#i know spencer was there at the start and if i can remember exactly what they said to me- id write it into a fic cause it was GOOD

[heavenbarnes]

i haven’t really been sleeping, had my first full night sleep last night and i have one continuous dream where i’m with aaron hotchner

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.” 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[misserabella]

bloody and needy

just thinking about spencer being the kind of MAN that doesn’t care about blood. you want period sex? you’ve got it. that’s it. that’s the prompt.

cw: +18, minors dni!, period sex, blood duh, spencer being a service king, praising, lots of pet names and dirty talk, breeding kink, overstimulation, creampie, allusion to a second round…

it’s all a blur. you don’t exactly remember how or when spencer took off your clothes, but you’re laying completely naked over a couple of towels on your shared bed as his large fingers pump into your squeezing cunt.

“fuck.” and you’re moaning, cause it feels so fucking good you want to cry. it’s been over a week since you two have had sex, since he’d been away for a case, and just when he was finally coming back home and you hoped you’d finally get some release, that time of the month tagged along. so there you were, horny, desperate, and bleeding. but your boyfriend doesn’t care about blood. ‘it’s natural.’ he’s told you before. ‘tell me what you need and i’ll give it to you.’

so here you were now, legs spread as he adds another finger, your own in his hair tugging at the feeling of him stretching you so nicely… spencer kissed and sucked at your neck, his cock throbbing at the sweet sounds you’re making and the squelches that come from your cunt as he pumps in and out.

“spencer…”

“god baby, you’re so pretty like this…” he muttered, needy to be inside but waiting for you to give him the go ahead. his hand is a mess of crimson but he pays no mind to it.

“need you.” you breathe out, your back arching as his lips latched to your nipples.

“yeah? you need me?” he lapped at one of them and you nodded, whimpering. “should i take my fingers out then?” you nodded once again, but still whined at the loss of pleasure. “i know, i know baby. so needy for me.” he was quick to make work of his clothes, throwing them aside with your own and positioning himself in between your legs.

your hips and legs trembled when the tip of his cock teased you, and his tongue wetted his lips at the sight of the face you made when it bumped against your clit. “so sensitive huh?” he smiled and you nodded, eyes hazy.

“feels so good…”

“im gonna make you feel better, angel.” he said as he pushed inside with one single thrust, what made you scream. “fuck. you’re so warm…” he gritted his teeth as he started to move, leaving kisses on your neck. “so wet for me. you feel like heaven, love. so good for me.” he praised as he fucked into you, your legs surrounding his hips and your nails digging on his back. “you needed this, hm? baby? you needed me to fuck you, huh? my poor pretty girl. i’ve always told you that you just need to ask and i’ll give you anything.” your cheeks blushed, and you whined. “see what being a good girl and speaking up gets you, baby?” he pecked your lips and you moaned at a partially harsher thrust. “like that?”

“harder.” you desperately asked and he complied, fucking into you at the same speed yet harsher. you couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers falling from your lips. “spence…”

“i know angel, you’re so sensitive, doing so good for me…” one of his hands found your clit, circling it. “you can cum, pretty girl.” you moaned, your back arching. it was almost too much, until the overstimulation faded and you were grinding against his touch and cock in a daze. “jesus. if you could see yourself right now baby, so fucking hot… gonna make me cum so hard…” you whimpered at the thought. “yeah? you want me to cum for you baby?” you nodded. “where?”

“inside. cum inside please.” you babbled, your whole body tensing at the approaching of your orgasm. spencer groaned.

“you want me to fill this pretty pussy? make a mess out of it?” you cried and hiccuped in answer, muttering a ‘yes’ that almost made him bust in the spot. “want me to get you round and pretty for me?”

“yes! please, spencer, please…!” you begged and he moaned.

“i’m gonna cum baby, gonna fill you up so much it’ll be dripping out of you for a week.” that made you unravel, the tight band in you stomach snapping as you screamed in release, moaning his name over and over. “fuck, angel, fuck.” he groaned as he felt you clench, and after three stuttering thrusts, he spilled everything inside of you, kissing you sloppily as he fucked the two of you through it.

after the two of you came down, he caressed your cheek. “you okay, baby?”

“more than okay.” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but do the same.

“i’m gonna go find something to clean us up, okay?”

yoy looked down to find his thighs and v line along with his lower stomach stained in your blood. it only made you throb and him hiss.

“or maybe not.” he replied as he felt you starting to rock your hips against his already hardening cock.

“maybe not.”

-

❤️🩸i’m on my period, SO WHAT

[spencerreidenjoyer]

giddy up | spencer reid x reader

Spencer gets shot in the leg. You help him feel better about it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: s5/jesus hair reid, established r/s, reader and spencer are both switches, riding, grinding, frottage, porn without plot, fluff and smut actually

a/n: was thinking about writing jesus reid/crutches reid for a long time and this was the only thing that came to mind. I am only a little sorry about it. (also find this fic on ao3!)

Of all the things Spencer could complain about after having been shot in the leg, not being able to fuck you properly is something you definitely did not consider.

You’d been worried sick when Penelope had called you, when Spencer had woken up after surgery. You were the first person he’d called for.

No unnecessary pressure on the leg, the doctor had said. Spencer was to use crutches at all times until the doctor cleared him. You don’t remember the rest of the doctor’s instructions, at least not now, when Spencer’s doing much better. He’s just been cleared to walk off his crutches, but he still has a slight limp in his step and starts to wince when he’s on his feet for too long. He hasn’t healed completely, but it’s enough to put you at ease being around Spencer, not having to worry excessively about him. 

While you know he’s grateful to have only gotten shot in the leg and not somewhere more risky, Spencer’s got a mouth on him, which leads you to where you are right now:

“I’m so tired of not being able to fuck you,” Spencer groans. 

You’re lounging in bed with him when he says this, and you whip your head around to look at him, shocked at his sudden admission. “Damn. What’s the matter, baby?”

“I just–” Spencer huffs in the middle of his sentence, like he needs to find the right words. It blows his hair out of his face. It’s cute, but what he says next is filthy in comparison: “I miss fucking you. Properly. Not just handjobs.”

“I thought you liked my handjobs, babe.” You pout, pretending to seem upset. “And my mouth.”

“I do!” Spencer is quick to correct you, insisting, “I like all of that, but it just doesn’t feel the same.”

“As to when you’re buried inside of me?” You whisper, resting your hand on his chest, giggling when Spencer turns red. While he was no longer the innocent, virginal nerd you’d met him as, sex talk still flusters him from time to time, and you love to fluster him.

“Baby,” Spencer whines at your teasing. “I’m serious. I miss making you feel good too.”

“You’re good with your hands, though,” you swoon, mind drifting. “And your mouth. Really good with your mouth.”

You think about Spencer asking you to sit on his face for the first time. Neither of you were exactly used to the position, Spencer typically preferring to be between your legs when he went down on you. But the way his tongue was expertly flicking at your clit, slipping into your hole, making you feel so good until you were making a mess of his face, your slick everywhere–

“Hey, focus.” Spencer taps your cheek, and you puff your cheeks. “I want you to feel good too.”

“I know, pretty,” you hum, letting your thumb trace his jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

Spencer quirks a brow in attentive curiosity. You, getting up from laying next to him, swing your leg across his hips. You sit down squarely on his crotch. 

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh.”

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” you coo. Spencer nods hurriedly. 

Spencer looks up at you with wide eyes, roaming all over your body but unable to leave it. He watches you roll your hips into his crotch. He lets out a pitiful whine. You feel him hardening between your legs already. You grind against him like this, solely intent on working him up. You know this kind of pressure isn’t enough for Spencer, pleasure dulled between layers of fabric, so you aren’t surprised when Spencer asks, “More, please?”

You smile. “Poor thing.”

“Please, darling,” he exhales. 

“Okay,” you hum, climbing off of him so you can get your shorts and underwear off. His eyes are so big as he stares at you, all of you, like he’s still surprised that he gets to see you undress. You laugh, and snake your hands into the waistband of his pyjama pants. You push them down, until his hard cock springs up, bobbing against his stomach. You meet Spencer’s gaze, before pressing your cunt to his cock.

You both gasp, feeling each other’s warmth. You’re so wet you know you must be making a mess of Spencer right about now. You don’t slip him inside of you just yet, instead grinding your bare pussy against Spencer’s length. You can’t imagine how it feels for him, but you see the way his face is scrunched up in pleasure – what you’re giving him is not entirely enough. You know he misses sinking into your wet heat, and you’re just giving him a taster, sliding his cock along your slick folds, pressed against your leaking hole.

“Spencer,” you moan, rocking your hips harder. It feels so good, Spencer’s hardness against your cunt, the tip of his cock nudging at your clit every time you press your hips down. It’s too much yet not enough, both you and Spencer needing that sweet relief, the feeling of his cock pressing into you. Still, you want to drag it out for him, and you grind your pussy against him some more. “You feel so good, baby.”

“It would feel better if you let me fuck you, darling,” Spencer grunts with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s desperate, his hands antsy by his sides, nails digging into his palms. 

“Mm, not yet,” you hum, feeling a little bratty, enjoying the feeling of building tension, growing arousal between the two of you, between your legs. It’s heaven grinding against Spencer like this.

And maybe you’re too wet, or Spencer is too convincing, because by some act of God, when you roll your hips down against him again, the head of his cock is breaching your entrance, and you moan when you feel his tip pressed inside of you. “Oh–!”

“Fuck,” Spencer moans, long and drawn-out. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You can’t blame him, since you’d put a stop to sex with Spencer as he recovered. You’d only started giving him handjobs and blowjobs once you were sure an orgasm wouldn’t break him – “I promise an orgasm won’t hurt. It’ll be fine. I’m a doctor.” “You’re not a medical doctor, idiot.” – even then, penetrative sex was off the table.

Until now, as Spencer’s cock pushes deeper inside of you, and the rolling of your hips only serves to remind you just how good Spencer feels. You’ve missed this, his thick cock pressed inside of you, splitting you in half, filling you up until you don’t know anything other than his name. 

“Spence,” you whine. “Feels good.”

“I know, darling,” Spencer groans. “You feel tighter than I remember. Wetter too.” 

He sounds so nonchalant saying these things, and that only serves to drive you more insane. When did he get so confident, so cocky? You want to say something witty but you can’t find the words. Spencer just continues, almost bored to the untrained ear, but you know Spencer’s barely keeping himself together, “So, are you going to ride me or not?”

You grumble, your thighs flexing as you push yourself up, shifting from a rolling, grinding motion to bounce on Spencer’s cock instead. You don’t think you’ve done this before with Spencer, always content letting him get on top, so the new angle makes the both of you a little crazy. He moans, and so do you.

Like this, Spencer’s cock fucks you deeper, harder, the weight of your bouncing thrusts driving him into you until you feel positively ruined. You cry out, desperate, “Spence– Oh, Spencer, oh my God–”

“You’re riding me so well, darling,” Spencer says in awe, slack-jawed. His large hands come to hold your waist, feeling you bounce on his cock, helping you with the laborious movements. “You look so fucking hot right now.”

You whine, thighs already feeling the burn, but the way Spencer’s using your weight to fuck you down onto his cock has you feeling lightheaded. You think you like the feeling, being pushed around like a warm, wet fleshlight for Spencer to fuck into. “Spence, so deep–”

“I want to fuck you so badly right now, my love,” Spencer groans. You feel his hips bucking up into you slightly, right when he pulls your ass down against him, but you know his movements are restricted because of his leg. Still, his desperation to bury himself into you is wild, and your head spins. “But I can’t, and you’re doing so good fucking yourself on my cock.”

You tremble, using all your strength to fuck yourself on his cock, sobbing because you just feel that good. Spencer’s filthy words and the intensity of it all has you weak, and you wish Spencer could just flip you over and finish the job.

“Come on, darling,” Spencer encourages, his hands squeezing your ass and your thighs. It makes you feel wanted, a desperate Spencer’s way of feeling you. “I’m so close too. You’re doing so good.”

“Spencer-!” You sob, clenching around him as you come, your orgasm wracking through your body like electricity in your veins. It’s so good, too good like this, Spencer pressed up inside you like he could split you in half. 

You’re frozen as you feel him inside, his cock twitching as he blows his load. It’s warm and wet and sticky, as you feel it drip out of you. You almost can’t believe it, feeling Spencer buried to the hilt of you after months, and you wonder why it hadn’t occurred to either of you to do this sooner. 

You whimper as your emotions rush over you, and Spencer is quick to pull you close, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “That was crazy. You’re amazing. And perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, still a little breathless. “We should do that more.”

“Until my leg is better? Then I can fuck you the way you want,” Spencer soothes, his hand petting your hair, and that certainly sounds like a good idea.

“Yeah. But we should also just do that again some time,” you giggle, resting your head on his chest. You feel his heart pounding under your ear. “I like riding you.”

Spencer laughs heartily, a warm sound that is like music to your ears. “Giddy up, cowgirl.”

[posh--bee]

hotel room revelations || Spencer Reid

pairing → Spencer Reid x Reader

summary → While on a case, you have to not only share a hotel room but also a bed with the BAU's resident genius Spencer Reid whom you have had a crush on since he first joined the FBI. When you wake up during the night with his arms wrapped around you, previously hidden feelings come to light and you realize that your unrequited feelings for him might not be so unrequited after all.

warnings → sharing a bed, love confessions, early seasons!Spencer, insecure!Spencer, misunderstandings, friends to lovers, reader is part of the BAU, no descriptions or pronouns used for the reader, no y/n used

author’s note → I love the "there was only one bed" trope so of course I had to write it with my beloved genius. I'm so happy to finally finish another fic again so let me know what you think about it! <3 (forgot to post this fic and now my cm obsession fizzled out, oops. But I know it will come back to haunt me sooner or later)

word count → 5.2k

When you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re not too happy about it and not sure who or what to blame for it.

You grumble your dissatisfaction without opening your eyes and the warm body behind you freezes.

Now you’re a little confused and you try to fight off the urge to just drift off again so you can actually form a coherent thought because you don’t remember going to sleep with someone else by your side last night. But thinking is still a little difficult when you’re half-asleep and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to even remember if you’re in your own bedroom right now or in another state in some sort of hotel room because of work, so your memory is not the most reliable source of help at the moment.

The someone behind you still holding you in their arms seems to get a little impatient and tries to slowly move away from you again but you don’t let them, instinctively grabbing their hand that is resting softly against your stomach and interlacing your fingers with theirs to keep it there. You hear a startled little sound close to your ear and feel the someone behind you going rigid, even holding their breath in surprise. Feeling bad about spooking your bedmate so suddenly, you apologize by soothingly stroking up and down their arm that is draped over your waist before going back to holding their hand. You don’t want them to let go of you even though you’re still not quite sure who exactly they actually are—but you’re still working on that.

What you do know, however, is that they’re warm and holding you in a gentle embrace and that you feel very safe and secure in their arms. And that you don’t want it to end.

You smile to yourself in satisfaction when you feel the someone gradually relaxing against you once more and you can finally pick up that derailed train of thought of yours to figure out where you are and why you’re not alone in bed.

But that’s when the someone behind you decides to speak up and solve the mystery at last.

“I… I’m really sorry, but I have to move. My arm’s completely fallen asleep…”

Oh. That’s right.

His voice is quiet, timid even and still laced with sleep, and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more awake than just moments before, your heart immediately picking up speed as you remember how you and Spencer ended up in the same bed together.

You’re currently in a little hotel room in a city halfway across the country because of a case JJ had presented you the day before. Five bodies with a sixth person still missing and the local police had decided to ask for the BAU’s help to stop whoever is responsible for these crimes. Spencer and you started to work on the geographical profile while the rest of the team drove to the scenes of crime and talked to the victims’ families. After working until the middle of the night but without making any considerable progress anymore, Hotch decided it was time to go to the hotel, rest, and return to the case after a good night’s sleep.

The hotel was pretty booked already when you boarded the jet so when you arrived at last in the lobby, exhaustion already weighing heavy on your shoulders and your eyelids dangerously heavy, the team was told they had to share rooms and even ended up with a room with a double bed instead of two single ones.

When JJ first announced this little circumstance at first, you really couldn’t care less. Somehow, your tired brain didn’t really consider that you would be one of the people staying in the room with a double bed and much less who would be the other person with you. But when Morgan sauntered over to you, letting the key ring spin around his finger, a wicked gleam in his eyes, you knew nothing good would come of it.

With a smirk he pressed the keys into your hand and announced that you and Spencer would be the lucky pair to share the room with the double bed, giving you a wink that made you want to kill him just a little bit. Morgan knows very well about your little, not all that serious crush on your coworker and makes a point to tease you about it whenever he can, which, unfortunately for you, is very often. Your only consolation is that Spencer is too oblivious to pick up on it even though Derek makes sure everyone and their mother knows how you feel about the young doctor. He obviously claims it’s only because he’s playing cupid and can’t stand the two of you dancing around each other for eternity, but you know for a fact that he’s obviously doing it for his own entertainment as well. Besides, playing cupid only gets you so far when only one person has feelings for the other one—which you’re painfully aware is the case for you and Spencer.

With an especially dirty eyeroll you grabbed the keys and turned to look at Spencer who gave you one of his signature tight-lipped awkward smiles. He didn’t look very happy at the prospect of having to share not only a room but also a bed with you and you tried your hardest not to take it personally. You know Spencer values his personal space so having to spend this and the following nights with another person next to him is nothing to look forward to for him—even if it’s with a good friend.

You masked your disappointment and bruised feelings with a small smile of your own and led the way toward the elevators at the end of the hotel lobby, pointedly ignoring Morgan’s teasing voice telling you to have a good night. You silently swore to yourself that you would get back at him for all of this when the case was solved and over, but right now you were more worried about surviving the next few nights of having Spencer so close to you yet completely out of your reach.

Dealing with your unrequited feelings for the young doctor on a daily basis wasn’t always easy for you but you contended yourself with being his coworker and friend even though it hurt more than you cared to admit. In the beginning, you hoped that your feelings would go away if you just ignored them—after all, it was just a stupid little crush on your adorable and dorky new coworker. But as time went on, and you were still plagued by an eruption of butterflies in your stomach whenever Spencer smiled at you, or accidentally brushed your hand with his when handing you a pen or a cup of coffee, or just stood near you for an extended period of time, you had to admit to yourself that your feelings for him were far more serious than you anticipated at first. The thought of just confessing to Spencer had crossed your mind a lot at this point, to get it off your chest, but the possibility of him rejecting you and losing one of your best friends in the process scared you too much to actually go through with it.

And before you knew it Spencer went on a date with JJ and made out with a gorgeous blonde actress in her pool and flirted with pretty barkeepers, and that was proof enough for you that keeping your feelings to yourself was the right course of action which didn’t mean it saved you from heartbreak or feeling sorry for yourself.

You started to distract yourself with alcohol and attractive strangers between cases, collecting fleeting memories with partners who never really helped you forget the one person who was always on your mind and in your heart. You went on like this until you could hardly look at yourself in the mirror anymore, feeling disgusted and ashamed of yourself, knowing that it would only get worse but still not stopping, telling yourself it was the price you had to pay for not having to spend the nights all by yourself. It was until you drunkenly stumbled into the apartment of yet another stranger, hurriedly opening buttons and zippers, carelessly tossing clothes to the floor, giggling when the stranger’s lips connected to yours despite feeling sick to your stomach. You saw it only when the stranger moved to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck; a photo of the stranger’s family, beautiful children and an adoring partner smiling brightly for the camera, and you wondered if you would ignore this too now that you have seen it, like you ignored the noticeable mark on the stranger’s finger where a wedding ring was clearly missing.

You felt faint when you pushed against the stranger’s shoulders, almost falling over your own two feet leaving the apartment only to find yourself in a part of town you were completely unfamiliar with in the middle of the night. Not knowing what else to do, you called Morgan who picked you up sitting on the curb, looking and feeling pathetic with tearstains on your face. He simply raised his eyebrows at you and wordlessly helped you into his car before driving back to his place. There, he gently wrapped you up in a blanket and cuddled with you on his old sofa for the entire length of three feel-good chick flicks all while alternating between handing you spoons of ice cream and tissues to dry your tears, listening to you in the early hours of the morning spilling your guts to him.

Thankfully, he never talked to you about that night again and you were grateful for it; otherwise, you would probably die on the spot from all the shame and embarrassment it would trigger in you. You had still apologized for inconveniencing him like this, staring at his shoes while stumbling over your words, fingernails biting into the palm of your hands. But Derek acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, flashing you one of his defeating handsome smiles and you knew that all was good between you two, he was still your friend and didn’t think any less of you, so you pulled him down to press a grateful kiss to his cheek.

It didn’t however save you from Derek wiggling his eyebrows at you whenever Spencer and you sat pressed shoulder to shoulder absorbed in case files or when the two of you would share headphones on the jet while returning home. You are used to it by now, simply sticking your tongue out at him or giving him the finger when Hotch and JJ aren’t looking, earning a good-natured laugh from Derek and a confused glance from Spencer, who, to your relief, never quite understands what the constant teasing between you and the older agent is about.

So yes, after seeking pointless comfort with strangers until the point you almost didn’t recognize yourself anymore, you now are at a point where you would say that generally, you are just fine with knowing that Spencer would never see you as anything other than a good friend and coworker.

But after an exhausting day working on a grueling case, having made close to zero progress on it, and having to share a hotel room and a bed with Spencer only to wake up to him holding you in his arms, you really wish the universe would give you a break one of these days so you could take the time to get over your feelings for your genius friend once and for all.

You sigh quietly, willing your racing heart and those malicious butterflies in your stomach to calm down before letting go of Spencer’s hand, trying your best to ignore the pang of disappointment. The feeling only worsens when Spencer moves away from you, carefully putting some distance between yourself and him, taking all his warmth with him and you can’t help but to curl into yourself at that.

You feel him settle on the other side of the bed, already missing his touch even as fleeting as it was, feeling wide awake and wondering how you will ever fall asleep again tonight after that—and the nights still to come.

“I’m so sorry for ambushing you like that,” Spencer’s quiet voice cuts through the silence of the room, his bashfulness palpable with every word. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, Spence. Don’t worry.” Quite the opposite, but you keep that thought to yourself, opting for lightening the mood instead. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mean, I had to share a bed with Emily before and I woke up to her having me in a chokehold so I prefer having you as my bedmate by a mile.”

You’re blessed with a little laugh from Spencer, your body relaxing against the unfamiliar mattress but still missing his closeness from before. You feel him shift on his side of the bed and can’t help but wonder if he too was more comfortable with holding you in his arms. But you quickly dismiss this silly thought of yours, knowing that indulging in false hopes and wishful thinking doesn’t save you from the reality that Spencer just doesn’t feel the same way as you.

“But I’m serious. You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you reiterate after a moment of silence between the two of you, slowly turning around for a more comfortable position which isn’t in the slightest related to the fact that like this you are facing Spencer now. You can’t really make out his features in the darkness of the hotel room but maybe it’s for the best. Otherwise, you probably would give into the temptation of reaching out and brushing a few unruly curls of his behind his ear, your fingers softly lingering on his face just a tad too long.

“That’s—I’m glad…” His voice is quiet, almost distant, and you wonder if he’s already drifting off to sleep again. You couldn’t blame him for that. The day the two of you had was long and wearying, coming into work just to be presented with gruesome pictures from various crime scenes, discussing the UnSub’s profile and MO while being on the jet before being introduced to police officers and grieving family members alike, getting to work without a single break on your mind. If it wasn’t for these inconvenient feelings of yours that caused your heart rate to resemble that of someone who just ran a mile, you would probably feel as exhausted as Spencer is. But in your case, sleep is currently not really something you can think about when all you want is to curl up in his arms like before, feeling warm and safe and happy until the harsh reality of the next morning catches up with you again.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Spencer then whispers into the darkness, your name leaving his lips in a soft sigh, and you frown. There’s really nothing he has to apologize for and you want to tell him as much, but he’s faster than you, his words coming out in a self-conscious rush.

“I’m sorry that you are stuck here with me. I know you’d prefer being with Morgan instead and I’m sorry that he’s being such an idiot about all of this.”

Now you really don’t know what he’s talking about. What does Derek have to do with anything? But Spencer doesn’t let you voice your thoughts, only to confuse you even more.

“I-I know you like Morgan so you were probably hoping that he would just assign this room to himself and you, and I really don’t get why he’s so set on acting like he doesn’t have feelings for you as well. I get he’s not really someone who does relationships but he’s lucky that someone special like you is in love with him so—”

“Spencer, stop—” you suddenly interrupt this agitated rambling of his, trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s somehow convinced you have feelings for your fellow agent. “Wha-What are you talking about? I’m not in love with Derek Morgan. We’re friends, but that’s really all there is to it. What on earth makes you think that I like him like that?”

You push yourself up on your elbow in your bewilderment, the sheet that covers you and Spencer falling from your shoulders in the process. You quickly turn around, turning on the light by your bedside, not believing what nonsense you just heard. Dumbfounded, you look at the genius lying beside you, his expression confused and apologetic in return.

“I’m—sorry?” he starts while sitting up slightly so the two of you are at eye level, his voice hesitant and uncertain. “I just thought… The two of you are always together, even outside of work, on the weekends. And you have all these little private jokes with Morgan and conversations that always stop whenever someone else gets closer. And he always makes you laugh and flustered, so I just figured—you know, that you like him more than just a friend or a coworker.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away, his fingers fiddling with the hem of the stiff hotel sheet while you can only stare at him open-mouthed.

“And I figured that he’s an idiot for not realizing that he’s the luckiest man on earth to have your heart.”

The silence in the dim hotel room stretches on while Spencer pointedly avoids meeting your eyes and you continue to stare at him, your mind still trying to process that he is convinced about your feelings for Morgan when your heart only belonged to Spencer for a long time now, when you wish for nothing but to wake up in his arms like you just did every day for the rest of your life.

You reach for him and grab his face, holding him in place when he’s startled by your sudden action and the intense eye contact, his eyes widening in confusion and shock but you don’t care. You can’t. There’s a sudden need in you for him to understand how wrong he is about your alleged feelings for Morgan, to make him see the truth that was always right in front of him.

So you resolutely look into his eyes, ignoring the subtle trembling of your fingers against his soft skin and the ringing of your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve experienced explosions going off right next to you, you’ve cornered armed serial killers and ran into possibly lethal situations without a second thought, but somehow you’ve never been as fucking sacred as you are right now. You could ruin everything you have with Spencer with what you are about to say, but you can’t keep it in any longer. You need him to know how you feel about him, how you’ve felt about him for so long now.

“Spencer Reid, you listen to me. I am not in love with Derek Morgan, I never was and I never will be. I can’t believe you’d think that when I’ve been pining for you for literal years now! It’s always been you, I need you to know that. From the moment I saw you standing next to Gideon with that stupidly adorable sweater and that awkward smile of yours, I knew I was done for. So I never want to hear you say that I have feelings for Morgan when I’m in love with you!”

Your voice is shaking throughout your little speech, but you make it to the end, intently staring into Spencer’s eyes who looks back at you with such a stupidly shocked expression that you would’ve laughed at him if not for your heart beating so wildly against your ribcage that it physically hurt.

The silence that follows your confession is oppressive and all-consuming, and you let go of Spencer’s face so he doesn’t fall victim to your nervous urge to sink your fingernails into something. Instead, they bite into the skin of your forearms as you hug your midsection, watching the young genius open and close his mouth multiple times without making a sound, his eyes blinking rapidly.

Dejectedly, you nod to yourself, already putting together a list of romantic comedies in your mind Morgan will have to endure together with you while you pathetically sob into his shoulder, tissues and ice cream keeping you company on your little coffee table in front of the TV.

You didn’t really expect it to end any differently, but it still hurt more than you anticipated. Your eyes begin to sting and you close them, stubbornly fighting the urge to cry. You have enough time for that later, preferably when you’re not sharing a room with Spencer anymore and the case is over, so you take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself before opening your eyes again.

Spencer is still looking at you with wide eyes, a noticeable blush adorning his cheeks. Any other time you would find this discovery incredibly endearing, but right now, with your heart in pieces and dangerously close to crying, it only reminds you that you can’t take your words back, that now he knows how you feel about him and that your relationship with him will never be the same again, even if the two of you stay friends.

You manage a meek smile that Spencer doesn’t return, and you wonder if his silent reaction to what you revealed to him could be a blessing in disguise after all. You want him to say something, anything, to you but at the same time you don’t know how well you and your bruised heart would handle hearing him say that he doesn’t feel the same way about you out loud.

What you do know is that you can’t stay here any longer, you need to get out of this room, out of this situation, now.

With one last look at Spencer, you avert your eyes, your voice quiet, tinged with regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper before sitting on the edge of the bed, your back now to him, only tilting your head back to speak in his direction. “I’ll ask the others if I can stay in one of their rooms for the night.”

You move to stand up and that’s what snaps Spencer out of his daze at last, hurriedly reaching for you before you can get up, much less process what is happening, one of his large hands on your arm while the other is cupping your jaw tenderly, almost hesitantly. The kiss he pulls you into then is the opposite of that. It’s urgent and desperate and completely steals your breath away, your heart leaping into your throat and your stomach lurching in confused delight. Still, it takes you a moment to kiss him back, entirely too overwhelmed to react, but when you do it’s just as urgent, just as desperate. Your teeth clank together slightly but you ignore it in favor of meeting Spencer’s tongue with your own, your head beginning to spin. You’re not sure if it’s from the kiss or the lack of oxygen but you really can’t care less about that at the moment, especially not when you swallow the appreciative groan that falls from Spencer’s lips as one of your hands finds its way into his curls and pulls not all too gently on them.

The kiss only breaks when you’re certain the two of you are running out of air completely but still Spencer whines quietly at the sudden loss of contact, following your lips until the hand in his hair tugs him back. You placate him with a quick peck to his nose before concentrating on calming your heavy breathing and frantically beating heart, your forehead softly resting against his.

You don’t protest when Spencer starts to pull you closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and guide you to settle in his lap, your head now resting on his shoulder, humming in contentment at the kiss he presses to the top of your head. You don’t say anything for a while, having no need for words, not when you feel Spencer’s heart mirror the rhythm of yours as you place your hand on his chest.

You look up at him when he covers your hand with his own and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that makes your skin tingle pleasantly. His eyes swim with emotions but he doesn’t look away as you try to decipher all of them even though his blush reaches from the tip of his ears to somewhere underneath the soft shirt he wears. Your fingers itch to pull the collar of the shirt down a little, just to see how far that blush really goes when he quietly clears his throat, the bright smile on his pretty lips faltering slightly.

“I’m sorry for—for not saying anything just now. I couldn’t—I wasn’t sure you really meant what you said, I just couldn’t believe it wasn’t some sort of joke.”

You shift in his embrace, ready to repeat what you have said, to express what you feel for him until he is sick of hearing your voice, but before you can even open your mouth, he quickly steals a kiss from you, and then another one, effectively shutting you up and looking quite proud of himself too when he meets your eyes again. So you have no choice but to let him finish what he has to say like you always do, always giving him time to collect his thoughts and listening to him when he is ready to share them with you.

“But I know you would never lie to me, especially not about something like this and only then did I realize we could’ve been doing this years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot and too blind to see what was in front of me all along because—because I’ve been in love with you for a long time now too.”

The smile that spreads on your face is so big it hurts your cheeks, radiant enough to challenge the whole sun and you have to twist your fingers into the front of Spencer’s shirt to pull him down to you so you can feel his lips on yours again. They’re soft and warm and real and when you part again the laugh that bubbles past his is like music to your ears, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You lean further into him and his arms around you tighten in response, enjoying the comfortable silence in this unfamiliar hotel room for a little while longer before gently speaking up again.

“You’re not an idiot Spencer. How could you have known when I’ve always been too scared to say anything? But now I did and we’ve finally found each other, and from now on we can make up for lost time. What do you say, my pretty boy?”

The adoration shining clearly in his brown eyes tells you everything you need to know and you move in to kiss him once more, preferably without ever stopping again, but suddenly Spencer tenses against you, making you look up at him with a quizzical look.

You can’t stop the little groan that escapes you at his next words.

“You and Morgan—did you really never—?”

As your genius worries his bottom lip between his teeth you really wish Morgan would finally stop being a part of your conversation.

“I—I believe what you’ve said, that you don’t have feelings for him,” Spencer continues, “but I’d understand if at some point, you know—because the way you are around each other—"

“Spencer. Let’s not do this again,” you have to interrupt a second time this night, but not unkindly. “Yes, even though I have feelings for you I have slept with other people, but it never meant anything to me—in fact, it just made me feel so, so horrible. And when it comes to Morgan—he and I are friends and that is all there is to it. It’s true I spend a lot of time with him, that we have a lot of little inside jokes and private conversations just for our ears, but do you want to know what the one common factor is with all of these things? It’s you, Spence.”

You emphasize your words with a kiss to his jaw, easing the tentative look he gives you by gently running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Most of the time I spent with Derek was just me whining about how much I wish you were mine and how unfair it is how adorable you look whatever you do and how smart and kind and pretty you are, and that you probably tried to kill me when you wore your glasses to work every day for some time. It’s honestly a miracle Morgan didn’t also develop a crush on you by sheer proximity to me, like through osmosis. He had to listen to me for years pining about you so he gets back at me for it by teasing me relentlessly about you, so I’ll have you know that all of our funny little private jokes are actually at my expense. My point is, even if Morgan would’ve wanted to start something with me—which he never did by the way—, he, and those other people too, never stood a chance because I only ever had eyes for you, Spence.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shakes his head in disbelief but he’s grinning like a fool with his cheeks and ears painted cherry red. He’s quick to hide his face in your hair, too overwhelmed by the sincerity in your voice and you think that now your genius finally, finally understands. But still, you would continue to reassure him about your feelings if his insecurities should get the better of him again, understanding that he doesn’t doubt you but that the voice in his head sometimes isn’t the kindest to him and that everything about this is very new to him.  

You close your eyes, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder until you’re on the brink of falling asleep, the comfortable and content silence of the hotel room and the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest steadily lulling you to sleep. After the long day you’ve had and the excitement of this night, exhaustion has now caught up with you and if the big yawn that escapes Spencer is any indication, he is feeling its effect as well.

You’re vaguely aware of Spencer reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp before moving the both of you to lay down together, shifting and coordinating limbs until you’re both comfortable with him holding you in his arms, his hand resting softly on your stomach and your fingers interlacing with his.

You smile to yourself, knowing that from now on you’ll have the privilege of falling asleep like this every night—in the arms of your beloved genius.

[reidmania]

inbetween | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series master list

summary ; after months over talking over email, you and spencer finally meet in person.

warnings ; reader & spencer fall in love over emails, meeting in person, insecure reader, insecure spencer, worries about not being enough, pretty much just pure fluff tbh.

an ; in between yall. this song. this is the first oneshot in the good riddance x spencer reid one shot series!! while i waiting for the poll to finish!!

part one, part two, part three

‘I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring. For more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe two. two hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new. ‘i wish that you could see 'em, their faces lighten up their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enough of waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't care but he knows her name, she knows he'll always be there’

<>

The email rang up at exactly 5:30, exactly when you expected it to. You were sitting at your desk at work, knees pulled to ur chest as you spun on the desk chair. Your coworkers paid no mind to your antics, after working in the safe office for years, with each other. They were used to it by now.

You chewed at your lip as you refreshed your email when the clock changed to exactly 5:30, a wide smile dawned your face when you read the email, you heart ached with longing as your eyes traced over the words on the screen, your stomach tightening and your heart clenching.

Sent from dr.spencerreid@gmail.com at 5:30pm

Hi.

I don’t know when this will send because I’m writing it while on the jet, probably as we get lower and more towards landing, I’ll spare you the scientific details. We only got back from a case this morning, early. Which is why it has taken me so long to reply. Im sorry.

We got a case in Maryland, which I remember you telling me, is where you live. I know I should probably just ask for your phone number but I kind of enjoy the emailing thing. It’s a lot less nerve racking because I can try to pass it off as professional, even though a lot of the time our conversations aren’t.

I actually don’t think we have ever had a professional conversation. Which is a good thing. I really enjoy our conversations no matter what we are talking about. I really enjoy talking to you.

I hope this isn’t too forward but I wanted to know if theres any chance I could see you while I’m in Maryland for this case. I don’t know when it would be or how long I’d be able to see you for, but I do really want to see you. If thats okay with you.

I guess I should give you my number, so you know I’m not some creepy old man. That would be ironic since I work at the FBI and my job is to stop people like that… I don’t know.

Heres my number, 023387677

Love, Spencer.

Your stomach tightened at the idea of seeing him in person. You never admitted it, but you knew he wasn’t an old man, you knew exactly who he was. You made the decision to google his name 6 months ago, when the two of you first started emailing back and forth after he accidentally sent a work email to the wrong person and you replied. It started as just telling him he had sent it to the wrong person, then he thanked you and apologised and made a joke and then the conversation just flowed.

You had been having conversations with Spencer Reid for six months and you felt like you knew more about him than you did yourself. He told you about his day, and about things he had been through, He opened up to you about his addiction and his mom and you opened up to him about your own trauma and issues.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and you had never met him. You had never even heard his voice. You only had seen his face on google when you searched up ‘Spencer reid FBI’ and a photo came up, he looked younger than you assumed in it, seeing the photo was from a few years ago. You felt slightly bad since you knew he could google you and probably come up empty handed — you had the upper hand.

You look at the clock as it inches closer to six o-clock when you finish work. A boring office job, you often complained to Spencer about. It was ironic since his job literally traumatised him, and yet you complained about the boring desk job, although he never ever compared, he would listen and comfort you after a bad day no matter what, just like you did for him.

You don’t reply to the email he sent as you typed the number he sent into your phone, saving the contact under ‘spence’ The nickname that had developed only weeks into the two of you talking. You send him a text, letting him know it was you, saying hi.

“Phone.” You hear your boss, warning you about using your phone at work, you lift your head an apologetic smile on your face as you close your phone, placing it face down on your desk as you close your email and return to your work after muttering out a sheepish, ‘Sorry!’

Spencer is sitting in a conference room of the police station in Maryland. He didn’t know it but he was only two blocks away from the office you worked. He never usually cared to check his phone while working — nothing could be as important as the case.

Until you, until now.

He found himself hanging out to feel the buzz in his pocket, he found himself checking his phone just in case maybe he missed the message. Just in case you did message.

He also checked his email a lot.

“Whats up with boy wonder?” Derek asked as he spun a chair to sit on it backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he looked around at the other team members. Spencer focus on anything other than the case.

“He gave mystery girl his number” Emily said, patting Spencers shoulder softly to get his attention as she walked past him, placing a coffee down in front of him. Spencer noticed how it was his normal order — despite the fact lately he had been getting your order, after he found out what it was. It made him feel a little bit closer to you.

“Oo, Okay lover boy.” Derek hummed approvingly, raising his eyebrow slightly as he looked down at the boy. Spencer sighed as he let back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table as he checked to get no message. “Nothing yet?” Emily asked, knowing Spencer had been stressing since he sent the email on the jet, nearly two hours ago.

He didn’t know it hadn’t even delivered until a few minutes ago.

“Shes probably just busy” Spencer muttered as he checked his watch for the time. 5:33pm, you’d be at work.

Derek shared a look with Emily, both with teasing smiles on their faces. They had watched Spencer obsess over the girl for the past 6 months, even after he tried to hide it for the first few. He did a horrid job, they all noticed him smiling at his computer and typing away more often than ever, they noticed his focus slight adverted. It took a bit but they eventually got it out of him when you didn’t email him back for a week and he was going insane with worry that maybe you were ghosting him, or that you were hurt.

He confided in his team, you emailed him a few days later saying your wifi went down and none of your emails were going through. He was instantly relieved.

His phone buzzed on the table, 5:35pm. His hand instantly reached out for his phone. His eyes widened and his lip twitched upwards as he read the message that lit his screen.

“And lover boy is in” Derek whispered to Emily, loud enough that Spencer could hear that only ended up in Spencer sending him a glare, before typing out a reply and sending it, asking to call you tonight when he got finished.

“Alright, We got a lead” Hotch said entering the room.

You leant against the back of your head board, your hair wet and dripping down the back of your neck as you waited nervously for call to ring through your phone. You were almost terrified of what the conversation might hold. You were glad you were calling before you agreed or disagreed to meeting him, you could feel out whether or not it might be awkward or not.

You almost jumped out of your skin as your phone started ringing, anxiety pooled in your stomach as your skin flushed hot, causing the drops of water on the back of your neck feel as if it was burning the skin. You reached out for your phone that rested on your bed side table, answering the call.

“Hi.” You muttered out a breath of air. You couldn’t even help but smile as the realisation dawned on you. You were talking to Spencer. Finally, actually talking to him.

You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone before some shuffling. “Hold on” He mumbled out, you stomach fluttered at his voice as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you bit back a smile.

“Okay.” You said, you heard some more shuffling before the sound of a door closing, then a creek. And then a breath.

“Hi” He settled on, you sat up a bit, crossing your legs as his word came out almost breathy and nervous. It made your chest thump against your ribcage so much it ached. “Sorry— I should’ve waited till I was in my hotel room to call, I was excited— Sorry” He said.

You could hear the nerves in his voice and all it did was make your cheeks beat a rosy hue. “It’s okay. I was nervous” You admit softly, you try to hide the slight embarrassment in your voice but it fails you as your words come out small.

You hear him chuckle. You think the sound genuinely makes your mind fall empty of any coherent thoughts. “You don’t have to be nervous” He spoke so softly as if his words were an exhale he had been holding in.

“But I am” You muttered.

“Me too.” He said honestly. You found comfort in the fact he cared enough about this interaction to be nervous about it. You went to run your hand through your hair but paused with you felt the coldness — it was still very wet from your shower.

“Good” You sighed out, voice almost a whisper. You didn’t know why you were speaking so quietly, there was no one else in your house. There was no reason to be as quiet as you were.

“Is good that I’m nervous?” Spencer asked, you could hear the teasing in his voice. It made your head spin and the words get caught as you shook your head, before remembering he couldn’t see you.

“Yes- No- no. No.” You muttered out, “Its uh- Its not good that your nervous— I- Its just good that you care” You scrambled out, stuttering over your words as you grew flustered. It made you want to turn into your pillow and scream.

You heard him laugh, making your face screw up. “Shut up.” You muttered out as it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was laughing at you scrambling over your words, your free hand came up to cover your face as your cheeks felt on fire.

“No- Im sorry. Im sorry. Of course I care, you know I care” He said softly as he collected his laughter, his voice dripping honesty for a moment as he spoke genuinely in a way that made your knees feel weak — Thank god you weren’t standing. You were silent for a moment as a smile dawned on your face.

“Tell me about your day.” He requested gently. You heard some more shuffling you could only assume he was getting comfortable in bed. You pictured it and it made your stomach burn with longing. Wishing it wasn’t just an image in your head.

And you did, you told him about your day and he told you about yours; the conversation flowed simply and sweetly from then on. He teased you whenever you stuttered over your words, you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

You and him spoke until your voice was quiet and drowsy with sleep, until your eyes were fluttering shut and you went unresponsive for a moment before he asked if you were asleep and you would wake up to the sound of his voice, muttering out a no, to which he would chuckle, and tell you to go to sleep.

When you fell asleep, he waited ten minutes to make sure you were really asleep before hanging up. His heart full as he fell asleep smiling.

Sorry I fell asleep. If i didn’t throw you off completely and you still want to see me, im free any day after 6, when i finish work.

Spencer smiled at the message. The acceptance. You were accepting meeting him, seeing him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of anything you doing ever throwing him off. You had wiggled your way into his chest months ago, and you stayed consuming every part of him everyday since. He didn’t see that changing any day soon, or ever.

He sent you an address to a bar Derek suggested the team going to after work. He didn’t know if maybe it was too forward, or might be awkward with his team there, but at least if it didn’t go well there was people around.

He closed his phone as he waited for your reply, his mind replaying the conversation he had with you last night, how sweet you sounded, how your laugh made his heart clench, how whenever you said his name or spoke a little louder he felt light headed, unable to focus on anything but you.

There was anxiety in his stomach when he realised the two of you never quite talked about what it all meant. What the months of conversation back and forth was. He realised he didn’t know what you wanted. What you expected.

Maybe you just saw him as a friend, maybe to you the conversation is nothing more than friendly. Honestly, if that was the case Spencer didn’t think he would be able to deny you of that. He would do anything to keep you in his life, even if it caused a slight ache in his chest. He had told you things he couldn’t imagine telling anyone else, he trusted you in a way he didn’t know possible, and it may be stupid, maybe naive, but Spencer didn’t care.

The way he felt for you took over any ounce of doubt in his mind, it overtook the insecurity welling in his mind, that maybe you wouldn’t like him, not the way he liked you.

He had never felt so much for a person. He had never felt so much point blank. He could hardly fathom you feeling for him near the amount he felt for you.

Your hands traveled over your jeans softly as your palms grew sweaty as you stepped inside the bar. Thanking the guy you held it open for you as he walked out. You were instantly overwhelmed by the amount of people, the music playing and the people chatting. You probably should have gotten changed first instead of coming straight after work but you were too nervous and didn’t want to give yourself time to dwindle in your insecurities then chicken out.

You manoeuvred your way through the people, quiet apologies leaving your lips as you looked around for Spencer, or anyone who looks like they might be an FBI agent.

What does an FBI agent look like? you thought, as you let out a sigh, finally getting out of the crowd of people as you got to the back of the bar, a lot more free of space. A few people around, standing at tables. You skimmed over for a moment as you tried to catch any glimpse of the boy that you could.

You heard your name, making you spin on your heels. You saw a dark haired girl smiling at you. Well that isn’t spencer.

“Yes?” You said, smiling at her as you tried to hide the anxiety building in your veins. Your hand coming to push hair off your face softly as you try to focus on the girl in front of you. She grins widely, “Spencer is over there, you looked like you were looking for someone…” She said, my smile instantly widened as you looked over to where she nudged her head.

your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes settled on him, the photo didn’t do him justice in any way. His hair was messy and slightly grown out, he was engrossed in a conversation with who you could only assume was Derek Morgan, who Spencer had told you about. His tie was crooked in his suit as he lifted his arm to sip the drink in his hand.

you tear my eyes away as you look at the lady who is smiling at you. “Happy with that?” She asks. It takes you a moment to recognise her as Emily, whom Spencer had also told you about. You can hardly put it into words how your chest feels like its gonna explode as your heart thumps.

“He is gorgeous.” You breathe out, shaking your head as words fail you, your eyes trail back to him for a moment to see him laughing, you see his head turn towards the door, as if he is waiting for you to walk through them.

Emily smiles, patting your shoulder softly, “Cmon Mystery girl” She said, you pay little attention to the nickname as she encourages you to walk towards the table with her. Your legs feel like Jelly with every step that you take, your stomach twisting in the familiar feeling of anxiety.

When she pauses at the table your breath hitches. “Oi Reid” She mutters, both he and Derek turns their head towards her, “Look who I found” She says softly, hand brushing over your shoulder.

Spencers eyes skip over to yours and you watch an emotion pull his features. An emotion you can’t quite place and it makes your stomach ache at the uncertainty, insecurity creeping up the back of your neck.

“Hi” You breathe out as you look at him. Theres a moment of silence before he is pushing away from the table and walking around to you. His arms around you the moment you are in reach and it makes your muscles tense slightly before relaxing completely in his hold as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back.

Emily and Derek watch in amusement for a moment, smiling when they see the look on Spencer’s face. The one you couldn’t place the one they knew all too well.

He was in love.

He was in love before seeing you, he knew that but watching you stand there grinning at him made him all the more sure about it. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled back from the hug to look at your face.

“Hi” He whispered back.

You chewed at your lip at you bit back the wide smile that tried to force its way into your features. His hand traveled up to your face before he could stop it hand cupping your face gently.

You eased, leaning into his touch the warmth of his hand feeling gentle against the soft skin of your cheek. “Y-You- I- Hi.” He stuttered this time.

You grinned, “Cat got your tongue?” You ask, teasing him like he would every-time you stuttered over the phone. He just grins in response.

“No. You’re beautiful” He said, eyes dancing over your face, he looked at you like he was trying to memories every little detail. Your stomach tightens and your knees felt weak as the compliment left his mouth. You had been told that before, but it felt different coming from him. He said it with honesty and sincerity.

“So are you” You said back before hugging him tightly again. He didn’t complain at all, instead his arms fell tightly around your waist as he held you against him, as if he was scared that if he let go you would disappear.

The night went on, you stayed by spencer’s side, his hand on yours or around your shoulder gently as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you being next to him. You never complained — you took it all as a compliment and leant into his touch.

“Are you cold?” Spencer asked as you and him walked outside of the bar, hand in hand. he noticed the way you shivered as the cold hair hit the skin of your bare arms. You turn your head to look up at him, the look in his eye enough to make your chest clench around the fat of your heart.

“A little” You admit. It was nothing you couldn’t handle, but spencer was instantly pulling off his suit jacket for you, slugging it gently over your shoulders as the two of you walked down the street. You paused in your steps as you looked up at him.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Its okay- I don’t want you to be cold” He said softly. You couldn’t help but smile at his kindness, but you shook your head. “For that too— But I meant, for asking to see me. Thank you for thinking of me when you heard about where the case was — for talking to me everyday. Thank you for being my best friend Spence” You said softly as you lean against your car as you and him stop in front of it.

His lip twitches upwards into a smile as his hand drops yours instead resting softly on your lips. “I always think of you.” He admits, eyes on yours.

Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. “Spencer.” You say softly.

He looks at you, really looks at you. He is seeing you. He is seeing every little thing you have told him over the last six months, every little detail about you there was to know, and all he could think about was he wanted more, he wanted to know you more.

“Yeah?” He says, his voice a whisper.

You feel anxiety pool in your stomach as the question lingers on the tip of your tongue. There was a pull towards him you couldn’t ignore, the same pull you felt when you received his email, six months, 2 weeks and 3 days ago. You’d count the hours but you figured that was more his style.

“You can say no, I want you to know that” You said, you wanted to make it perfectly clear that his response to this was completely up to him and you didn’t want to feel pressured. “Can I kiss you?” You ask.

His lips are on yours before you can even finish the question. One hand of his travelling to the small of your back to bring you in closer while the other tangles in your hair, cradling the back of your neck. Your hands instantly cup his face as you press your lips against him. Your lips together saying more than words ever could.

This, right here, him, right now.

It was everything and more.

[weird-is-life]

pregnant reader and Spencer fic where he makes her cry on accident 😭😭

Hii lovely, ty for the request🥰! Hope this is okay, warnings: fluff, kisses, like one swear word, reader cries (not because of something bad tho, it's cute), use of pet names (0.6k)

Spencer is running late at least later than he'd told you he would be and he can't stress it more. You've been home alone almost the whole day, and Spencer knows you are probably more than lonely.

But even if he's already late Spencer makes one more stop to get some groceries before heading home to you.

When he finally arrives home, he can't stop apologising as you greet him by the door, the baby bump very visible underneath one of his sweaters.

"Hi sweetheart, I'm so sorry I'm late there was a problem we needed to deal with," Spencer apologises and kisses your cheek.

"It's okay, Spence," you say into his shirt, already hugging him tightly, "I missed you a lot though."

Spencer looks at you like he always does with a too loving smile, "I missed you two, too."

Spencer ushers you towards the couch, he doesn't want you to be standing for too long 'cause he knows your feet would hurt, and also because he intends to cuddle you as much as possible there.

He quickly unpacks the groceries, and remembers the snacks he's bought for you. What he doesn't know is that you've been craving exactly the same snack he's bought the entire day.

"Here I got you these sweetheart," Spencer gives the snacks to you and rushes to the bedroom to change into something much more comfortable than the suit.

You stay still, your eyes filling up with tears as you hold the snacks in your hands.

When he comes back to you, he finds you eating the snacks while the tears run down by your cheeks.

"Woah, woah, woah, what's wrong?" Spencer immediately sits next to you, and starts to wipe the tears away.

"I just....-" you start with small hiccup, "I just love you so much."

A warm chuckle escapes Spencer's mouth, before he's back to comforting you. He's read every single book there's on pregnancy, so he knows how tough it is with the changes of hormones.

"Oh, baby, I love you too is that why you're crying, huh? Or is it something else? Maybe me being late?" He really hope it isn't the latter.

"N-no, I just-... I just really wanted these snacks all day, Spence," you tell him as another set of tears escapes from your eyes, "a-and they are too good."

"Oh sweetheart, if I knew you wanted them so badly i would have bought more," Spencer tells you with a sympathetic smile.

He understands it can be a lot for you from time to time, even if it's something as simple as craving some snack, so he let's you eat your snacks while he wipes away the tears. He does that until the snacks are gone along with the tears.

You look just unhappy about finishing the snacks as you did minutes ago eating them. You give him a puppy eyes, and Spencer is up on his legs before you can even say his name.

"Spencer...?"

"Don't worry, lovely. I got it, I'll buy you more than enough," Spencer quickly gives you a kiss, and goes to put on his shoes, car keys already in his hand.

"Spence?"

"Yes?" he looks back at you so fucking lovingly completely unbothered about the fact that he has to go to the shop again that you think you might start crying again (Spencer loves you so much that it happens a lot, you crying about how much you love him).

"Of course, but only if you really want to. I don't mind going alone."

"I want to," you say enthusiasticly. That is all Spencer needs to take your shoes, and go back to you. He puts the shoes on for you, kisses your bump, and helps you get up.

"C'mon, sweetheart. I'll get you anything you want if you tell me about your day, " Spencer happily listens to you chatter about everything that crossed your mind through the day.

You and Spencer leave the shop with way too many snacks, but it's okay because you're happy as one can be and that's all Spencer needs, okay maybe the cuddles too.

[pathologicalreid]

total eclipse of the heart

spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff

w/c: 665

this was written solely because bri asked. this is for you. sorry for not sending you my strands results. re: spencer is a simple man and just wants you to not blind yourself by staring at the eclipse.

"I am going to zip-tie those glasses to your head if you don’t stop taking them off,” Spencer scolded from where he sat next to you. The two of you were sharing a blanket in Rossi’s backyard, waiting with the rest of the BAU for the eclipse.

Currently, he was standing in front of you, body blocking the rays of the sun from getting to your retinas.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back on your hands, “That would be a great idea if you had zip-ties with you,” you challenged.

Your boyfriend watched you astutely, making sure your eyes didn’t flicker up to look at the sun. “You are severely underestimating the various items I keep in my bag,” he rebutted, continuing to rattle off the bits and bobs that he kept in his shoulder bag.

Sighing, you inclined your head toward him, “If the sun isn’t totally eclipsed yet, then I don’t know why I shouldn’t be able to look at it.”

“I’ve explained this to you at length over the past week. Even though the sun is partially blocked by the moon, the ultraviolet rays of the sun are still strong enough to do damage to your retinas,” he lectured you, waving from the sun to your face with his hands. “You remember all of this, don’t you?”

You nodded begrudgingly, “The damage done to the retinas is similar to an injury called ‘welder’s burn.’”

Spencer’s face lit up in the recognition that you had in fact been listening to him while he rambled about the solar eclipse. “It’s not painful, but the burn is a result of staring into the sun. The light comes from multiple different wavelengths, and your eyes focus on that powerful light.”

“I don’t like the glasses, they block out everything except for the sun,” you explained, you wanted to be able to see everything. Henry had already fallen victim to the glasses, hitting his head on a table while running around with impaired vision – JJ and Will were inside with him now.

Spencer laid back on the blanket with a huff, “Y/N, I love you, but I am not taking you to the ophthalmologist tomorrow.”

Waggling your brows at your boyfriend, you grinned, “What do I get out of wearing the glasses for the eclipse?”

Naturally, he had his glasses on, and he couldn’t see anything you were doing. “You can see. You could not go blind.”

You flicked your eclipse glasses down onto your nose and joined Spencer in laying back on the picnic blanket. “You make a fair argument, Dr. Reid.”

“It’s not an argument, I’m telling you that you will do irreparable damage to your eyes. This is exactly why we went to the library for the glasses,” Spencer reminded you. The two of you had actually gone to three different libraries for eclipse glasses. Mostly because you had been morally opposed to buying glasses if you could get them for free elsewhere. “This is not a situation where you can argue your side, you either go blind or you don’t.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you sighed defeatedly, “I won’t go blind.”

Spencer hummed, “Good, that’s the right choice, baby.”

After just a few moments of watching the moon cover the sun, you lifted your glasses to look over at Spencer, who quickly reached out to put the glasses back over your eyes, “no, wait!” You said, seeing Spencer start to dig through his leather bag.

“I told you,” Spencer explained, waving the zip-ties in the air. Why he had zip-ties in his bag, you couldn’t say.

Shaking your head, you quickly put the glasses on, “That time was an accident!” Your voice was insistent as you collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“You two are being too loud!” Emily called from her blanket.

In a surprising turn of events, Spencer pinned you to the blanket just as you whispered, “Who’s gonna tell her it doesn’t need to be quiet for her to watch the eclipse?”

[gublerryswift]

I do, I do, I do | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which spencer proposes to you.

Absolutely tooth rotting fluff

Contents: Head over heels spence, pet names (honey, angel, darling...)

Warning: none!

a/n: title is a reference to "helpless" from Hamilton & there's a scene inspired by "the tortured poets department" (can u tell I love music?). This is my favorite fic I have ever written.

---

You and Spencer have been dating for 5 years now and, since last year, the team had begun asking the two of you - especially Reid - when were you guys going to “tie the knot”. You and Spencer had talked about it, both agreeing that you both did want to get married, but we’re not in a rush.

Now, you’re at Spencer's house getting ready for one of Rossi's famous dinners. When you look through the mirror, you see Spencer leaning against the door, watching you getting ready while he cuffs the sleeves of his black button-up shirt.

“You’re looking divine angel”

“Thank you honey” You say, turning to him “By the way, this is your last chance to kiss me, unless you also want to wear some red lipstick to Rossi’s”

He giggles, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom to let you finish getting ready.

Later that night, you, Spencer and the rest of the team are all sitting at the dining table, talking and laughing. This is one of those few, but extremely special moments in which you guys forget all the horrors that happen at work and just are happy together.

You’re in an extremely exciting talk with Garcia about the latest fashion news, a topic that both of you really loved when you feel Spencer playing with your hands, something he usually did, so you did not pay much attention to it. But, at a point you felt him place the small ring he sometimes wore on your finger, specifically your left ring finger, the one you put wedding rings on. When you looked down at it, your heart almost stopped.

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear “It looks perfect on you” and then took it off, continuing to talk to Morgan about… Something. If you were to be honest, after that, you spaced out for a couple seconds, your heartbeat seemed so loud that it replaced all the other sounds around you.

—

2 months later, you’re remembering this moment as you get ready for a very suspicious dinner date with Spencer. Since what happened on Rossi's get together, you knew he was thinking about it and started your detective work to try and figure out when it might happen.

You had asked - no, begged Morgan and Penelope for any kind of clue. It's not that you wanted to know exactly when and where, you just needed a clue to know how to prepare yourself. After a while, you just gave up and decided to let it happen.

You became suspicious when Spencer asked Hotch for you both to have a day off, something you both rarely requested. He also bought you a Vivienne Westwood dress you had been eying for years now.

“Spencer Reid, you did not. Oh my god you're crazy” You said as you opened the box

“Did you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it, thank you so much” You say, leaning in to embrace him in a tight hug

“Maybe I can take you to dinner this Saturday, and you can wear it” He says between giggles because of how wide your smile was, oh how he loved pampering you.

“Sounds perfect honey”

Now, finally the day you had been so excited for. Could Spencer just have felt like giving you the dress? Yes, but for some reason you felt there was more to it. Maybe the way he spent the whole day trying to hide how nervous he is, the way he’s letting you take your sweet time getting ready, saying things like “don’t rush honey” or the mysterious call he received from Morgan earlier that day but you were sure something was going to happen.

You finish getting ready and get into the car with him, he’s showering you with compliments the whole way. When he stops the car something is off, this is not a restaurant, in the dark you can’t really make out where you are but it seems familiar.

He gets out of the car, going around and opening the door for you, helping you get out. He walks you to the entrance of the place and opens the door that you now have recognized to be the library you two loved and also the place we’re he finally asked you out on a date after years of secretly-not-so-secretly being in love with you. Only now, there was a small round table there, with lit candles and a table set for two.

The shock made you not realize that Spencer had now let go of your hand, as you look to your side, you're met with your boyfriend down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand.

“Honey, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You’ve been my best friend, the best thing that ever happened to me, you make all the crazy stuff we go through easier, because we’re goin through it together. There’s no one I would rather live life with than you, so will you marry me?”

“Spencer..” That’s the only thing you manage to say, shocked and feeling a kind of happiness you never experienced before. “Of course I will. Oh my god I love you so much” You say, pulling on his arm so he stands up and you kiss him deeply. Feeling an amount of love you never thought was possible.

Once you pull away, he places the delicate ring on your hand and kisses you again. And all you can think is how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

[sincerelybubbles]

i've noticed you

pairing: spencer reid x profiler!reader

warnings: fluff, not proof read (as is the usual oops), slightly slightly suggestive

word count: 2.6k

it's a late night in the office. dim light casts shadows across the bull pen. you squint your tired eyes to focus them on the document in your hand. hours have passed since everyone else went home but you stayed behind. something about pushing into the early hours of the weekend to finish off a long week is better for your mental health than leaving the documents for monday. the totality of closing the folder, marking it complete, and filing it away allows you to push the details of your cases to the back of your mind. you can't forget them entirely, of course, and nightmares still haunt you, but this is the best system you've found to make yourself feel better, even if only marginally.

a call of your name, soft and familiar, startles you. you jump, chair pushing back a few inches. you look up to see spencer standing in the doorway, giving you a confused look. his bag is strapped across his chest, hands clutching it, eyebrows raised. he's dressed more casually than you're used to: a plain blue shirt, khaki pants, his usual dress shoes. his hair is messy and his eyes look sleepy behind the confusion, like he'd only just woken up.

"hey, reid," you say, catching a yawn in the middle of saying his name. "you scared me."

"i could say the same to you. what are you doing here at," he checks his watch, flicking his wrist to right it in a movement that has your chest tightening. "3:46 in the morning on a saturday?"

"i could say the same to you," you mimic him, sending him a wide smile. you lift up your documents when he sends you an unamused look, waving the folder. "just finishing up before the weekend."

"you have over two weeks to have those reports filed, though?"

"helps me sleep better to have them done, i guess. you never answered me, though -- why are you here?"

"ironically, to help myself sleep," spencer answers, crossing the room in swift, long strides to reach his desk behind yours. he deposits his bag and turns to you, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. "i get nightmares and sometimes the best thing to do is try to get some work done. helps my conscious, i guess. or, at least keeps me busy."

you nod and watch him make his way to the kitchen. "that makes sense."

"i'll be back," he calls to you over his shoulder.

you hear his return a few minutes later, eyes trained on your file again. you don't look up this time, now that you know who it is. you're too focused on finishing these last few documents and fully aware that it's sort of hard to stop looking at spencer once you start.

the gentle click of a mug hitting your desk grabs your attention, though, and you tear your eyes from the page to look up.

spencer is leaning across your desk, nudging a yellow mug toward you, smiling widely. your throat tightens, a quick flash of pleasant awareness of him, and you swallow it away.

"what's this?" you ask, reaching for the mug. he doesn't let go as you expected and your fingers brush against each other. he shrugs instead of answering, leaning back against the desk next to yours and taking a sip from his own mug.

"coffee."

you take a sip, surprised to find it made exactly how you like. you can't remember ever telling him what you like and your cheeks heat at the gesture. you're grateful that the only lamp on is yours, hiding the heat from him.

"how'd you know how i like it?" you ask, taking a sip.

"i pay attention," he says, eyes trained on yours.

"to people's coffee preferences?"

"to yours, sure."

before you can properly allow that to sink into your exhausted mind, spencer sets his mug on your desk before grabbing his own files. "mind if i join you?" he asks, dragging the nearest chair over. "at least until you go home for the night."

"yeah, sure, i could use the company," you say, clearing space for him.

||||

5:53 AM

you: [attached image]

you: i promise i'm on the way, just having the worst morning. once i get this tire fixed, i'll let you know

you sigh, throwing your phone in your bag and squatting down to examine your blown tire. you don't know what you hit but you do know it's the start to an already sour morning.

you slept with your window propped open, despite how many times you've seen that go poorly for victims, and it rained, drenching your curtains. you didn't get to pack a lunch after dealing with that and usually, you eat breakfast at the office, so now you're on the side of the wet road, blown tire, and late for the first time in years.

your phone buzzes twice and you stand to dig it out of your bag.

5:55 AM

morgan: bad morning, pretty girl?

hotchner: don't worry about it, stay safe.

you roll your eyes at morgan, chest feeling lighter at hotch's reply. you hadn't expected him to be angry, this wasn't something anyone could foresee, but his answer still lessens the anxiety in your chest.

you climb into your car, turning on the heat and holding your hands to the vent for a few moments. you sit there for a few minutes past when you've thawed, dreading reentering the wet morning to change the tire.

the sound of a car door opening and shutting grabs your attention and you look in the rearview to see spencer walking toward you, hitting the button to lock one of the company vans. he's holding a bag in his hands, walking briskly to avoid getting too wet in the morning mist.

you throw open the passenger door when he gets close enough and watch as he folds himself in the car, shutting the door and adjusting his jacket.

"hello," you say, amused, "fancy seeing you here. did hotch send you?"

"i volunteered, here." he hands you the bag. you look at him for a moment longer, watching as he fixes his hair. you return your focus to the bag when he looks over at you, embarrassed to be caught.

you find one of the kitchen muffins and a banana in the bag. you stare at it for a moment, fully aware that this is exactly what you eat most mornings at work.

"i know you usually eat at work and didn't know if you had anything here," spencer explains.

"you noticed that?"

"i noticed you," he says. your eyes snap up to meet his, heart fluttering in your chest. he doesn't look embarrassed, eyes meeting yours steadily.

you struggle to find words, heart beyond touched by the gesture. you end up muttering, "thank you, spencer."

"you're welcome." there's a moment's pause while you come to terms with the fact that this can no longer be considered one of your worst mornings. "also, there was betting about if you could change a tire."

"ah, so you're here because you didn't believe in me?"

"well," he says, cheeky, smiling over at you. "you are just sitting in your car, decidedly not changing your tire."

"i was working myself up to it!" you say in defense. it's insane to you how quickly he has shifted your mood in just a few minutes.

he shakes his head at you, smiling slightly, and pops his door open, "open the back," he says, stepping out.

you do as he says, opening the trunk and getting out after him.

"i really was going to do it, you don't have to," you say, following him around the back of the car and watching him shift the things around to find your spare tire.

"i got it. go sit in the car, it's cold." he rolls his sleeves up, sending you a look.

you watch his hands as he moves the fabric up, exposing his forearms. you swallow, mouth dry, as he moves to the other arm, wrists flexing and bringing his veins into focus.

"i'm not sitting in my car while you do all the work," you refute, voice wavering, tearing your eyes away from his hands. you feel like a silly schoolgirl, ogling at her crush. or, better yet, like a scandalized victorian man seeing a hint of ankle for the first time, entranced by the barest hint of innocent skin. still, under the heat of embarrassment, you can't stop yourself from shifting your weight from foot to foot watching him lift the tire from your trunk.

"why not?" he asks, carrying the donut under one arm and walking over to the flat tire. you watch him, entranced, as he crouches down to examine the flat.

"it feels wrong! really, spence," you say, walking over to him and leaning down to catch his forearm and get his attention. "you don't have to change it for me, i'm more than capable."

"i know," he says, turning to look up at you from under his lashes. he smiles, still just a hint at the corner of his lips, and nods toward the car. "still, go sit, it's cold."

"spence-" you start and he rolls his eyes, standing up so he can look down at you and crossing his arms.

he says your name lowly, leaning back against the car and raising an eyebrow. "get in the car, this will only take me a minute."

he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing himself off of the car and walking to the trunk to grab the tool kit. stunned and slightly turned on, you slowly walk back to the drivers side of the car.

"good, now eat, too," he calls.

you grab the bag of food when you sit down, letting your legs hang down outside of the car. he stands up straighter to see you over the hood of the car and grins at you, "thank you."

||||

hands sweating and heart racing, you press the button on the elevator and watch the door close. you clutch the little bag between two of your hands, rolling your head back to stretch it and stare at the ceiling.

you're a profiler, you know people, you know that your ever-growing crush on spencer is reciprocated. his face as he said "i noticed you" is the last thing you see before you sleep and you know you aren't misinterpreting the signs. still, anxiety pools when the elevator dings and you step off.

you roll out your shoulders and step into the bull pen with confidence you have to fake, putting a smile on your face and holding the little bag behind your back slightly.

"morning angel," penelope calls to you, swinging around the corner and linking her arm with yours. "did you have any fun hot dates this weekend? please say yes, i am in desperate need of someone to live vicariously through -- my love life is dry in all definitions of the word."

"sorry love," you say, patting her arm and sending her a sympathetic look. "still working on that plan i mentioned a few weeks ago."

"wait," she says, suddenly stopping and forcing you to as well. "really? because you were all gung-ho about maintaining a sense of workplace appropriate behavior and all of that other blah hr speak."

"well," you say with a shrug, smiling at the ground, "i don't know, can't a girl change her mind?"

"she most certainly can. in fact, i have right now!" you look up at her suddenly ultra cheerful voice and see spencer walking into the room, hands in his pockets and heading right for you with a smile as a greeting. "i have decided that i'm not walking you to your desk and we'll chat over lunch instead. bye!"

just as quickly as she arrived, penelope left, scampering away to her office with a grin stretching across her face. she's your best friend, the one person you tell everything, and also the source of your greatest annoyance, leaving you alone in the hallway.

"what was that about?" spencer asks, reaching you and stopping only half a step away.

"just garcia being garcia," you say, shrugging.

"well, goodmorning," spencer says, tucking his chin down to look at you better. "have a good weekend?"

"i did," you say, swallowing in a deep breath to steel your nerves. "i actually managed to go to that bookstore you told me about."

"oh really?" spencer asks, excitement animating his face. "did you talk to the store owner? she's super cool, i actually learned a lot from her about book binding last time i visited. she has a little workshop in the back."

"i did, actually. i had to get her help finding a specific book," you say, holding the bag out to him.

"oh, which one?"

"open it and see."

"it's for me?" spencer asks, looking genuinely caught off-guard. he takes the bag slowly, as if expecting you to rip it away. you nod encouragingly and he takes the cue to lift the paper out of the bag and then the book. "wait, no way. this is so cool! i've been searching for it for ages."

you watch as he opens the book and his eyes widen finding it signed. he slowly, reverently, flips the pages to look at the publication date and his eyes flick to meet yours.

"this is a first edition?"

"yeah."

"this is- how did you know?"

"i noticed you, too," you say, voice soft and hesitant. you take the half step forward so your toes are touching. surprisingly, your anxiety is nowhere to be found as you look up at him, smiling, chest warm and fingertips tingling. "i hope that's okay."

"beyond, actually," spencer answers, voice softer. the hand holding the bag and book falls, his other one lifting to your cheek, hesitant. he brushes his fingers across your cheekbone gently before moving his hand to cup the back of your neck and bringing you in for a hug. .

it's exactly how you expected hugging spencer to be, warm and all-consuming. he laughs, gentle, a vibration you can feel through his chest and into yours.

"what?" you ask, face buried in his chest.

"it's amazing how hard i'm fighting to not kiss you right now. i always thought i would be too nervous - i mean, obviously, i've kissed people before. not that that's what i should be talking about right now, but, i just mean, it's different with you. you make me happy in a way that makes me nervous, you know?"

"i know," you say, softly, cutting off his rambling with a hidden smile. he's still holding you in the empty hallway and you would love nothing more than to hear his rambling but you're also very aware that someone could walk in any moment.

you just hope that whatever this is leads to more of his thoughtless rambles - you've missed them, noticed how he's held himself back more, and you think nothing will make you happier than being the person he turns to with them.

"yeah. um, thank you. but now i'm not nervous, i'm just annoyed we're at work."

you laugh, pushing away from him, fixing his tie. "we have plenty of time, it's okay."

he doesn't say anything, his hand still on the back of your neck. instead, he slowly leans down to press his lips to your forehead. it's gentle, as if he's afraid the wrong move will break you or send you running, and you melt from it.

"plenty."

part two of it's a date will come soon!! i hope!!!! please take this as a peace offering <3 i got the idea of spencer changing a tire on my head and could NOT LET IT GO !!!! like i'm ngl, i made myself blush w this so i hope u all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

also also!! i usually like to keep my notes short but this is a reminder that my asks/inbox are always open!! and i read every reblog and comment and smile and giggle like a little kid when i see them. you all make my day every day and ily u all

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 27: afternoon stroll

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Warnings: moral dilemmas, age gap (r is 25 and Spencer is 40) a cocktail of feelings, relationship between ex-teacher and ex-student, and I think that's it!

Going grocery shopping was one of the most ordinary things you could do. There wasn’t much to it, so it wasn’t exactly an activity that brought you much excitement.

However, that day, it wasn't just a routine. You knew it when, at the end of the line in one of the checkout lanes, you recognized a tall man in a suit. It had been three years since you last saw your professor, and, to be honest, just the sight of him made your heart race just like it used to. I'd dare to say it was even more intense now.

You tried to keep your composure, and for a second, you wondered what you should do. You glanced down at yourself, grateful you’d decided to wear something decent that day: straight-cut black pants, a long-sleeved, lightweight white shirt over a black bra, intentionally chosen to show through a bit.

You hesitated, wondering if you should walk up and get in the same line he was in, or maybe choose the one next to his just to wave hello, or if it would be inappropriate to go up and hug him, or if…

Oh, no. He’d seen you. You couldn’t help feeling a rush of excitement at the way his face lit up when he saw you or at the smile that spread across his lips, but there it was. He was just as handsome as before, maybe even more with the passing years. He looked gorgeous.

"Hey! It’s been so long!"

Your feet practically moved on their own toward him, still reeling from the whirlwind of feelings and passions you’d once harbored for your professor. You knew it was wrong, ethically and morally inappropriate, but you couldn’t help feeling what you felt.

"It really has been, Professor," you managed to respond.

You moved as if to initiate a hug, which he returned without hesitation, holding you around your waist with his free hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your cheek. You felt like you could die from how red your face must’ve been.

"Please, don’t call me 'Professor.' It feels strange now," he smiled, amused. "I’m just Spencer."

"Alright then, Pro– Spencer," you corrected yourself. You savored his name on your lips and realized it felt just right.

"So, what have you been up to? Come, I’ll let you take my place in line," he offered.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just get in line behind you.”

“I insist,” he said cordially. You could never say no to him; you never could.

You ended up giving in, feeling oddly cared for when he offered to help with what you were carrying. He was still every bit the gentleman, the kind you rarely encountered anymore.

“I’ve been well,” you replied, remembering he’d asked you a question. You were standing completely in front of him, not wanting to miss a second of looking at him. “I’m working at an accounting firm now. It’s not my dream job, but at least it’s stable and pays the bills. What about you? Are you still teaching, or did you go back to the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

“I went back to the unit,” he said, in that gentle voice you’d always adored hearing. “But I retired just a month ago.”

“Why?”

“A lot of things happened, and… I don’t know. I just felt it was time to take a break. They said the doors are always open for me, but I’m trying to live as peacefully as I can.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you encouraged him. “I’m glad to hear that; your health is the most important thing.”

There was something in Spencer’s expression you couldn’t quite read. Maybe it was just your love-struck mind imagining that he was looking at you with a mix of nostalgia, affection, and pride. His brown eyes shone in the sunlight, and it was enough to make you feel dizzy.

"Yes, but honestly, I’ve started feeling a bit restless with the inactivity. Next month, I might either pursue another PhD or find a job in my field that’s less demanding."

"Sometimes I forget you’re a genius," you murmured without thinking, your voice laced with pure admiration. "It’s so normal for you to take on a PhD as a hobby."

"Knowledge always opens doors. The more you know, the closer you get to finding the truth of who you are."

For a moment, you felt like you were back in one of his lectures and smiled shyly. He was such a mature man, with such a wealth of wisdom, that you could listen to him talk for hours about anything and never get bored.

Your gaze stayed locked on his for a few seconds, almost hypnotized, until the cashier called your attention to start ringing up your items.

Spencer studied your purchases carefully: a loaf of bread, a pack of cranberries, yogurt, some shampoo, and men’s deodorant. He thought about that last product. He had no doubt a woman could use such things, but it didn’t quite seem like your style. You smelled like something he identified as peonies and roses, so it didn’t make sense for you to choose a pine-scented deodorant.

It must be for a man. A man you were in a relationship with.

You paid. Then it was Spencer’s turn: a bag of coffee, honey, a package of walnuts, almonds, and dried fruit, a few pens, a notebook on sale, a jar of pain relievers, and a bottle of vitamins. Finally, there was a package of diapers for a newborn and a bib with the phrase: Snack now, think later.

Just as he had done with you, you analyzed the items, and, of course, that last one caught your attention.

He wasn’t buying those baby items just for fun, was he?

Your heart sank a bit as you understood what it implied: he’d just become a father.

“Thank you, miss. Have a nice day,” Spencer said, as polite as ever.

You stayed out of courtesy, watching him put his items in a plastic bag. Then he started to walk, and you followed.

"I guess this is where we say goodbye, huh?" you said. You didn’t want to sound hurt, but it came through. “It was nice seeing you, Spencer.”

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

That question left you in a dilemma. You looked at his left hand for a wedding ring, but there wasn’t one. The thought that your professor, whom you admired so much and had fallen in love with, might be the kind of man who took off his wedding ring to seduce young women disgusted you.

The sound of a phone interrupted the moment; it was his ringing.

“Hello?” he murmured. You hadn’t said goodbye, so you stayed in place. “I got Pampers, yes. I read that’s the best brand for newborns; they’re super absorbent and have a wetness indicator. And I found a really cute bib. Uh-huh, I’ll be there soon. Did you invite everyone? Great, I can’t wait to see them. See you, take care.”

Hearing his warm, affectionate tone made you feel envious; you wished you were the woman on the other end of the line.

“Your wife?” you asked.

“Wife? No, not at all,” he shook his head, almost offended. “That was my former unit chief; she just had a baby, and we agreed to meet up today with some friends.”

“Oh! For a… for a moment, I thought that was for your baby.”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I haven’t had that good fortune yet.”

You’d never really wanted children, but at that moment, your insides turned completely at just the thought of him speaking to you with the same warmth he had with his coworker.

“Do you really need to hurry to that get-together? I mean, if you’re still planning to walk me home?”

“Not at all.”

“I take the metro from Station 17 to get there.”

“That’s funny! I’m going to the same station. We could walk there together and then go our separate ways.”

You eagerly agreed to the idea, and the two of you left the store. In the first block, you talked about general things. He noticed you’d dyed your hair, and you complimented his, which looked really good.

The tension between you two was palpable, and all you wanted to do was let out the feelings you’d kept hidden all this time. At first, you’d thought it was just a silly crush, mere admiration. But as time went on, it became harder to deny the obvious. You wanted to be his favorite; you wanted him to focus on you, so you’d done everything to be his best student.

Five years after meeting him, you knew for sure that what you felt was love. He was a bright light, and you were just a moth, desperate to get closer.

"It feels like it was just yesterday when I was running around campus, worried about exams, essays… but I never forgot your classes. You were always a different kind of professor. You didn’t just care about us understanding the material; you cared about how we thought. I’d never felt so listened to," you whispered, watching the leaves fall from the now-orange trees.

You were walking through an incredibly quiet neighborhood; it was almost just you and him.

"Well, you were a brilliant student. You always asked questions that made me think, and that doesn’t happen often."

Oh, that validation. It felt like an elixir running through your veins.

“Was it just my imagination, or was I your favorite student?”

“It wouldn’t be ethical to say.”

“I’m not your student anymore, so you can be completely honest with me.”

Spencer shifted slightly, as if mulling over your words. You were right; you weren’t his student anymore, and he needed to stop seeing you as such.

“I wouldn’t say there was favoritism, but I particularly enjoyed working with you. You were very dedicated, your work was always flawless, and you always asked how you could improve. I think it was just that you were the kind of student every professor dreams of having.”

“Oh, Doctor Reid, I’m blushing,” you joked, though you couldn’t help the flirty tone that slipped in. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met under different circumstances. If I hadn’t been in college, as your student.”

It was a subtle but significant statement.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you’re such an interesting person, and sometimes I wish I’d met you in a less formal setting. Maybe we could’ve been friends.”

Spencer looked at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. His lips curved into a faint smile before his gaze turned more serious, as if allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a second.

“You know, I’m not sure we could’ve been just friends,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost a whisper that the wind could’ve carried away at any moment. “You were always more than just an outstanding student. You made me question things I thought I had all figured out.”

Your heart skipped a beat at those words. It was like he was finally opening that door both of you had kept closed for so long. The world around you seemed to fall silent, wrapping you in a bubble where only your gazes and the sound of your shallow breaths existed.

"Really?" you smiled, trying not to let on just how deeply his words affected you. “I always thought I was just another student to you, but… you always felt like someone special to me. Like… like everything I did only made sense because you were there, listening.”

Spencer laughed softly, a laugh that almost sounded nervous, as if he himself were processing his feelings.

"Maybe you see me as someone who has all the answers, but if you knew how many times I tried to avoid… what I was feeling."

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, as if afraid to expose too much. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest, and everything around you spun.

“Sometimes I wondered if I was just imagining it.”

“No, you weren’t imagining it. It wasn’t easy for me. I knew I was crossing an emotional boundary, even though I never let it go further. There was an attraction, of course. But it was my responsibility to stay professional. I couldn’t fail you in that.”

The tension between you grew with every step you took. The street seemed to stretch endlessly as both of you searched for the right words to express what you really felt. Minutes passed, but the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, each second you shared without speaking seemed to fill the air with emotions that didn’t need explaining. And yet, deep down, you knew that time was running out. In the distance, you could already see the entrance to the metro station.

“You know, I never thought seeing you again after so long would affect me this much,” you said finally, not daring to look at him, as if admitting it in a low voice made you feel safer. He watched you with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d feel this way, either. I’d convinced myself that… that what I felt was simply admiration.”

His words made you stop, looking into his eyes with a surprised expression. It was a gesture that denoted an unusual transparency in him, as if he felt more vulnerable than he was willing to admit.

“Admiration?” you smiled, though you felt a pressure in your chest you could hardly bear. “And now? What do you feel now, Spencer?”

Spencer. He was no longer your professor; he was simply Spencer.

He lowered his gaze, searching for words he’d likely been repressing for years. The sound of his unsteady breathing was all you heard before he spoke again, in a voice low but clear.

“What I feel now… I don’t think there’s an easy word for it. But it’s something I thought I’d never have to confront.”

You were taken aback by that confession, but it filled you with such a wave of relief that it almost made you dizzy. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but also free. You decided it was time to stop measuring your words, to stop being afraid.

“Spencer, I… I fell in love with you when I was still in college. I always told myself it was just a crush, that it would pass. But I carried you in my mind, in my memories. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I graduated. And now I can’t deny that, even after all these years, I still love you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if processing everything you had just said. When he looked at you again, his eyes were like a deep ocean of emotions, and you couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had stopped around you.

“What about your boyfriend?”

You didn’t want to ask how he’d picked up on that. But in the end, denying it would’ve been useless.

“My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected. I’m in a relationship that doesn’t fulfill me, and when I compare it to what I felt with you, even though nothing happened, I realize how empty it feels now. It’s like… I don’t know, like I’m just settling.”

You were still standing on the sidewalk. The wind brushed softly against your ears.

“It’s hard when you realize what you have isn’t what you thought it would be. Comfort isn’t enough; you want something deeper, something meaningful. And sometimes, I feel just as lost. My career has been my life for so long that, even though I’m successful, there are moments when I wonder if I’ve missed out on something important. Something I may never have. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s too late.”

You felt like you were going to throw up. All you wanted was for it to end, for him to lean in and kiss you.

You took a step forward.

“There’s nothing between us now. I’m no longer your student.”

"I’ve thought about that. But it wasn’t just the fact that you were my student. The age gap also complicated things. I mean, I’m fifteen years older than you. I couldn’t ignore how inappropriate that would’ve been."

“Fifteen years… yeah, that’s quite a bit. But I don’t think that would’ve mattered so much if we hadn’t been in the situation we were in.”

“It’s not just that, sweetheart,” sweetheart. “You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities. I couldn’t allow myself… to interfere with that. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“You’re talking as if you’re condemning me to a life sentence. And it’s not like that.”

Spencer took a deep breath, holding eye contact for a moment before speaking honestly.

“Still, the age difference will always be there.”

“What are you worried about? What people might think?”

“It’s not just that, but how it would affect you in the long term. A fifteen-year age gap can be a chasm.”

“Maybe. But connections don’t always follow set rules. What I felt then was real. What I feel now is real, too. And I don’t think age changes that.”

Were you seriously confessing your love to this man on that street? After seeing him again for less than an hour? Were you really that desperate for him?

In theory, he had already confessed to you. And that was only proof of how much you both had longed for each other, despite the years that had passed.

In a bold move, you took another step toward him. Your hands reached up to his cheeks, and he felt like he was out of breath.

“You’re an extraordinary man, Spencer. You’re gentle, intelligent, you’re a gentleman, you’re… you’re like a dream. And any woman would be lucky to have you. But if you don’t want me to be that woman, I respect that.”

“Don’t do that,” he groaned. Your fingers felt like fire burning his skin. “Don’t make me say something that isn’t true.”

“Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. You want that family, you want to experience everything you missed out on. I want security, attention… I want you.”

He closed his eyes, defeated. A storm of emotions swirled within him.

“We need to take this slow; it’s… it’s a lot to process.”

You nodded and stepped back. For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake, especially when he was met with the coldness of his skin now that you weren’t touching him. But a second later, you handed him your phone.

“Give me your number. After we’ve both had time to think about this, you’ll call me, and we’ll go out to dinner. If you’re not sure, we’ll just go our separate ways. If you are… we’ll decide what to do.”

It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. There was no room for argument.

He typed in the digits, almost trembling with nerves, and felt ridiculous for showing himself so vulnerable in front of you. But you were breaking down every ethical boundary he believed he had; dating a former student… what kind of person did that make him?

However, as he returned your phone and looked at you, he realized that you were no longer a child. He was not taking advantage of you at all; you were an adult capable of making your own decisions. And you were choosing him. Above everyone else, he was the one you wanted.

You called, and Reid's barely modern phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling that he now had your number too. Spencer watched you with a mix of nostalgia and resolve, as if this were the last second before the world began to spin again and forced them back into their lives.

Finally, he sighed, lowering his gaze slightly, as if he wanted to hide a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said quietly, with a sincerity that broke your heart. "I don’t know if it’s fair that, after so long, we reopen this door just to risk things not working out."

"We’ll never know if we don’t try," you whispered, trying to stay calm.

He nodded slowly, processing your words, and then, very slowly, took a step toward you, getting close enough for the murmur of his voice to be almost a whisper next to your ear.

"Okay," was all he managed to say. His eyes reflected the same longing and uncertainty that you felt inside.

You walked in silence to the station, and once there, there was no verbal goodbye. You simply moved closer to him, wrapped him in a hug, and he responded with a deep kiss on the cheek.

He went to the right. You went to the left.

Once you were seated on the subway, you felt your phone vibrate with a message.

Hi. I’m Spencer. Please keep in touch. I don’t want to miss you.

And all the way home, you smiled.

[boom-bada-boom]

shawn spencer, through a series of comedic should-be-impossible hijinks, gets turned into a cat without anyone knowing its him. he elects to hang around the station and help out however much his four paws can.

hilariously, it doesn’t change that much.

some notes:

hes brownish-orange (kinda like henry’s hair in flashbacks??) which means he is close enough that he has the orange cat curse™

trying to decide on what breed he is. obviously mixed but what is in the mix?? main thoughts are havana, bengal, and siamese

okay final thoughts: bengal-siamese mix with a havana-like coloring for both eyes and coat.

hes a chatty cattyyyyyyyyyy,,,,,,,, yapper frfr

dog-person lassie and cat-person jules (she canonically has two cats)

he is so indecisive on if he should try and communicate that he is shawn to the station. on one hand theyd know hes safe and maybe be able to help him fix this. on the other jules has literally played fetch with him. a few officers have hand fed him. several cat things occurred. he would never live this all down (human shawn after hes asked where he was for like two months: (heavy sweating) i dont remember)

shawn sleeping in lassie’s chair and on his lap. he started doing it for the laughs but now he has realized that oh no this is actually comfy. tragedy.

half the station supports shawn’s cat shenanigans. a third just take videos. the remaining sixth try to call animal control on shawn but he always gets away and hes back in the station like two hours later so eventually they give up lmao

while all this is happening the station is also stressing because of shawn’s disappearance. they cant find any evidence for what happened. shawn went out to pursue a lead and just vanished. consequently, shawn is trying to make them all feel better with cat shenanigans

he refuses to use a litter box. it does not matter that he is so so small now he is using the fucking toilet. (the officers start leaving the bathroom door open a crack so he can slip in lmao)

shawn reading over case files while sitting on them. hes participating (and solving them)

shawn as a human accidentally left a pineapple stress toy in the station (maybe on some forgotten corner of lassie’s desk or smth lmao) and as a cat he rediscovers it and decides to play ball using it. all this to say that people start calling him pineapple because of it. honestly hes quite happy with that name over some other possibilities

jules is the only one allowed to touch the pineapple toy. he doesnt trust lassie not to try and dump it or something like the spiteful person he is and he certainly doesnt want anyone else touching it. (he would allow lassie to touch the pineapple toy if it werent for that fact though)

(shawn very carefully putting the pineapple toy down in front of lassie for the first timeand staring up with his big ole eyes and lassie stares back and externally his expression is hella flat but internally hes like oh no. oh no its growing on me)

BIG NEWS: cats can in fact eat pineapple, just not a lot since as a fruit it has a lot of sugar (not good for cats), HOWEVER… “It’s hard to see why because cats don’t have the taste buds that let them enjoy sweet flavors. The strong sweet and tangy taste of pineapple is mostly lost on them.”

shawn finally managing to get someone (probably buzz) to give him some pineapple only to be utterly HEARTBROKEN bc it DOESNT TASTE LIKE PINEAPPLE ANYMORE !!!!!!!!!

juliet holding him like a little baby as he is purring like a freight train

LASSITER HOLDING HIM LIKE LONGCAT AS HE IS WAILING LIKE THE DAMNED

literallyyyyyy thisss,,,,

he breaks into the chief’s office to lounge on her desk and she gives him hardcore side eye before, after a while, just sighing and starting to pet him. “this station doesn’t exactly need a mascot, you know,” she tells him, to a reply of mrrp, “but i suppose a little bit of cheering up wouldn’t be too bad.” very carefully, she taps him on the nose. “but not too much. this is a serious line of work—no making a mockery of my station.” the dull thunking of a tail smacking repeatedly into solid wood made no promises.

inconceivable amounts of cat fur everywhere and on everyone. no one can brush him because he wriggles away like an eel and dramatically grooms his fur out of their reach. so he just sheds everywhere. hes got a thick coat there is so. much. fur.

he keeps sneaking into crime scenes. no one is sure how but they suspect he is hitchhiking in lassiter’s car. no one can prove it tho bc they cant fucking find him. the crazy thing is that he leads them to evidence sometimes like a narcotics detection dog but with completely random items that usually seem nonsensical at first. until they prove otherwise. consistently.

lassie to himself: man this feels just like dealing with spencer’s psychic shit. weird.

GUS FIGURES IT OUT FIRST. not because he saw anything but he just saw a newspaper about this cat solving crime with the cops and he was like “oh my fucking god. it can’t be.” and then he pulled up to the station yoinked said cat and went to an isolated corner to freak the fuck out with it. “shawn what the hell happened” he goes, and shawn meows with feeling

juliet watching gus talk to pineapple the station cat in the corner of the bullpen: ???????

several cops having the all-important conversation of what to label him as. theres no snappy cat version of K9 they can use. K9 is supposed to sound like “canine” but there’s no letter to cover the fel in“feline”

some say F9 and some say L9 and a few say FL9 or just straight up FEL9

BY THE WAY!!!!! “Police cats are becoming an increasingly popular addition to law enforcement teams around the world. These feline officers are being trained to assist their human counterparts in various aspects of police work, from sniffing out drugs and explosives to providing comfort and emotional support to officers on duty” SND ALSO “Because they are uncommon, police cats receive a lot of press. Many show up regularly in media posts. If your local department has a police cat, don’t be surprised if you see stories about them on the news”

police cats are a real thing!! shawn is not an official police cat but he is at this point an unofficial one. on rare occasions he might even listen to an order or two (the station thinks he may have been specially trained by some probably-illegal group or smth, escaped, and decided to imprint on the station) (btw this is an actual issue with some police cats. as independent creatures theyre not as predictable as dogs and might not follow orders, which is an issue in high stakes situations n shit)

[luveline]

Derek and shy!reader maybe? Meeting the team for the first time and none of them are expecting Derek's partner to be standing half-hidden behind him, shyly waving at them instead of saying anything

thank you for ur request! fem!reader

"So what's the deal?" Emily asks Penelope, licking the stem of her paper umbrella dry before dropping it onto a napkin. "He's suddenly going steady?" 

"Can you call five months sudden?" Rossi asks. 

Hotch nudges him. 

"What?" Rossi asks. "Can you? Five months is a long time." 

"And that's why you had to send Christmas cards to three different divorce lawyers this year," Emily says. 

Emily has a penchant for saying the occasional brazen comment, but JJ confiscates her friend's margarita anyways, before the booze loosens her lips and she says something worse. It's a small jet. 

"It's not like Morgan," Spencer agrees, standing at Rossi's other side, looking less out of place than usual. 

"It's totally like him," Penelope says.

Hotch's smile is hard to read, which is a spectacle considering current company. "I agree." 

"Here he is now," Penelope says excitedly, clapping her hands in front of her chest. 

Derek strides into the bar and past its patrons without a care in the world. He looks happy, content, and the team doesn't need to see you to know you're with him. He smiles at his phone at work exactly as he smiles now, with his arm stretched backwards to tether you along. 

You come into view as the crowd thins. You're not what anyone's expecting, certainly not plain but nor are you dressed up. Emily, in her tipsiness, declares that you look adorable, and receives a reproachful look from Hotch in reward. 

"Hey Derek!" JJ calls as soon as he's near enough. 

"Hey, guys. Mama, you remember what we talked about?" Derek asks Penelope. 

She nods sagely. "Restraint. I'm restraining myself. Oh my god you're so cute, I'm Penelope! I'm so happy to meet you." 

"Hi," you say. 

No less than five pairs of eyes fall to your hand as you twist your fingers into Derek's sleeve. He doesn't bat an eye, taking a half step in front of you, a picture of casualness as he introduces you to each of them in turn. 

"It's nice to meet you," Hotch says, seemingly speaking for the whole group. 

You raise your hand and give a stilted wave. Your eyes look sad and stressed at once, but you don't sound either, softly saying, "You too." 

Derek wraps a muscled arm behind your neck, grinning while he meets Penelope's eyes. "What are we drinking tonight?"

Your eyebrows pinch up at the starts. You smile at them all despite your obvious nervousness, and it's enough for each of them to reach the same conclusion simultaneously. You're shy, but you're good. A broad sweep yet easy to make. It's obvious how much you care for Derek if you'd been willing to meet them like this when you clearly don't feel comfortable.

Luckily for you, Penelope is excellent as making people feel welcome. "We're drinking Y/N's choice. What do you like? Sugar shots? Mojitos?" 

Your lips part, unprepared for a direct question so soon. 

Derek turns his head to yours, giving you what Emily deems the most ridiculous puppy dog eyed smile anyone has ever given, and what Rossi knows is a ring waiting to happen. He should know. 

"Let's go figure it out. Another round, from me?" he offers. 

He's quick to steer you away, but not too quick to miss Rossi's, "Something strong if you want us old timers to stay!" 

They wait for you to be safely out of earshot before they condense, bad gossips and worse actors off the job. "Who would've thought?" Emily asks. 

"She's not what I was expecting," JJ says. 

"Are we that intimidating?" Rossi asks, raising his eyebrows. The answer being yes, of course, though none of them are aware of just how scary they can be. You'd felt like you were standing in front of a pack of wolves. 

"She seemed nice," Spencer says. Trust him to say something sweet. Trust the rest of Derek's friends to agree, the group nodding and humming at various pitches.

"She seemed silent," Emily jokes. 

Penelope crosses her fingers and closes her eyes, earrings swinging against the blond tresses of her curled hair as she drops her head. "God, my muffin deserves nice. Please let this work out, she looks so sweet. I just wanna pinch her cheeks." 

"It's gonna work out," Hotch says surely. 

If Derek could hear him, he'd agree on the spot, but he's too busy praising you halfway across the room for such a stellar introduction. 

[fairsexynasty]

ˏ🔪ˋ°•*⁀➷･ GHOST MOUTH — chapter one: get out and get into heaven

.｡🗡️*⋆⍋*🃏*｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: a new inhabitant? tenant? roommate? you're still not sure how this works. but there's someone new living in your apartment: spencer reid. how is he going to react to a ghost?

warnings: humor, platonic fluff, angst, drug usage, addiction...

a/n: love a good female character who literally haunts the narrative... but it's your narrative... so are you living it...? but you're dead....? like and reblog if you enjoy and don't forget, requests are open!

word count: 4.2k

JUNE 23, 2005.

I don’t remember buying this apartment. Or decorating it. Or signing the lease, for that matter. But apparently, I lived here.

Now, I just haunt it.

It’s strange, being stuck in a place you’re supposed to know but don’t. Like waking up in someone else’s skin. The furniture’s vaguely familiar—like seeing an actor who played a minor role in a movie you liked once—but the memories aren’t there to fill in the gaps.

Rachel makes it easier. Most days, anyway. She’s perched on the couch tonight, wine glass in hand, a throw blanket draped over her like a cape. “Okay, so get this,” she says, her voice dipping conspiratorially. “He texts me every morning. Like, without fail. Good morning, good night—it’s adorable.”

I hover near the window, watching her face light up as she gushes about this guy, Theo. He’s the latest in a string of hopefuls, but this one seems different. Genuine. “You think he’s the real deal?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m bracing for impact.

“I do.” Rachel practically glows. “He’s thoughtful. Funny. And he actually listens. Can you believe it?”

I can’t. Or maybe I don’t want to. If she finds her happily-ever-after, where does that leave me?

"So, yeah, he's great," Rachel was saying, voice warm and confident. She was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she swirled the wine in her glass. "I don't know, it's like I finally found someone who gets it, you know?"

I watched her, biting back the sharp tug of something—jealousy? Longing? Whatever it was, it gnawed at me, and I couldn’t ignore it. Rachel had started dating this guy recently. She'd told me about him a couple of times. Each time, I couldn't help but feel like... well, like I was losing her, in a way. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but the thought of her moving on without me—of her living a life I wouldn't be a part of—felt like it was breaking something inside of me.

I didn't say anything, of course. I never did. What was I supposed to say? The girl was talking about her future with some guy who was clearly making her happy, and here I was—dead, ghosting around her apartment, just... existing.

She didn't need me anymore. I couldn't tell her I was scared. I couldn't tell her I felt like I was slipping away, like the life I remembered was fading fast and I had nothing left to hold onto. Rachel had a future to live. I... I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do with what little I had left.

I just kept my distance, lingering in the corner of the room, watching as she sighed and took another sip of her wine.

It wasn’t the worst thing, I told myself. It wasn’t like I had to keep reminding her I was here. It wasn’t like I had a purpose anymore. I had no idea why I couldn’t move on, no idea how I died or what my life had been before it all fell apart. The only thing that seemed real anymore was the fact that Rachel still let me be here, let me talk to her in the little ways I could.

And that, for now, would have to be enough.

“He’s got this dorky laugh, too,” she continues, oblivious. “It’s cute. Like, ugly-cute. You know what I mean?”

I nod, even though she’s not looking. I know exactly what she means. What I don’t know is what happens when this man goes from “guy she’s seeing” to something more permanent. Does she stop needing her wine-and-gossip buddy? Does she stop needing me?

I shake off the thought. It’s not fair to Rachel. She deserves a shot at happiness, with or without me haunting her living room.

Still, the idea twists in my chest like a knife.

She laughs at something on her phone and reaches for her wine. “Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?”

I give her my best deadpan. “Unproductive. Again. Shocker.”

Rachel grins. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Will I?

I glance at the TV, where the menu flickers with mindless options. Maybe I will. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m here. Stuck. For as long as this world lets me be seen, I’ll keep showing up.

Because what else can I do?

NOVEMBER 27th, 2006

One could say that I was currently, extremely upset. But that would be an understatement. I was fucking pissed. What do you do when your favorite resident of your haunted apartment moves out? After three years of watching over her, getting to know her, and eventually making yourself known to her– how do you start over? How do you haunt someone new?

Rachel was the one thing that kept me busy. She gave me more than enough reason to wander out of the apartment and practice the ability to leave the building. I’m not agoraphobic, I’m just trapped. And dead.

I can’t say exactly why I can leave some days and am stuck the others. It takes a lot of energy from me, so much so that I can feel myself disappearing from Rachel’s sight. The overstimulating feelings stick themselves in my joints, leaving me rugged and lapsed energetically. I don’t know what it is. I can’t name it.

I can’t even tell you where the hell my body is or what happened to me. It sucks. Not knowing where you end up or how it happens after living a life where people come up with endless theories about it. You’d think that one of the many ideas has to be accurate, and you’ve either been living your life all right or wrong.  But I couldn’t tell you. I can’t make sense of it myself.

Rachel understood that. She spent her Sunday nights with me, cooking in the kitchen, playing my favorite songs I’d request, and sipping on her favorite bottle of Noir while I vented, told stories, or just rambled. I never had a best friend like her. Not while I was alive, that’s for sure.

Talking about myself in the past tense is another tricky part of being a ghost. Yes, I am dead, and I may not know where my corpse is or how I died, but I still exist. My soul is alive, so am I still a being? Is it “I am” or “I was”? We could look at it from a technical point of view. I currently offer no value to the world around me. I cannot contribute or benefit from my environment in any way possible unless you count Rachel. I cannot eat, sleep, or drink. I can still learn, I can experience, and I can feel. But I cannot disrupt the environment around me. So, by that knowledge, that makes me… still confused. I’m not smart enough to find a solution here. I took one ethics class in college, and even then, we only talked about poverty. I don’t understand quantum mechanics, and I believe in the supernatural. It doesn’t make me a credible source.

However, through all the (lack of) noise, I’ve discovered my new friend might be a credible source: Dr. Spencer Reid. It might take him a couple of months to see me, but for Rachel, it took me a year. But I have more faith in myself now.

My new friend is moving in today. November 27th, 2006, three years, seven months, and eleven days since this apartment was mine.

I can hear him coming up the stairs. A couple of mutters are in the background, so I assume he has people helping him move in. Great. More people to take up my space. I’ll probably find myself sitting on the kitchen counter the entire time while I psychotically stare at him. The doorknob wiggles and then clicks, a sign Spencer’s successfully used his key for the first time.

The door creaks open, and Spencer's voice filters in before his lanky figure even makes it through. “Okay, let’s just leave everything in the box until we bring the rest up, and then we can move the furni—oh.” He freezes mid-step, eyes locking onto mine. “Um… hello there.”

He looks like someone just handed him a live grenade and politely asked him to hold it. His friends? Oblivious. A gorgeous, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair and a towering, muscular man with rich brown skin saunter in behind him, oblivious to my presence.

“Who are you?” Spencer blurts.

I raise an eyebrow from my very cozy sprawl on the couch Rachel left behind—one leg draped dramatically over the plush velvet arm. “Oh, so you can see me,” I purr, enjoying his squirm. “How delightful.”

Spencer’s jaw works, but no sound escapes. Meanwhile, his friends exchange concerned looks like they’re debating calling a medic.

“Uh, Spence?” The woman—let’s call her Sexy Boss Barbie—tilts her head, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Who, exactly, are you talking to?”

Spencer points to me, his face a mix of confusion and terror. “Her!”

The man snorts, folding his arms like he’s humoring a toddler with an imaginary friend. “Kid, there’s no one there. Are you feeling okay? Dizzy? Dehydrated? Seeing, you know, stuff?”

“I’m fine! Are you okay? Do you not see the woman lounging on the couch?!” Spencer’s voice rises an octave, clearly distressed. “She’s waving!”

I sit up, slowly, brushing imaginary lint off my clothes. “Spencer, darling,” I say with a smirk, “they can’t see me. To them, you sound completely unhinged. Certifiable. Just batshit crazy.”

Sexy Boss Barbie’s eyes widen suddenly, as if the final piece of a years-long puzzle has just clicked into place. “Oh my god.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “It’s real. The rumors were true!”

“What rumors?” Spencer snaps, panic edging into his voice.

“The ghosts!” She throws her hands up, spinning to the muscular guy. “There’s been all this buzz about hauntings and poltergeists, and I heard they asked Fiona Caulins and her spooky little team to investigate. I thought it was a prank!”

The guy groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Prentiss, you’re telling me the FBI is officially ghost-hunting now? Do we get proton packs, or is that too much taxpayer money?”

Prentiss—because clearly she has a name now—waves dismissively at him and turns to me with the same enthusiasm as someone meeting a celebrity. “Hi, ghost! Please don’t murder my friend, he’s very nice, smart, and has a soft heart. Also, I’m too tired for a paranormal brawl.”

I narrow my eyes at Spencer, just to make him squirm a little more. “Oh, I’m definitely going to kill you.”

His gasp is chef’s kiss levels of comedic. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Emily,” the guy warns, sounding like the parent of the world’s most reckless child.

Spencer waves a hand awkwardly at me, trying to keep his composure. “I’m just going to assume you’re joking. For my own sanity. Because being kind is important. Even if you’re, you know…” He gestures vaguely toward me. “…dead.”

The guy throws up his hands and makes a beeline for the door. “You know what, Pretty Boy? Nope. I’m out. I’ll grab the rest of your boxes, but I am not dealing with Casper’s pissed-off cousin.”

“I’m not haunting,” I clarify, even though his retreating footsteps suggest he doesn’t care.

Prentiss steps closer, her eyes sparkling with the kind of curiosity that spells trouble. “Maybe you’re stuck here,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to my general direction like she’s presenting an exhibit at a haunted museum. “Are you stuck here?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

“She doesn’t know,” Spencer parrots, clearly regretting his life choices.

“But I don’t mind it,” I add cheerfully.

“She doesn’t mind it,” Spencer echoes, his face a study in pure, resigned chaos.

By the time all of his belongings are finally moved in, I’ve become an unofficial connoisseur of Spencer’s panicked glances. Every other moment, our eyes meet, and he looks like someone just told him Santa Claus isn’t real—or, in this case, that ghosts are. He’s clearly grappling with the idea, the gears in his brain probably spinning so fast they might combust. I mean, he’s a doctor. A man of science, logic, and reason. Ghosts? That’s the kind of thing that could either utterly shatter his worldview or send him spiraling into some kind of quantum physics rabbit hole. Probably both.

Emily and Derek—whose names I picked up during their bickering about me (I’m already a hot topic, apparently)—finally call it a night as the sun dips below the horizon. There’s a brief exchange of goodbyes, Emily offering Spencer a quick “Call if you need me!” while Derek mutters something about sage and holy water under his breath.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the apartment falls into an awkward quiet. Spencer stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door as if considering bolting out of it himself. Eventually, he turns, slowly, to find me perched on the kitchen counter, swinging my legs.

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. He’s clearly malfunctioning. “I, uh—”

I hold up a hand to stop him, smiling. “Let me make this easier for you. I’ll set some ground rules, okay?” His eyes widen, but I plow ahead. “First, I promise I won’t distract you unless you explicitly ask me to. Second, I’m not going to walk into the bathroom while you’re in there—because, seriously, why would I? Third, if you bring someone over—or if you’re already seeing someone—I’ll clear out and head downstairs. Lastly, I can leave this apartment, but leaving the building? That’s… a work in progress.”

Spencer blinks at me, stunned into silence. He doesn’t move for a beat, then nods. It’s the kind of nod you give when someone hands you a parachute and says, you’re jumping now.

I smile at him. “Feel better?”

He clears his throat, and it’s like he’s rebooting in real time. “Well, um… ghosts.” His tone shifts, slipping into what I suspect is his comfort zone: pure academic lecture mode. “The belief in ghosts is deeply rooted in human history, spanning cultures and civilizations for thousands of years. For example, the ancient Egyptians believed in the ka, the soul, which stayed connected to the body after death—hence, mummification. Similarly, in Greek mythology, spirits, or shades, resided in the underworld but could occasionally wander the mortal realm if disturbed.”

I blink at him, genuinely impressed. “Wow. That’s… actually fascinating. How do you know all that?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read up to 20,000 words per minute.”

I stare at him, deadpan. “Okay, that is harder to believe than me being a ghost.”

He sighs, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in… all of this, I never even asked your name.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a little laugh. “And for the record, it’s nice to… coexist with you. So, uh, are you the tenant of my home, or am I the tenant of yours?”

That earns me a small, tentative smile from him, the first real one I’ve seen. “How about we just say we’re roommates for now?”

I chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “Roomies it is, Spencer.”

“Cool.” He says it with a nod like he’s trying the word out for the first time, and it’s paired with a shy smile that feels surprisingly genuine. “Roomies.”

FEBRUARY 13, 2007

Being “roomies” with Spencer isn’t what I expected at all. I thought it'd be a relief when I found out about his job—hunting serial criminals with his team, including Derek and Emily. I wouldn’t have to worry about being a constant bother since he’d be out on cases, gone for days or weeks at a time. But what I didn’t anticipate was this hollow ache, this new kind of loneliness creeping in.

With Rachel, there was a rhythm to our days. A routine. Something grounding that kept me tethered to whatever semblance of stability a ghost can have. But Spencer? Spencer is chaos wrapped in quiet. He comes home with the weight of the world on his shoulders and disappears into his room, leaving me to drift through the empty spaces he leaves behind.

Sometimes, he’s so silent it unnerves me. He’ll come through the door after a long trip, his face drawn, and I’ll sit there, helpless, unsure if I should say something or just… vanish. What could I possibly do to help? I don’t know him well enough to give him meaningful advice. I can’t offer something as simple as a hug or even a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

But I watch him. I’ve learned his habits. The way he quietly checks on me as if I’m a lost pet instead of the spectral figure on his couch. The nights when he’s too tired to make it to bed, passing out on the couch instead. I’ll sit near him for a bit, just in case he wakes up from a nightmare. Watching over him makes me feel… useful, even if I can’t do much.

One night, I finally could.

It was after a case in Georgia. The night before he left, he’d been out drinking with his team, laughing and light in a way I hadn’t seen before. When he returned to grab his go-bag, there was a slight buzz to him—a looseness in his step and a rare smile. But he was gone within minutes, off to chase the darkness again.

When he came back a week later, he wasn’t the same.

The moment he walked through the door, I knew something was wrong. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction like he’d been clawing at it. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool air. His hands trembled as he locked the door—so slight, anyone else might’ve missed it. But I noticed.

“Hi,” I offered softly from the couch, not bothering with the usual pleasantries like How was the case? That felt pointless—or worse, like it might set him off.

He glanced at me briefly before his eyes darted away. “Hey,” he mumbled, his voice distant, hollow. He crossed the room to his bedroom door, hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m going to bed.” And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t even bother turning on the light for anything.

At around three in the morning, I heard it. Muffled groans that turned into sharp cries, then full-throated shouts. It was a raw, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. I rushed into his room, instinct taking over.

“Spencer!” I called, shaking his arm as gently as I could. My fingers brushed against his sweat-drenched skin, and I held on tighter, desperate to pull him out of whatever hell he was trapped in.

He woke with a gasp, his eyes wide and wild. For a moment, he didn’t even seem to see me. Then his gaze focused, softening just slightly. But then he noticed my hands on his arms and recoiled, shaking me off like I burned him.

“Why are you touching me?” he demanded, his voice sharp and panicked. “How are you touching me?”

I blinked, just as shocked as he was. “I—I’m not sure. But you were having a nightmare, and I just… I wanted to help.”

His expression hardened. “I didn’t need help. I would’ve woken up and assessed my situation on my own.” He sat up straighter, his tone clipped. “You can go now.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. “No. Spencer, what happened to you? You were hurt, weren’t you?”

His laugh was bitter, cold. “I just left hell. I’m not interested in taking a guided tour back.”

I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen this before—the trembling hands, the sheen of sweat, the distant, unfocused gaze. I’d been around enough parties, enough people experimenting with everything from weed to molly to coke, to recognize the signs.

“What were you given?” I asked, my voice firm.

His jaw tightened. “Basically drugstore heroin,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

He’s addicted. Probably became dependent on it during the entire situation, which means he had to have been administered it regularly, given the shit that gets you hooked after just one time. There was no way he hadn’t went out and got more. That was a craving that he hadn’t killed yet. Couldn’t kill. Not on his own. I sighed, my heart sinking. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I’m not telling you,” he snapped, glaring at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Spencer, I think I can touch things now, sort of. I’ll find it if I have to.”

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. “I need it,” he whispered.

His confession hit me harder than I expected. “Why?”

“Because he was right,” Spencer said, his voice trembling. “It makes everything quiet. And for someone like me, a little silence is…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “It’s more than appreciated.”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tell him what he should do, why drugs are bad, and why addiction kills. “Okay. I get it. But it’s not an excuse.” I paused, searching his face. “It’s in the safe, isn’t it?”

His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

JUNE 28, 2008

Dark as it may have been, Spencer’s struggle had given me something I hadn’t felt in years—a purpose. That first night, there was fighting, crying, and, strangely enough, an ice cube or two. It was chaotic and raw, but it gave me something to hold onto. The following week was the same—a tense repetition of stubborn refusals and quiet breakdowns. But the week after? That’s when I noticed changes—not just in him, but in me.

I discovered I could interact with the physical world in ways I hadn’t been able to before. I could cook, organize, and even leave the apartment… well, sort of. My first attempt ended with me walking face-first into an invisible wall about twenty feet from the building’s exits. Still, it was progress. It was proof I wasn’t entirely stuck.

A year later, Spencer doesn’t like to talk about that time. To him, it’s a chapter better left in the past—something he’s learned from, something that shaped him, but not a story he’s eager to tell. His team knows, though. Hotch and Morgan make sure the hospital staff know not to administer narcotics if he’s ever injured. It’s a silent understanding among them, a protective measure born from experience.

When it does come up, Spencer is quick to deflect. If someone brings it up, he’ll steer the conversation into safer, stranger territory. Like the first time Penelope Garcia accidentally mentioned it. Without missing a beat, Spencer quipped, “Yes, but want to know something crazier? I’m roommates with a ghost.”

And that’s how Penelope Garcia ended up in our apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, I knew this wasn’t going to be a normal visit. Penelope was an explosion of energy and curiosity, her eyes immediately darting around the apartment, taking in every detail. And there was a lot to take in.

The space had evolved since Spencer first moved in. Back then, it was sparse, bachelor-esque—a couch, a coffee table, and not much else. But throughout the year, I’d filled it with touches of personality. A corner plant stand I’d built during one of Spencer’s longer cases A display shelf for mugs that had started as a simple project but quickly became a labor of love. And my favorite addition—a gallery wall anchored by a soft loveseat I’d claimed as my corner. I had to beg him to buy all the wood from Home Depot, a place I knew he had no interest of ever visiting. But the apartment had character now, a warmth that said: Someone lives here. And maybe someone else… doesn’t.

Penelope was enchanted. “Oh my God, look at this place! Spencer, this is so gorgeous! How could you even live here? You’re such a little nerd.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as he took her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. “It’s a long story,” he muttered.

It was then that I stepped into the living room, my footsteps light but enough to draw her attention. Penelope’s head whipped around, her eyes widening as she spotted me.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and awe. “You’re beautiful!”

I blinked in shock. “Wait—you can see me already?”

She tilted her head, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh, are you not usually visible to the mortal eye? Is this like a Beetlejuice thing, where only the chosen one can see you?”

I shook my head, still trying to process. “Not exactly. Spencer could see me right away, but Emily and Derek couldn’t. How… how can you?”

Penelope tapped her chin, thinking for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across her face. “I must be special,” she said with a playful shrug.

Spencer groaned from behind her. “Oh no. Don’t feed into this.”

Penelope grinned, spinning to face him. “Feed into what? Spencer, you’re living with a ghost, and not just any ghost—a gorgeous, articulate ghost! I demand details. Right now.”

[januaryembrs]

JUST A THEORY | Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: congratulations on 2k!!! you deserve that and so much more your writing is incredible! 🥳🥳🥳 if I could jump in with a request could I ask for a Spencer x reader fic where the reader is a journalist/reporter looking into a case as well and they cross paths? I think the tension and bickering would be so fun

Description: There's something about that agent Jennifer brought along with her that pushes every single one of your buttons

Length: 1.6k

warnings: general cm violence, probably not em's best work

“You know this could be considered obstructing a federal investigation,” Spencer huffed, trying to look over your shoulder where you skimmed the book in your hands with meticulous eyes. You ignored him, continuing to read the information despite feeling his burning glare in the back of your head, his breath on your neck as he shadowed your figure around the building. 

“You know the best part about a public library, Doctor Reid? It’s public,” You drawled back, your eyes never ripping from the page except to make a few notes of some key information for your article, “Which means I have every right to be in here just as much as you do,”

You heard him run a hand over his face and tried not to smirk at how easy he was to agitate. You’d heard a lot about the BAU, almost every criminology based paper in Virginia had, and so it wasn’t too surprising to meet the brains behind the reputation when three women had been murdered in the FBI’s home town. Every press association that was worth their money was all over the story, ‘How could this have happened so close to the capital in a city crawling with agents?’, which made your job just that bit more competitive and taxing. 

Yet luckily for you, you knew exactly where to go snooping for answers. It just so happened, the BAU’s resident genius did too.

“I guarantee it would be easier for both of us if you just give me the book first. I can read ten times faster than you,” He snipped, still a pup at your heels where you wandered through the aisles of non-fiction, the white lettering hanging above the shelves spelling PSYCHOLOGY. You rolled your eyes at his persistence, ignoring his attitude as you rounded the corner at the end of the row and looped back to where you’d picked up the book, the man still over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to talk in libraries?” You hissed back, flicking the page over and hearing his footsteps move in tandem with your own, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” 

You hid a grin, hearing him pause at that, remembering the first day you’d been assigned the story. 

It started only a week ago. The newest victim had been found in the woods, stabbed seven times the same as the other two, her entire body washed in strong bleach, her hair and nails trimmed and ears even swabbed clean. You’d managed to get five minutes to sit with her parents, your pen and trusted notebook at the ready. 

“Why don’t you tell me about what Clara was like as a kid?” You said softly, eyes comforting and calm as you spoke over coffee that was quickly going cold. But you didn’t care. 

You didn’t do this part for ‘the story’. At least not the end of the story, the gory bits and pieces that the other news anchors focused on, how the women were brutalised and beaten, changed by a murderer until they looked unrecognisable. You didn’t like to focus on that, because that wasn’t who the victims were. 

You wanted to tell their story. Who they were before something awful happened to them. 

“She loved to dance,” Clara’s mother, Gwen, sniffled, her cheeks sodden with salted tears. Her voice quivered, croaked like it begged not to be used, but the saddest smile spread on her face when she said it, her husband’s hands clasped tightly in her own, “She used to ask to wear her leotard to bed; we couldn't get that thing off her,” 

You smiled, eyes falling to the pictures the parents had spread across the table in their haste to find the best one for the missing posters. Gwen seemed to follow your eyeline and grabbed one in particular, handing it over to you, gently thumbing the edges like that too might disappear. A little girl, black hair as silken as fresh ink stared back at you, her hands poised delicately above her head like the professional ballerina’s you'd seen on TV, her feet laced into pink pumps. The way she should be remembered, not the images you’d seen of her at the crime scene. 

You opened your mouth to speak again when two agents entered the room. Jennifer Jareau, who you’d worked with on multiple stories like this one to give the families the empathy they deserved, smiled at you civilly, somewhat guilty knowing she was stepping on your toes. Beside her stood a taller man in a matching FBI jacket, his hazelnut curls falling over his frown. 

“Mr and Mrs Townsen,” He addressed the couple solemnly, who looked up at him through red rimmed eyes, their sockets sallow and empty, “We need to ask you a few questions about the last few days you saw Clara before she went missing,”

He flashed his credentials in his right hand, long enough for them to see it was real, and looked to you with a stern stare. 

The couple glanced back to you, the picture still grasped tightly in your fingers, as you flicked a tight look between Jennifer and the new agent carefully. 

“Just one moment,” You told the grieving parents softly, handing the picture back to Gwen, standing to move to one side with the analysts, immediately turning towards Jennifer with confusion, “I thought you said I had until twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important,” The liaison said cordially, the two of you somewhat acquaintances after emailing back and forth for so long. She liked that you didn’t see the bodies as dollar signs, and you liked that she wanted the same as you; to tell the victims stories the way they should be told. 

Sighing, you wrapped up your notepad, delicately pushing the pen through the wire spine. “Can I get an interview with the second family at least? Daily Press was all over that story, and they made an absolute joke of it,” 

“That’s a little hypocritical of you,” The other agent piped up, and your head snapped to him. Eyes roving over his figure, brows furrowing when you realised what he’d said. You looked back to his face in annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You snipped, crossing your arms over your chest, your notepad brushing against your ribs. 

“I’m just saying, you all get paid for what you write, so it's just as exploitive to write about the victims than it is to write about the crimes,” He shrugged, eyes narrowing when you shifted your weight onto your other foot and raised a brow at him. 

“Unlike you,” Your gaze fell to his badge he still had to hand, “Doctor Reid, I see those women as real people, not just little pictures on a white board. They’re not just dead girls to me, and they’re certainly not just money grabs,” 

Spencer went to retaliate again before JJ put a hand on both your elbows, drawing the attention away from your little spat. 

“We can talk about this later, right now we have an UnSub on the loose that is quickly devolving,” She chided the two of you like you were school children, and you sighed, biting your cheek to stop yourself from snapping back at the man. 

“What does that mean?” You asked quietly, well aware of the grieving parents sitting little more than a few yards from where you stood bickering. 

“It means you’re going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” Spencer cleared, pushing past your shoulder as he went to sit with the Townsens, his eyes swirling into something new and kind and reassuring as he looked at them, a Jekyll and Hyde to the hostility he had towards you. 

You could only suck your teeth in annoyance, before Jennifer pulled you further into the dining room to discuss rearrangements. 

Spencer blanked as he watched you skim reading the textbook, his own words thrown back in his face in an infuriatingly clever move on your part. With little more to say, knowing wit and barking orders would get him nowhere because he couldn’t exactly arrest you for not giving him public property, he resorted to begging.

“Please, give me the book,” He said, the desperation buried in his sigh, and you swivelled on your heels, a devilish grin on your face that had him fighting back an eye roll. 

“Oh, would you look at that? I’m finished,” You said, handing him the files you were reading, passing them over to him with a smirk and he found himself almost smiling at your sarcasm.

Taking the book out of your hand, he debated saying thank you, but instead bit his lip because he'd found you were somewhat incorrigible when you were getting deeper in a story. 

Turning on his heels to check out the book so he could take it back to headquarters, he stopped when you spoke, just a few decibels louder than the ‘Talk Quietly’ sign demanded. 

“Agalmatophilia,” You murmured, and he whipped a look over his shoulders where you were skimming the shelves for a second textbook, seeing as your first one had been commandeered, “The sexual attraction to dolls and mannequins. I know you guys speculated he has some form of OCD but I think it's Agalmatophilia,” You said, drawing a book off the shelf without really looking up to where his brow furrowed in familiarity with the word. He glanced at you then, and you flicked open the page of contents, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your head, muttering under your breath absent-mindedly, “Just a theory,” 

You’d shut him up the entire way back to headquarters.