh, you... you broke up with your girlfriend for me?” 

“Of course I did. I’ve been into you since biology last year, but then we lost touch and suddenly this year I’m half drunk and dropping Kallie off at your suite and there you are.”

“And there I was,” I agree, remembering the day well. “And there I was. Just on the other side of the door the day you knocked.”

[reiding-writing]

AHHHHH UNSUB READERRRR such an elite concept, could I maybe request soccer calling her post transfer just to talk to her?? of maybe the team catching wind that he's been in contact with her after the case??

THE PHONE CALLS

spencer & gn!unsub!reader || 0.9k || bloodied roses event!!

WARNINGS: just morgan prying and getting absolutely nowhere with it

a/n — ik it was just a typo but calling spencer ‘soccer’ had me laughing for like five minutes thanks for making my day 😭🙏

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ unsub!reader masterlist!!

Spencer had spent a lot of time on his phone recently.

An abnormally long amount of time for somebody who’s sworn off technology in favour of the more ‘traditional’ methods of doing things.

5PM. On the dot. Every single Wednesday. Rain or shine, office or case, Spencer Reid was talking to somebody over the phone.

There were a few theories floating around.

A hidden partner? Almost immediately shot down with how rigorously timed the calls were.

His mom? She had just as much of a hatred of phones as he did, and everyone knew he sent her letters every day anyway.

A doctor maybe? A therapist? A librarian from somewhere in rural Russia that had the singular print of some random piece of literature that Spencer was trying to get his hands on?

It was honestly anyone’s guess.

The fact that he was being oddly secretive about it wasn’t helping anything either.

It was like he was scared of the team finding out. What was there to be ‘scared’ of? They we’re practically family, he surely knew that they wouldn’t judge him for whatever it was, so why was he keeping everything under lock and key?

Hotch told people that they should just leave it, that he’s entitled to his privacy and doesn’t have to tell anyone anything that he doesn’t want to. But that doesn’t exactly fair too well when you’re talking to a group of people who analyse human behaviour for a living. And Hotch wasn’t even following his own advice.

And Hotch wasn’t even following his own advice.

“That’s good, that’s great news,”

Spencer wasn’t exactly quiet either.

He’d practically barricaded himself in the break room to be able to take the call privately, but his voice was still easily heard through the glass, and it wasn’t exactly helping to dim the over-active curiosity of his teammates.

“You know what I mean, it’s progress, it shows that they’re trusting you,”

His pacing also left something to be desired, rhythmic and almost mechanical like it was a way for Spencer to blow off whatever nervous tension had built up during the course of the phone call.

“Alright, yeah, I’ll speak to you next week okay?” A small pause. “Okay, bye,”

Most of the team scrambled to make themselves look busy as Spencer pocket his phone and emerged from behind his self-imposed glass wall, but there was always one who didn’t know how to follow a crowd.

“Alright, you’ve kept your secrets long enough, who is it genius?” Morgan’s voice wasn’t accusatory as it was curious, and he gestures outwards for Spencer’s answer. One that doesn’t come.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I talk to a lot of different people,” He re-takes his seat as his desk with a small shrug, lips awkwardly pressed into a line.

“You take the same phone call every single week at the same exact time, that’s not ‘a lot’ of people pretty boy, it’s one,” Morgan leans forward in his chair, elbows on the table. “So, who is it? A girlfriend?”

“No—” Spencer shakes his head almost too quickly.

“A boyfriend?”

“No it’s not—” Spencer sighs exaggeratedly. “It’s nothing like that, it’s just an acquaintance,”

“An acquaintance you talk to every single week no matter what, even when we’re in the middle of a case,”

“I like having a fit schedule,”

Morgan shakes his head with a laugh. “Nothing about this job is ‘scheduled’ Reid, you’re telling me you only keep a schedule when it comes to this specific acquaintance of yours?” His raises his eyebrow unbelievingly, but Spencer doesn’t back down from his stance.

“They have a much stricter schedule than I do, we talk when they’re available,”

Morgan gives a small breathy laugh and a slow, almost mocking nod. “Right, sure,”

“I’m telling you the truth, I don’t know what else you want,” Spencer shrugs again, this time with a small air of exasperation.

He wasn’t technically lying. You did have a strict schedule at the facility you’d been moved to, and you used the one phone call you had a week so that you could speak to him. He wouldn’t want you to waste it by him not picking up. That wouldn’t be fair.

“Whatever you say pretty boy,” Morgan fiddles with the pen in his hand before pointing it across the bullpen in Spencer’s direction. “But rest assured, I will find out who you’re talking to, even if it means having Garcia hack into your phone records,”

Spencer hopes for both of your sakes that Morgan doesn’t find out who he’s talking to.

Although the threat of Garcia didn’t really hold any value, not that Morgan knew that. All they would find was a psychiatric institute, and for all he could’ve been speaking to absolutely anyone there, patient or staff.

So for the time being, your weekly talks remained something kept held close to his chest, something that would hopefully stay that way indefinitely.

[bestqprshipbracket]

Best Polyamorous Ship Round 5

[spencestiel-michelle]

Reid: can we all just collectively agree to skip Valentine’s Day? 

Rossi: don’t ask me. 

Derek: we’re all bad at expressing our feelings, so, yeah, why not? 

Emily: if we did our jobs like we communicate our care for each other we would be fired and dead. 

Hotch: can you put that in writing for me? 

JJ: Valentine’s Day is a scam anyways. don’t get me started. it’s cute but… eh. 

*Penelope slowly backs away with arms full of Valentine’s Day cards, goodies, and flowers*

[jenniferchecksbitch]

Best AHS season

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

[myk444]

[shyjusticewarrior]

Jason: You bought a taco from the truck that hit Manhunter?

Rose: Me starving is not gonna help her.

[hamcakevaletguy]

Not the YouTube Creator Collective Event being a screening of Submissive & Breedable at the Smosh office

(More videos in next posts tagged youtube creator collective event, will continue to edit with more pics)

[newwavesylviaplath]

hbd @nahoyasboyfriend i tried my best babes i really did

[reidvrmore]

doctor who series two was aired from november 2005 to july 2006.

criminal minds season one debuted on september 2005.

we know in canon spencer watched doctor who and since he and elle were close maybe she watched it with him, they watched series two together as it was coming out.

maybe spencer saw himself and elle as ten and rose and once she left he rewatched this particular season when he missed her.

[leveragecentral]

Leverage + Texposts

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Mamma Masterlist

yay quinn on a well deserved norris trophy win!

"Oh my God," Is all I can say as Quinn's name gets called for the Norris Trophy. Jack standing to my left prompts my legs to do the same, trying my hardest to take a wiggling Ellie from Quinn while Cohen sleeps on my hip, just five months old.

My face nearly splits open from the smile I'm wearing, Quinn ducking in to kiss my lips as he places Ellie on my other hip, kissing the top of her head and the top of Cohens. He moves down the line, hugging Luke and Jack and his parents before moving to the stage.

"Here, Elle Belle, come sit with Uncle Jack," Jack offers, her running over as soon as she's on the ground to take a seat with her 'favorite' uncle.

Thank you, I mouth, Jack just smiling as Luke takes my hand that's not holding the baby to my lap, offering me a smile as the tears trail down my cheeks in joy.

Tears are in my eyes as Quinn makes it up, standing in a room of legends to take his trophy and the microphone.

"First off," He begins, smile bright as day. "I'd like to thank my teammates. It's a great group of guys, and - um -" He pauses, and although I've caught him on more than one occasion practicing for this moment in our bathroom mirror, he needs this moment to think through the next minute and a half.

"The reality of winning an award like this is you can't do it alone, and you really need good players around you. And I certainly have that, so thanks fellas."

"Um- to my coaching staff, great group of people, love playing for you guys. Um- Patrik Allvin and Jim Rutherford, thank you for your continued mentorship and trust. To the Aquilini family, Roberto and Francesco, for being here, nobody cares about the city and the fans more than you guys, so thank you."

"Momma," Ellie tries to whisper, stealing my attention, "Daddy got his award?"

"Yes, baby, Daddy won," I answer, Jack and Luke smiling the brightest.

"And to my family more than anything-" I can't help but look to the Hughes beside me, people who have been in my life for years, and be eternally grateful that I was accepted into it. "My brothers, its surreal to be able to go through the same profession as you guys, and my parents, for your continued support and love."

"And to my wonderful fiance," Oh God I'm not prepared for this. His eyes meet mine, smile growing impossibly larger. "This has been the first season I've been blessed enough to be a father, and truly I feel that's what drove me to be the best captain I could be. I love you and thank you for bringing our gorgeous kids into the world."

I blow him a kiss, tears still streaming as Lu squeezes my hand, chuckling.

"He was nicer to you than he was to us," He mumbles, entirely a joke, but it does earn a small laugh.

"And most importantly and lastly," Quinn continues, eyes on the trophy in hand, "to Roman Josi, congrats on a great season, wherever you are-" His eyes scan the crowd, chuckling when he finds the man in question. "There you are, when I think Nashville Predators, I think you, and you're a fantastic player and they're lucky to have you."

He turns, eyes landing on their next target.

"And Cale, I probably love watching my brothers play most, but I'd say you're next on that list, and I've learned a lot from you, so um, congrats on another great season, and appreciate you guys. Thank you."

His eyes meet mine, smile wide and eyes wrinkled at the corner in joy.

This is my boy, the father of my children and the man I love.

I could not be more proud.

[reiding-writing]

I don’t know if you were planning on making a part two of the phone call could I request Derek and the time managing to find out about the calls? I also had another idea of how unsub!reader and Spencer would react to the appeal getting through? If you don’t want to that’s totally fine! I absolutely love your work and can’t wait to see more of it! 🫶

A SUCCESSFUL APPEAL

spencer & gn!unsub!reader || 1.0k || unsub!reader masterlist.

WARNINGS: n/a

a/n — there is more unsub!reader to come, don’t you worry

main masterlist.

It’s a little silly how quickly Spencer rummages for his phone once the six o’clock news airs.

It’s harder than people might think to be able to remotely access a news station from a state you aren’t in, but Spencer prides himself on nothing if not his inherent ability to figure things out; And so, right as the logo for the ABC7 broadcast rolls, Spencer is pulling himself away from his desk and into a side room.

He really shouldn’t be so excited about it, so anxious, but the news of whether or not you’d been accepted for your appeal into a psychiatric care institution was a massive development, one that he’d gotten personally involved in after his time with you had ended.

He wouldn’t be able to say how much time he spent slaving away over the most intricate of details in the report for your case, how he made sure every mention of you was as truthful, and as positive, as it possibly could be.

He wouldn’t be able to say how many hours of sleep he’d lost over the course of the last few weeks in anticipation, desperate nervousness in the wait for the court of appeal’s final decision.

But all that didn’t matter right now.

He was watching you live on television, inside a court room, finding out how you were going to be spending the rest of your life.

Being so invested in you, in making sure you lived the best quality of life you could, tore certain shreds of his morality to pieces. How can someone like him, someone who’s whole life revolves around keeping people like you locked away to never see the light of day again, be so desperately hopeful that you’ll get out of the concrete walls you’d been rotting in for half a decade?

How could he be routing for someone who’d taken the lives of eighteen innocent people—nineteen including Nueves.

It was almost paradoxical, the two sides of his moral conscience battling with each other over the want for you to get the reparation you deserved whilst also wanting you to have access to the help that you needed.

He watched the proceedings of your appeal with all the patience of a five year old waiting for dessert, all tensed muscles and bated breaths as the ruling Judge read out your sentence and the application of your appeal, going through, point by point, the outside letters and reports of recommendation for how they should consider you.

It was fifteen minutes of what felt like literal torture, and if it was that bad for him, he couldn’t even fathom how you were feeling.

It was the one of the things you held a genuine, raw, emotion for, and even through the screen he could see the flickers of anticipation in your eyes through your otherwise nonchalant expression.

You were nervous.

Of course it wasn’t nervousness how he’d expect to see it, but it was there, lingering in the back of your expression and coating your irises like a chromatic film, only visible to those who had the right perspective.

He was sure that by the time they were actually announcing whether your appeal had been accepted he wasn’t even listening anymore, his eyes scanning the screen to catch the glimpses of you it showed from each different angle.

Your appeal had been accepted.

He saw the change in your expression before the words even registered in his mind. He watched as the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, your eyes closing momentarily as you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

You'd be stepping out of the confines of the prison and into the care of professionals, people who were trained to handle your particular set of circumstances. It was a massive victory that meant a chance for a new beginning, a chance for you to finally receive the help and support you needed.

A small sigh of relief escaped Spencer, his shoulders dropping from the tension he hadn't realised had built up, his eyes remaining glued to the screen as he watched you being led out of the courtroom.

Despite the circumstances, there was a newfound lightness in your step, a hint of hope that hadn't been there before.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that you, someone who had taken so many lives, were being granted this chance. But Spencer would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t just as happy for you as you were for yourself.

Finally you were going to get the help that you needed, be able to work through your issues and reform yourself as the person you should’ve been allowed to grow into.

His morality mourned for the people you’d cut ceremoniously out of living.

And his conscious celebrated the reaping of your release into proper care.

You deserved this much, and he couldn’t be more relieved that the appeal board agreed with him.

Spencer was making plans to fly to California before the broadcast even ended.

[mythic-rose]

❝ — “Evil can’t be scientifically defined. It’s an illusory moral concept that doesn’t exist in nature. Its origins and connotations have been inextricably linked to religion and mythology.”

rose's 100 favorite fictional muses — 30/100: Dr. Spencer Reid

[sodaabaa]

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