#i love spencer reid

[awordsmith]

my man my man my man

[le0ni318]

this girlfriend shit is easy. i just ate chinese food with my boyfriend and i used the classic "did you know that experts credit Confucius with the advent of the chopstick? he equated knives with acts of aggression ☝️🤓," and he was so impressed. thank you Spencer Reid

[yourlocalravendork]

✭Garcia and Morgan's matchmaking service✭

Spencer x Fem!reader

AN: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins undercover challenge. It is also another story in the accidental date series (this is the only one with a Fem! Reader, the rest are gn) however can be read as a one shot and is loosely inspired by the episode Snake Eyes because gambler Reid, need I say more? I definitely got a bit carried away writing so it's a long one.

Part 1 2 3

CW: mentions of gambling, heavy themes of religion, cannon typical violence, autistic coded Spencer (because I headcanon him as on the spectrum)

Promt: “I’m just acting.” / “Oh? So you can make your heart race on command?”

It started as an isolated incident, as all killings did. A call girl and a gambler dead in a hotel over in Palm Springs, California. The girl was laid out on the bed, blankets as makeshift wings and arms crossed over her front. The gambler? A bloody pile of limbs with the words 'Temptation' scored into his arm. Then again, only in a different hotel. And again. And by the fourth victim, the BAU was called in.

"Here's the rundown my crime fighting cuties," Penelope said, bringing up the photos of the latest victims, "Henry Heart and Vanessa Anderson were found dead in Henry's hotel room in Palm Springs." With a press of a button, the screen changed. Gone were the victim's smiling faces, replaced with the gory scene of the crime. This was the usual for you. Gory scenes and the darkest corners of the human psyche. "And the cherry on this disgusting cake is the fact that this has happened to six other people, all in the same set up. A call girl and a gambler. The girls all laid to rest, the men with 'Temptation' carved in their arm. All kinds of yuck," Penelope said with a small shiver. "The women being laid to rest could be a sign of remorse," Derek offered. Spencer went to open his mouth to talk but you were one step ahead of him. "The blankets almost look like angel wings, that could be symbolic of the unsub thinking they were pure, hence the men being labeled as temptations." Spencer couldn't help but smile like a lovesick fool as you spoke. Of course, he always appreciated your inputs, but after the past few months, he found himself appreciating them more, watching the way your lips moved to form words. "But they weren't exactly pure," Emily countered, "They were call girls. I don't know about you, but that profession isn't exactly the most pure out there." "We could be looking at a woman unsub. Seeing the women as victims of circumstance and blaming the men for them being in that position," JJ shrugged. "Whatever it is, we need to get to California. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, dismissing the room.

Spencer was hobbling back to his desk, still on crutches from his gunshot injury. His physio therapist said he was getting on well. So well that he was allowed back on the jet. Sure, he wasn't involved in any of the take downs, but at least he could work in the local PD. "Hey, Spence," you smiled, catching up to him, "You need a hand with your to go bag?" What the two of you had, Spencer wasn't entirely sure what it was. You'd been on two dates, well one official and one accidental, yet neither of you had really talked about the feelings that were there for each other. "Uh, yeah, that would help… That would help a lot," Spencer said, trying not to stutter and stumble over his words. Another soft smile directed to Spencer from you. One more and Spencer was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest. "It's just under my desk," Spencer pointed with his crutch. As you bent down to grab it, Spencer awkwardly averted his gaze. He didn't say it so he could see that. Truthfully, if he was thinking it through, he would've insisted that he could've done it. But it was that damn smile of yours. You grabbed it and sprung back up with a smile. "Ready to go?" you asked, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Y… Yeah," he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Casinos, huh, pretty boy will be right at home then," Derek teased once they were in the air. This was inevitable. It seemed every case that involved gambling, casinos or Vegas, Spencer would be subjected to the teasings of his coworkers. He'd grow accustomed to it now. "Very funny, Morgan," Spencer rolled his eyes. Before Derek had a chance to reply, Hotch's usual authoritve tone cut across the jet cabin. "Reid might prove to be a valuable asset in this case." "Right my fine feathered friends," Garcia's voice filled the speakers, "I have sent everything I have found on your victims to your tablets. We have our Henry and Vanessa. Henry was divorced and decided to spend his prenup on a little gambling trip and Vanessa had been working as a call girl for three years and lived alone. Then we had Oscar and Ella. Oscar was on his bachelor trip and was supposed to get married last week and Ella, similar story to Vanessa, living alone and working as a call girl for three years. In fact, it's the same story for all the call girls. Then the other two victims were James and Michael. James was married and his wife didn't even know that he was in Palm Springs and Michael was halfway through a rather messy divorce." The team mulled over the information. There was a connection between all the male victims, marriage. That was definitely something to take into consideration. "It's not just me who sees the whole marriage connection?" Emily said, looking up from her tablet. There was a mumble of agreement from the rest of the team. "That does seem to be the only real connection these victims have. I think it would be wise to follow that lead. Derek and Emily will go and speak to Henry's ex wife, JJ, Rossi and I will go to the latest crime scene, and you two can start working on the geographic profile." Hotch dished out roles and you couldn't help but smile at Spencer. Just the two of you in the local PD, pouring over maps. You'd be lying if you said you weren't happy with that.

After initial introductions, you and Spencer were getting settled, finding maps and colour coding certain areas. "The hotels are all in a comfortable distance," you observed, noting the proximity of the crime scenes. "However the unsub definitely has a vehicle. That's just too far to walk and still have the energy to kill someone," Spencer pointed out. You hummed in agreement. "It's rather funny that I'm working the geographic profile with you, considering my dislike for geography," You said with a soft laugh, placing a pushpin in the map, marking a potential next dumpsite, "I've always been more partial to history." With that, Spencer perked up. History? He loved history. "What's your favourite era?" he asked before being interrupted by a local police officer. There went a potential bonding experience.

The case was dragging on. It was late, far too late and the team was surviving on shitty coffee and fast food. Henry's ex wife wasn't much help. She didn't want anything to do with him so that was a dead end. It wasn't like they could follow up with Vanessa either. Hence why the team was sat, half asleep at the table, wishing for a lead. "Get some sleep everyone," Hotch said, a tired tone in his voice, "You two can go to the casino tomorrow, see if anyone saw them leaving." Hotch pointed to Spencer and you. That would be nice.

The next morning, the two of you were heading down to the SUV, a spring in your step. There was no reason for it, but something just felt right today. The two of you climbed in and you made sure that Spencer was alright with his knee brace. "You're not going to get us kicked out, are you?" you teased, poking fun at the fact he was banned from all of the casinos in Las Vegas. "You're just as bad as Morgan, you know," Spencer quipped back with a soft laugh. "Come on, Spence, you can't expect us to work a case in a casino and us not poke fun at the fact you're a Vegas boy." That earned a weak eyeroll from him. You could see he didn't really mind.

As you were driving, you could see Spencer subtly grabbing at the handle above the door. You weren't that bad at driving but Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Mentally, he was doing all the stopping distance calculations, seeing if you guys would be safe. You had to admit, it was endearing. Reaching over, you patted his thigh, "Relax, genius, I'm not going to get us killed." Your laugh echoed through the car but all Spencer could focus on was the section of this thigh that felt like it was on fire. He hadn't expected that. Your hand, his thigh. He was a grown man for Christ's sake, he shouldn't be getting this flustered.

Spencer hobbled in after you, the familiar sounds of slot machines and the eyesore of a carpet overstimulated the young genius, yet he prevailed. "Lookie, lookie, you two feeling lucky? Wanna expand your fortune?" a voice asked, emerging from the rows of flashing machines. "We're FBI," You said, pulling out your badges, "We wanted to ask if we could have a look at your security footage from a few nights ago." "Well, she's got you on a tight leash, has to she?" the man said, only paying attention to Spencer, "Or are you one of those lads that like being bossed around?" You could feel your blood boiling at the disrespect. You'd never liked casinos, this owner was only giving you a further reason to hate them. Trying to get a word in, the owner held a hand to your lips, "Let the wounded puppy talk," he said, a sarcastically sweet smile on his lips. The audacity of this man. It was clear he wasn't going to speak with you. "I'm Dr Spencer Reid, like my partner said, we're with the FBI. There was a couple that was killed in the hotel across the road and we just wanted to look through your security footage to see if we could gather any information," Spencer explained, trying not to stutter. It was clear he was far from impressed with this man's attitude. "Yeah, I heard about that. Real shame really. She was pretty too, brought in quite a few regulars even," the owner said with a shake of his head, "This way then, agents."

There was something off with the casino owner. He was just slimy. Openly sexist, dodgy dealing and so condescending. Spencer had an almost instantaneous disliking towards him. The office where they kept their security footage was small and dingy. It was awful. Spencer could barely fit with his crutches. But you two squeezed in together. Spencer tried to ignore how close you were to him, how your arm was brushing against his, how the desk chairs were so close together you might as well sat on his lap. God he felt like a schoolboy with a crush all over again. After sifting through hours of footage, you couldn't exactly see anything. It was a busy night and most people were focusing solely on their winnings. You let out a small groan after the footage ended. Yet another dead end.

When you explained it to Hotch, he was just as frustrated as the two of you. This killer was good, that much was clear. It was yet another night of shitty coffee and fast food when Emily suggested an idea. "How about we go undercover at some nearby casinos. I mean, Reid has figured out an area of comfort, him and I could go to one and Derek could go with you to another," Emily suggested. Hotch seemed to be debating on that idea. Undercover. It wasn't something they usually did, but if it would help draw out the unsub then they had to play their cards right. "How about I go with Emily?" Derek suggested, his usual tomcat smirk appearing. Spencer knew what he was doing. Setting him up to go off with you. Spencer wasn't sure if he wanted to throttle or thank Derek. Having you dress as a call girl, draping over him like a blanket most of the night. It was a dream come true. If it wasn't for work. Instead it would just be a nightmare. "I can't go into the field, I'm on crutches," Spencer protested. "You can have a cane. Looking like one of those really high class gamblers," JJ suggested. That earned a murmur of agreement from the team. You were one of the few that were quite. You too weren't sure if you wanted to throttle or thank Derek, although you were leaning more on the throttle side. "Then it's settled then," Hotch nodded, "Morgan and Prentiss, you take this casino, you two take the other," he added, pointing to the map. You and Spencer had the more high end casino, meaning the both of you would be dressed to the nines.

"Do I have to wear this?" you complained from the bathroom stall, pulling up the dress Garcia had sent over to you. Of course, the local PD didn't exactly have a proper changing room, therefore you and Emily were getting ready in the bathroom of the precinct. Not exactly glamorous, but you had to work with what you had. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad," JJ chuckled with a soft shake of her head. Opening the bathroom door, you stood there, a slightly disgruntled look on your face. The dress you were wearing was stunning. Tight with a slit at the leg and it was strapless. Something that would definitely turn heads. The attention you would draw to yourself was something you were already dreading. "I feel stupid," you huffed, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Emily came out of her stall, not complaining at all. She seemed to be getting into this role effortlessly. "You look stunning," Emily pointed out, heading over to the mirror to do her makeup.

Spencer felt so out of place changing into his suit. It was too tailored for his liking. He'd much prefer the comfort of his cardigans. "Are suits always this itchy?" Spencer complained to Derek. That earned him a laugh, which, in turn, earnt an eyeroll from Spencer. "I'm being serious. It's like a sensory overload in this thing." "Kid, relax," Derek said with a soft chuckle. He walked over and fixed the lapels on Spencer's suit. At the proximity, Derek could see the worry and stress in Spencer's eyes. Telling him to relax just wasn't going to work. "How can I relax? The label of my shirt is itching the back of my neck and I'm going undercover. I shouldn't even be in the field," Spencer began to ramble. Derek put his hands on Spencer's shoulders to stop him from getting to much into his own head. "Hey, pretty boy, this isn't all about the suit, is it?" Derek asked, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean, partly it is because have you felt how uncomfortable this suit jacket is? It's like I can feel every fiber personally annoying every skin cell," Spencer continued to press. "It's because you're paired up with-" Before Derek could finish the sentence, Spencer cut him off. "Where would you… No… You're making things up," Spencer stuttered, his voice raising a few octaves. That only confirmed Derek's theory. "Why do you think I offered you and them up?" Derek chuckled. So Spencer was right. This was Derek's plan all along. "I'm going to kill you," Spencer mumbled. "Oh you can, pretty boy," Derek smirked, "After we catch this unsub."

Spencer was still fiddling with his suit, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. His crutch was  replaced by a rather expensive looking cane and his suit looked far too expensive than normal. He was not ready for how stunning you looked. It was like his breath was taken from his lungs. "I don't like it," you mumbled and your voice snapped Spencer out of his trance. "What?" Spencer asked, trying to hide the disbelief in his voice. Spencer definitely liked it. It was far from your usual style, but you still looked beautiful. "It's too…" You pause for a second, trying to find the right word, "Flashy." You kept pulling at the dress, trying to make it more modest. That was mission impossible. "Damn, mama," Derek smirked, clearly amused at how out of your element you were. "Can it, Morgan," you retorted, "Lets just get this over and done with."

The casino was filled with bright lights and loud noises. Pair that with the suit he was wearing, Spencer felt like he was in his own personal hell. Sure, he'd grown up in Vegas, sure, he'd been banned from every casino there, but this? This was horrendous. He could physically feel the pressure mounting on him. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to stay on alert.

He took a seat at one of the poker tables. You were on the other side of the casino, draping over some random man. Spencer had to quell the jealousy in his stomach when he saw you acting so seductive so effortlessly, but with someone else. You were just doing your job. Spencer, predictably, was winning hand after hand. Straights, flushes, all because of the card counting. Of course, he had to throw a few games. Make it seem more believable. But other than that, it was fun for him. Just doing math and winning. He made sure to make a few jokes about the divorce mentioned in his cover story, loud enough for the potential unsub to hear.

"Hey honey," you mumbled loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, "You're on quite the hot streak." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, effortlessly leaning into him. You looked every bit the call girl. Spencer could feel his heart beat spike. This wasn't the same as your shy touches. No, this was more intense. "You alright?" you whispered into Spencer's ear. "Yeah, I'm just acting," Spencer whispered back. It was good. It was really selling the gambling and call girl facade. "Oh, so you can make your heart race on command?" you teased with a natural playful smirk. This was far from the usual anxious version of you. This was a side Spencer had never seen before.

After a few hours, you'd realised you were being watched. The unsub wasn't moving though. If you were to draw him out, the two of you had to move. "Spence, win this round then we'll make it look like we're going to the hotel across the street. We're being watched," You whispered, watching his cards in his hand. You weren't superstitious, but you couldn't help but feel sick at the sight of the ace of spades. The dead man's card. Your arm remained draped around Spencer as he excused himself from the table. As you two made your way out to the front of the casino, the unsub began to follow the two of you.

In the hotel room, that's where you'd decided to catch the unsub. So the two of you were pacing, waiting for the unsub. A knock on the door stopped you in your tracks. "Room service," a man's voice called out. Spencer and you shared a look. You walked over to Spencer, ruffling his hair and clothes, before doing the same to yourself and smearing your lipstick so it looked like the unsub had caught you two in a heated moment. Then, taking a deep breath, you opened the door. There stood a man. He had a crazed look in his eyes and within an instant you clocked him as the man watching the two of you in the casino. "You poor angel," he started, no introductions, just straight up caressing your face, "Look what these men do to you. They taint you. You are pure, you know you are. It is the filth that is the problem. Don't you worry, oh don't you worry you sweet angel, God will welcome you back with open arms." You were immediately uncomfortable with how much he was touching you. Brushing hair out of your face, treating you like a doll. Spencer felt a pang of jealousy but was forced to ignore it. The two of you were in potential danger. "Hotch, we need back up," Spencer mumbled into his earpiece, quiet enough so the unsub didn't hear him. "As for him," the unsub pointed a finger over at Spencer, "He was sinned. He will pay. The good Lord will turn him away from the pearly gates and he will suffer for the sins he has committed. He is temptation, leading good women like you away from the path of God. First getting a divorce, separating a holy union as if it was nothing, and now this. Tempting you like the snake tempted Eve." He grabbed you and started leading you over to the bed. After he'd sat you down there, he pulled out a carrier bag, no doubt planning on suffocating you, giving you the less gruesome death. Spencer wasted no time drawing his gun. "Put the bag down and step away." There was a sense of authority in his voice which was rare. You were just counting down the minutes until backup showed up. "What? Are you going to add murder to your list of sins too?" the unsub taunted. At that brief distraction, you swung one of your legs to sweep the unsub's and watched him crumble to the floor. You rested a heeled foot on him, stiletto pressing down just enough to feel discomfort. The unsub reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife then proceeded to attempt to slash at your leg. "You harlot! You're just as bad as he is," the unsub taunted. "FBI, drop the weapon." The familiar sound of Hotch's voice was a relief. The unsub froze, almost as if unsure what to do. With this newfound opening, you kicked the knife out of his hands and away from him. Hotch walked over and pulled the unsub off the ground, putting cuffs on him as the unsub cried out threats and warnings. "The good Lord will make you pay. You will all pay for your sins when you are burning in hell."

On the plane ride home, you were quiet. Everyone else was asleep, aside from Hotch. Naturally he was doing paperwork. You stared out of the jet window, a contemplative look on your face. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn't even notice that Spencer had taken a seat opposite you. "You looked nice this mission," Spencer mumbled, as if unsure to actually say it. There it was, the endearing awkwardness you'd fallen for. "Thank you. Although I'm sure it was all a set up on Penelope and Derek's side," You said with a soft laugh. "How so?" Spencer asked, cocking his head. "Well, Derek practically insisted that I was to be partnered with you and Penelope sent in a dress she said I would look stunning in, despite there being plenty of shops nearby to buy my own dress. It's like they were trying to set us up." It was clear now to Spencer that was the plan. God, he was going to kill Derek. However, he had to respect how smart the plan was. So maybe he'd have to begrudgingly thank him. You let out a small yawn and Spencer was snapped out of his haze. "You tired?" Spencer asked, his voice taking on a softer tone. "A little," You nodded. With that, Spencer got up and walked over to sit next to you. He wasn't sure where this bout of confidence came from but he was about to cash in on it. "Then sleep," Spencer offered. It didn't take you too long to rest your head on his shoulder and drop off to sleep. As Spencer looked down at you, he smiled softly. Inside, he was freaking out. You were asleep on his shoulder. It felt like the best day ever. From across the jet cabin, Derek just watched with a proud smile on his face, already planning on debriefing Penelope on how well their plan went.

[beatopia444]

stun gun just in case i'm in trouble | spencer reid

pairing: spencer read × hot!diva!reader

masterlist

summary: spencer and the team arrive to catch the unsub before he gets another victim, but when they arrive, they find him already down. and it looks like the girl who took him down had taken a liking to a certain doctor.

word count: 1.3k

author's note: inspiration by yummy by ayesha erotica. "big purse with that rhinestone buckle, keep a pink stun gun just in case i'm in trouble." there will be a part 2 because i love writing divas. this character is inspired by my friends too bc i love their style :P i also love the nerdy bf × hot gf trope!!!!

You always knew that as a young woman living alone in her twenties, you would be somewhat of a target for a deranged criminal. Like any other woman, you took precautions in the form of self defense devices and kept it close to you. A small grocery run turned into a nightmare.

Now there you stood, breathing heavily from the adrenaline as you watched a man spasm on the ground. A hot pink stun gun in your left hand and your large black leather purse in the other. Your expensive sunglasses were thrown on the ground, along with your brown paper bag full of box cake mix, frosting, sprinkles and a can whipped cream. All you wanted was to bake a red velvet cake and decorate it for your day off, but of course you couldn't have a normal day.

The man was having a muscle spasms due to the electric shock of your stun gun and the right side of his face was both red from the swelling and red from the cut that was created when you smacked him across the face with your bag. Your bag was heavy, leather, had many keychains, and also had a large rhinestone buckle that would most definitely hurt if used as a weapon.

The police sirens got louder as it approached the street you were on but it didn't connect in your head just what they were responding to since you hadn't called them.

"Just how much crime is in this city?" you questioned, but immediately stopped once you saw that the bright red and blue lights on top of the car had stopped right by you. A large group of men in uniform hurriedly exited the car and went towards the men on the ground who was now groaning in pain.

That's when you saw him. A man's chest came into your line of vision, separating your eyes from the man who tried to attack you. An FBI vest. You trailed your eyes up and felt yourself biting back a smile. Wow. Tall, brunette, with the nicest eyes looking at you with such concern.

"Miss-"

If only the criminal didn't interupt your cute moment. From the floor, the large man spat towards your direction, "Fuck you, woman!"

Both you and the man in the FBI vest looked at his way. The cop pushed his head down. You scoffed, crossing your arms, "Screw you too, man?" it sounded more like a question because you were taken aback by the sheer audacity for him to curse you out when his own actions led to this situations.

You directed your attention back to the cutie right in front of you with a polite smile. "Hi."

You mentally thank yourself for putting some sort of effort in going out that morning. You always imagined a sort of meet cute with an attractive guy and although these weren't the ideal circumstances, you'll make it work. He wouldn't catch you in your homeless outfit that day.

"Hi. I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, are you alright?"

You told him your name, "Better now that you're here."

Spencer felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he ignored your little comment and continued his assessment. "Are you injured anywhere?"

"Only my heart if I don't get your number." he let out a small chuckle at your rather bold statement, "but other than that, I'm fine."

You watched as his brain nervously collected it's thoughts, trying to form whay he should say to you next. Lucky for him, he was saved by his older colleague. An older man appeared beside him, wearing an FBI vest.

"Miss?" you directed your attention towards him with a small hum, "I'm Agent Hotchner. Can you tell us a little about what had happened with the unsub?"

"The unsub?" you questioned the unfamiliar term. Was this a new acronym online that you weren't familiar with?

"Unknown subject." Spencer chimed in, "used for an unidentified criminal. In other words, the man you just maimed."

"Oh sure. Well, I was walking out that store a few blocks down and all of a sudden, that man just jumped outside the alleyway and stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He kept looking directly at me and seemed, sparatic in a way. I tried to move out the way but he mirrored my movements like he was blocking me."

You retold the story with such an expressive face and hand gestures and Spencer found himself utterly enticed with every single word that came out your mouth as you recapped what had happened.

"So of course, I politely asked him to move out the way. And that's when he pounced at me like a disfigured leopard with its prey." Spencer held back a laugh as you imitated claws slightly pouncing with a disgusted face. He took notice of the nail art on your nails too that had leopard print with various charms. "We tussled a bit and I hit him across the face with my bag then I tazed him with my stun gun."

You realized your hot pink stun gun was in your hand and brought it up to show them. Turning it on for a few seconds to show them the electricity before tucking it back into the safety of your large bag.

Your bag made sound with every small movement due to all the keychains on it. Spencer took note of the little red lightsaber keychain and smiled when he realized where it was from.

"Thank you." Hotchner stated, "It's a good thing that you were carrying that."

"Always." you responded and Hotchner had walked away, leaving you with Spencer who has spotted your items that were sprawled out on the ground.

"Let me help you." Spencer immediately stated and went to the concrete floor in order to gather the things that spilled out your bag from the altercation. He finished gathering your few groceries and put them inside the paper bag before grabbing your sunglasses too and politely handing them over.

"Thank you." Your manicured fingers grazed his hand as you took your items. Spencer looked down at how slowly you took your things, leaving your hand to linger on his.

"A-are you baking a cake for dessert or something?" he stammered.

"More like breakfast--- but aren't you a bit young to be a doctor?"

"Perks of having an eidetic memory. I graduated high school early and have three PHDs in math, chemistry and engineering."

"How impressive. Cute and smart." you praised.

He paused for a second, "thank you."

"So Doctor. Do you also have a PHD in women or do you just not want my number?" you turned your head slightly to the right as you watched his reaction. He was exactly your type. With every word he seemed to get more perfect. Tall, brunette and nerdy. How you loved men like that. Who would've known that this nightmare altercation would've led you to the man of your dreams. You would be damned if let him go.

If Spencer wasn't already stammering enough, this just sent him over the edge. You looked at him with a teasing smile and sharp eyes and he felt embrassed under your gaze.

"I-"

"Reid, we need to get going." Hotchner called out from beside the cop car. Spencer turned back to look at him and sent him a quick nod.

You opened your bag, pushing aside your stun gun, lipgloss and wallet before taking out a little notepad with a sparkly pen clipped to one of the pages. You scribbled down a series of numbers and teared out the page before gesturing for him to hold out his hand.

You took his hand and placed the little piece of paper in it before closing his fingers to keep it safe. "When you're done being superman, you should give me a call."

He couldn't hide his smile as he looked at his hand.

"You're friend is calling for you. We should both get going now, but I hope I can hear from you again."

You started to walk away and Spencer stood there frozen. He wasn't sure he ever had gotten such romantic attention from a woman as attractive as you--- both physically and personality wise. You left him utterly speechless which was a hard skill to have, especially when those around him are sick and tired of his long talks.

He watched your retreating figure and knew he couldn't let this interaction end off on a bad note. building up the courage, he raised his voice enough for you to hear, "I will!"

You glanced back over your shoulder and he caught your smile. Oh he knew he was in trouble.

[mildii]

it started out as a crush, but I fear it is now a full blown obsession. please recommend some therapists

[vee6lolz]

2:34 am .

imagine you’re dating spencer and instead of him not being able to keep his hands off you, he can’t keep his hands on you. during sex he’s always to scared to put it in because he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he substitutes by sticking his pretty little face between your thighs and cleaning your messy cunt with his tongue and running your a warm bath afterwards. on your honeymoon, you guys had p in v sex for the first time and he did not hold back. it felt so amazing, but he ended up bruising your cervix and he wouldn’t touch you for like 3 weeks afterwards. he always muttered ‘i’m sorry- i’m so sorry-’ whenever he even thought that he was going too hard inside of you, he promises to be gentle at first but the pace he goes is always too underwhelming for him so he ends up fucking the lights out of you, only to feel guilty about you being cock drunk; barely being able to form a coherent sentence. he always tells you how pretty you are afterwards, begging you to forgive him. and you love it.

[reidfilmss]

where’d my pants go 😦🧍🏼‍♀️ .

like srsly .

[l0v3-qu4rtz]

Goob-Cats ! ✧.*

Cats that remind me MMG !!

Likes and re-blawgs are appreciated :3

[spookievan]

date nights with spence <3

[april015]

spencer/mgg…. im a WHORE for you <3

[chalametlvrr]

RAIL ME RAIL ME RAIL ME RAIL ME RAIL ME RAIL ME… anyways!

[le0ni318]

i miss when this show was goofy

[yourlocalravendork]

Nerds looks out for nerds

Cw: police being dicks, reader being a total nerd, reader getting cut off mid ramble, Spencer comforting reader, vauge description of a crime scene

A/n: Spencer, especially early seasons Spencer, is literally my spirit animal. Socially awkward, rambling and a huge nerd. I'd kill to ramble to him and have him ramble to me

Flowers were left at the last crime scene. The team, naturally came to the conclusion that it was a show of remorse. They didn't think much more of it. That was until Spencer and you were sent to look at the crime scene.

The body was still there. That caused you to urge a little. Still fairly new to this job, the sight of a body still managed to illicit a nauseous reaction.

"You the FBI?" one of the local police officers asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice, "Aren't you two a little young to be in the FBI?"

"It's not like I've heard that line before," You mumble under your breath. Being young and in the FBI had its perks. However it also came with ignorant cops doubting your ability.

The two of you began your observation of the crime scene. The usual stuff. Blood, broken objects, clues just itching to be discovered. Your mind was racing, analysing every small detail. And Spencer's mind? Well, that was sorting through theories quicker than anyone could comprehend. The body was left inside the victim's house. There was a red cross on the door and flowers in the coat pocket again. It had to mean something. Something that was staring the team in the face. Mocking them. Taunting them.

"Hey, Dr Reid," you called out to him. You were aware you could just call him Reid or even Spencer, but using his honorific seemed like a show of respect to the young doctor. "What kind of flowers are these anyway?" Spencer crouched down and observed them, brow furrowing as his mind ran through the types of flowers it could be.

"There's not one kind of flower. There's multiple. In this case, they could be referred to as a posy," Spencer explained. Then it clicked.

"That's it!" you cried out, "A pocket full of posies!" You got up and rushed towards the door. The red cross, the flowers, it was all making sense.

"I want what they're on," the police officer muttered partly to Spencer.

It seemed like a tiny break in the case. The smallest break could be useful. And it felt like you'd just found it. It was a great feeling. You were practically buzzing on the ride back to the station. Spencer could sense it. He was proud of you. Impressed too. You'd managed to figure out something that was staring the team in the face based on what seemed to be a random historical fact.

"OK," you started, as you presented your findings to the local PD and the team back at the station, "When Dr Reid and I were at the scene of the crime, we looked at the flowers left. Like, really looked at them. Upon further inspection, Dr Reid discovered that they weren't just one type of flower. It was different types. It was too small to be a bouquet so that makes it a posy. Now it's the placement that's important. A pocket full of posies. Like in the nursery rhyme, ring a-ring a roses. The song, it's about the plague. They believed in miasma, bad smells-" Your ramble was cut short by a judgemental police officer.

"Your point?" he asked, a dull, bored and condescending tone laced his voice. Your lips formed a small 'o' before pressing into a thin line.

"Right, my point," you said, quieter than before. As you spoke, you were less animated. You didn't move your hands as much as you weren't as expressive. "What all that points towards is someone with an interest in history. The pocket full of posies, the red cross on the door, all link back to the plague. It also explains the weird looking figure in the security footage. Our unsub was dressed like a plague doctor. It's not out of the realm of possibility that our unsub has a deep passion in history."

After you concluded your little display, you found yourself alone in the room where the team had been working. When Spencer walked in, he could see how dejected you were. He could see himself in you. He knew what it was like to be cut off mid ramble. You were gently rocking in the spinning office chairs when Spencer took the seat next to you.

"Miasma?" Spencer asked quietly. He knew what the theory was. He just wanted you to continue your ramble. Gain your spark back.

"The theory bad smells cause disease," you said with a small nod, "It was one of the main theories of what caused the plague. Obviously now we know that wasn't true and that it was a just a theory." There was more you could've said, but you stayed quiet. You didn't need to be cut off anymore. Spencer frowned slightly. It was clear there was more you wanted to say. You couldn't exactly hide emotions from a profiler.

"So how does that link to flowers?" Spencer knew. He knew everything you were telling him but he was willing to listen. Be the ear to hear your rambles, the one he rarely had for himself.

"Well, they'd combat the bad smells with good smells. That's where a pocket full of posies comes from. They would literally carry around a pocket full of posies," You didn't stop yourself this time, you continued, adding your information as well as getting slightly more animated, "And the plague doctors would put flowers in the end of the beak part of their masks. They'd see it as protection. They actually had a lot of obscure ways to protect themselves from the plague..." You began to ramble, almost forgetting what got you down in the first place. Spencer knew all of this before hand. However he didn't say anything. He knew what it was like first hand to be cut off from a ramble about an obscure fact you found intresting. It had happened to him more times than he could count. So he just sat there, listening intently, letting you talk his ear off while you gained your spark back.

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

[theglueblog]

Isn’t he pretty?

[vee6lolz]

𝖇𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝖍𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝖇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬.

summary; after falling in love with spencer reid, you navigate the challenges that come with your relationship. While you cherish your moments together, the rough patches can be hard to ignore. One day, in an effort to find clarity, you go shopping and unexpectedly discover something world shattering. But before you can share the news with Spencer, he comes home with a shocking revelation that could change everything between you.

cw!!; +18 content, minors dni!, spencer reid x reader, angst, cliffhanger ending, breakups, mentions of drug use, mentions emetophobia warning; vomiting -- mentions of pregnancy -- Y/N HAS A GIRL KISSER BSF !

. w/c: 4.1k -- don't forget to like / reblog !! this is not proof read + english is not my first language

You and Spencer had been privately dating for seven months. At first, it was exciting. sneaking around, leaving parties early to go hook up in the bathroom, the birthday sex, apology sex, apology for apologizing with sex sex, it was easy, it was simple—you both met through a party he and his team was invited to by your best friend Ciara, who was friends with the one and only Penelope Garcia. you both got to talking and by the end of the night, you were snuggled up in his bed with his dick in your mouth. and he learned two things that night. 1. he had never had head that brought him so much ecstasy. and two, by the way your outgoing demeanor fit perfectly with being his more shy and non-direct, you were the one for him and he would've been a fool to let you slip through his fingers. those late-night study sessions, stolen kisses in dimly lit hallways, and quiet moments over coffee made you feel like the luckiest person in the world. but the moment that you hit the three month mark, everything went downhill. and usually, at six months, its supposed to be good again, right? wrong.

the past few months had turned into a whirlwind of arguments. It felt like every time you talked, it spiraled into a fight over something that should have been minor. “You don’t understand what I’m going through, Spencer!” you yelled one evening after a tough day at work where he seemed more focused on the case than on how you were feeling. “I do, understand [y/n] I just don't care. Not everything has to be about you.” that night, you both had shouted over each other until the early hours of the morning, hearts racing, voices raised, and emotions running high. the tension felt suffocating. and to ease it you tried to have makeup sex, and he started an argument while literally inside you because he felt like you were faking orgasms and doing it in a obvious way to make him feel bad; you were.

It wasn’t just work stress that fueled the fire; it was the pressure of hiding your hardships relationship from your colleagues, the weight of lying to your friends, and the constant fear of him leaving. and the fear of you leaving for him only made him resent you more. sometimes, it felt like you were living a double life, and you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between your love for Spencer and the isolation that secrecy brought. the make-up moments after the fights were fleeting, filled with hugs and quiet apologies as you tried to mend the shaky ground you were standing on. you’d find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, promises lingering in the air that things would change, but deep down, you both knew nothing had really shifted.

but today, everything felt heavier than usual. you had woken up to yet another silent treatment from spencer, both of you too stubborn to reach out to each other first. the anxiety had burrowed deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe. you could sense it—Ciara had noticed. when she came over, she was met with a hurried and agitated spence who only muttered a cold greeting before walking out the door as fast as he opened it for her. her footsteps where light and quick, making her way towards your bedroom where she heard retching and coughing.

you spit into the toilet bowl, groaning in discomfort as everything you had last week came back to haunt you. you looked up at Ciara as she held your hair back, getting her fingers tangled as she took a moment to try her best to untangle them without scalping you. You sat there in front with your head down as you dry gagged, and once you were safe, you reached up and flu shed the toilet.

Ciara rubbed your back for a little before pulling your head to rest on her chest, planting sweet kisses on your forehead. you giggle at the sensation and make tsk sounds. “If you were a man,” you muttered, to which she rolls her eyes at you and lets you go with a smile, helping you stand up, she runs some water so you pat your mouth with it and spit out all the yucky residue left over. she starts asking questions and all you can think back at was this morning. it pained you and you felt your heart sink the more you thought back at it, you realize that him expressing his feelings, yelling, insulting, or even cursing you would've been better. he just left you, in silence. he didn't acknowledge you, and it just made you feel terrible. you looked at Ciara, overcome with emotions which got you a confused look. “What's going on with you--”

“He didn't even look at me, cee.” You muttered as tears filled your eyes uncontrollably. your emotions overwhelmed you as you melted into her arms, you were holding her incredibly tight, she probably wouldn't be able to breathe if you gave her an oxygen tank. She scrambled over her words trying to find away to not pass out from the lack of blood going to her brain because you were quite literally blocking any blood flow possible. She tapped your back and you released your death grip, to which she exhaled heavily.

“Who, What? What are we talking about?”. you stared up at her with a expression of depression, not moving your lips to answer her question. It gave her the answer alone. “That's not... like him.”. Scoffing, you shook your head and wiped your tears, your mood switching from self-pity to pure and undeniable anger. “It's exactly, like him. Actually.”. She tried her best to calm you down but you couldn't, you just walked out of the bathroom and fell face first on the bed, screaming and letting out all of your frustration on his cotton sheets. You started mumbling out of intense anger, and Ciara just stood there, flinching with every curse that flew through your lips as if you were going to reach backwards and bite her.

It took you twenty-and-some minutes to calm down. It took you three to go back to being sad and depressed. Your mood swings were seriously giving her whiplash. You sat up and heaved, sobbed, flew your arms around like a toddler. Ciara sat with you and let you sob on her chest until you start hyperventilating, she blew on your face so you could catch your breathe, shushing you to soothe your tears. Your brain felt fuzzy, your senses has softened.

The only thing that you felt was the immense pounding on your head you couldn't help but feel. “How about we go on a little drive, yeah?” you looked up at her with your red eyes glistening was a tear fell down your cheek, you nodded. you needed fresh air. “Yeah?” She spoke in a soft voice, kissing your head. “Alright go put on some clothes ill be out here,”

Ciara sat behind the wheel, the engine humming softly as she pulled away from spencer's place. The cool breeze wafted through the slightly open window, sending a refreshing shiver through you. You let it wash over you, momentarily grounding you in the present. Still, your mind felt fuzzy, caught in a haze that blurred your thoughts and emotions. It was as if you were floating, untethered from reality, with everything around you blurring into a muddled backdrop.

the streets rushed by, and while the world outside was alive with the chatter of people and the vibrant colors of storefronts, you found yourself lost in your own silence. You stared at the trees lining the road, their branches dancing in the breeze, but even their movement felt distant and out of reach. each passing moment felt like an echo, reverberating through your mind but leaving no traces of clarity.

Ciara’s was talking, filled with energy and it made you feel oh, so worse because you were not listening. “No, dude, I'm being so serious. I told her that she can either get her shit together and stop acting like a little kid or she can pack her shit and leave because I've had enough crazy girlfriends to know it is not for the fucking weak.” you barely registered the words. they floated in one ear and out the other, your focus remaining hazy. you shifted in your seat slightly, trying to push the swirling emotions away, yet they clung to you like a shadow.

“You’d think we were fighting we were fighting over me burning her house down, no. A miss call, a singular miss call and I called her back immediately. And of course, she chose to get her act together because... honestly, would you leave me?” she joked, grinding in her seat to pop her ass a little;

the corners of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t have the energy to respond; the effort felt monumental. As the scenery shifted from commercial buildings to the broader expanses of the mall, you caught yourself wishing you could feel that lightness again. The breeze slipping through the window felt nice, but every now and then, a wave of discomfort coursed through you, reminding you of the things you were trying to forget.

Ciara continued talking, sharing the latest gossip, her voice a steady stream of sound that mingled with the whoosh of passing cars. “and after that, she tried to hookup with me as an “apology”. if she could lick my pussy a couple times and I'm going to immediately forgive her... she's right.”

Still, you remained silent, lost in thought. The feelings swirling within you were too tangled to unravel—the confusion, the sadness, the weight of it all. It felt heavy, and as you drove closer to the mall, the world outside turned brighter, but for you, it remained shrouded in dimness.

As Ciara pulled into the parking lot, the chaotic colors of the mall surrounded you. She parked the car, casting a glance your way. “Alright, no talk of Spencer with the little dick while we're here alright?”

You nodded slowly, but your mind was still a storm of thoughts and emotions that had yet to settle. The sounds of laughter and footsteps filled the air as you stepped out of the car, but even amidst the noise, you felt like you were still floating, caught between what was real and what was just a distraction.

“There's no reason to lie to make me feel better,”, she laughed.

as you and Ciara stepped into the mall, the vibrant atmosphere enveloped you like a cocoon, yet the comfort it should have provided seemed out of reach. the air hummed with energy: laughter echoed against polished floors, the shuffling of bags blended into an excited chorus, and the enticing aromas of popcorn, pretzels, and fried food wafted through the space, each scent calling to a desire for comfort that you just couldn’t find.

you glanced around, taking in the kaleidoscope of people—the families with cheerful children, groups of friends chatting animatedly as they moved, and couples entwined in conversation. Yet, as the cheerful masses moved past, a heavy discontent settled within your chest, a constant nagging feeling that wouldn’t let up. Your thoughts were tangled, fighting the urge to not talk about spencer.

the urges whooped your ass.

“Ugh, I can’t believe how dramatic Spencer has been lately,” you began, shaking your head as you ambled towards the escalator up to victoria's secret each step feeling heavier than the last. You reached for a sleek top on a nearby rack, your fingers brushing the fabric as you stated, “He didn't even tell me what his problem was this time, Ciara. He's like a fucking kid,”

Ciara nodded, her attention shifting between you and the vibrant clothes on display. “He's exactly like Manny. You know if you were a lesbian, I'm pretty sure you would've been with her by now.”

"Har-har." you let out a fake laugh, pulling the top closer to you and inspecting it in the harsh fluorescent lights. “and its not like I don't fuck with him. Of course I do, but its only okay when I do it! and i never do it first.”

She stared at you.

“Okay, I mostly never do it first.”

you stepped into the fitting rooms, pulling aside the curtain with a little more force than necessary. Ciara leaned against the wall outside, concern evident in her eyes. “Well, it sounds like he’s really going through something. I mean the last time he had a girlfriend was years ago, plus she did get shot in front of him. Maybe, just maybe... he needs time to adjust to having you.”

“It's been 6 months, how much time does he need.” you admitted, slipping into a pair of jeans. “I’m trying to support him, but at the same time, it feels like whenever I need support I'm the 'crazy' one.”

you spun in front of the mirror, checking the fit, and briefly appreciated the outfit, but the satisfaction was fleeting. You couldn’t shake the gnawing frustration and worry that lingered in your mind. After trying on a few more items, you settled on a cozy sweater that draped nicely over your shoulders and a pair of jeans that tugged your ass and thighs perfectly.

Stepping out of the fitting room, you caught sight of Ciara’s bright smile—a thumbs-up that fueled a flicker of confidence despite the dark cloud of your thoughts. “You look great! Food?” she chirped, her enthusiasm piercing through your fog. “I look like I got fat, but, yes.” you giggled.

“Yeah, only in the right places.” she replied, leaving a quick smack on your ass. the idea of food felt foreign to you, your appetite making you uneasy. and the more you thought about it, you weren't really prone to gaining weight. in the last eight weeks, you've gained almost seven pounds. even as you walked toward the food court, the excited chatter and laughter felt like a cruel reminder of the happiness you were struggling to hold onto with Spencer.

as you navigated through the chaos of the food court, the aromas wrapped around you, each scent competing for your attention. You scanned the options—pizza, burgers, Asian stir-fry, sizzling hot dogs—but as much as your stomach wanted to respond, it remained cold and distant.

Ciara and you eventually settled on a plate of asian food. You found a table, and despite the enticing food in front of you, the heaviness in your chest pulled you down, dimming your appetite further.

while Ciara was talking about her sex life, your own thoughts lingered on Spencer: his hands, the way his mind worked like a finely tuned machine, how he would

“when I tell you she had me bent in ways I can't say out loud because I would be put on some kind of list--” Ciara’s words finally broke through the fog in your mind, and you looked at her, your voice barely above a whisper, “I feel… weird.”

Ciara’s smile faded, concern etching itself across her face. “What do you mean weird? ”

The discomfort swelled inside you as the weight of your stomach pressed down further. “I don’t know. It’s just everything… ugh. I really don’t feel good.” The admission felt heavy on your tongue, yet fear flooded through you, mingling with confusion and anxiety.

“Hey, [y/n] uh--” Ciara said, her voice laced with concern as she leaned closer, trying to draw you back into the moment. “Breathe, okay? Just uh--”

her voice did no help, the world around you began to tilt, the bright lights and laughing voices tuned out as your vision began to blur. A rising wave of dizziness crashed over you, swallowing every sense until you felt on the verge of vanishing into the void of darkness.

before you could utter another word, the world slipped away in an instant—darkness encased you, quieting the chaos of the food court and pressing down into a silence that felt weighty yet freeing. You couldn’t tell if you were floating or falling, but nothing remained except an overwhelming absence -- and then your body hit the floor.

“[y/n]? [Y/N]! Someone help, please!” Ciara begged and yelled out as she breathed on your face, checking your pulse. you were breathing, that's all that mattered. being in school for nursing, really wasn't doing her any justice at the moment.

three-hundred-thirty-eight minutes. that's how long it took for you to wake up.

you gradually regained consciousness to the muted buzz of light and occasional distant sounds filtering through the haze of your mind. blinking several times, you squinted against the warm, yellow light spilling through the curtains in the hospital room. the glow felt too harsh against your eyelids, and as you turned your head slightly, a wave of dizziness swept over you.

a sharp ache spiked through your temples, and you instinctively raised a hand to your forehead, feeling the softness of the pillows beneath you. your body felt heavy, soreness settling deep in your muscles—each small movement sent prickles of discomfort shooting through your limbs. you groaned softly, the sound a mere whisper in the stillness of the room.

The room itself was a comforting chaos, the machines beeping, the flowy blue curtains. But it was the smell that truly caught your attention: a mix of treacle sweetness from ciara's half-eaten candy bar on the nightstand, which you grabbed over and took a chunk out of. the clean scent of freshly laundered sheets, and just a hint of the medication. it was oddly grounding, and for a moment, it eased the nausea rising in your stomach like a tidal wave.

taking a deep breath, you lay still, attempting to collect your thoughts. fragments of memory flickered through your mind—little moments of laughter and joy interspersed with the anxiety that had been consuming you before everything went dark. You remembered the bustling vibe of the mall, the annoying feeling of your heart racing, and a sudden wave of dizziness that had pulled you down. panic surged through you as you recalled Ciara’s frantic voice, calling for help when you collapsed.

“there's, no way I actually fainted.” you murmured to yourself, the thought sending a shiver down your spine. “ew, that's so corny.” you felt a flush of heat creep up your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and concern. you turned to ciara, whose face was unchanged the entire time. her face stayed the same -- she looked horrified. concern. something was wrong with you, and you had a really bad feeling about what. it wasn't stress, it wasn't spencer. it was something else.

thirty-eight minutes. thats how long it took for you to find out.

ciara stayed by your side, her face didn't dare to flinch. a nurse stepped quietly into the room, her hesitant movements breaking the fragile quiet that enveloped the space. the atmosphere felt charged, and you could sense the shift immediately, your heart beginning to pound. the light from the window framed ciara, washing over her in a way that felt almost ethereal. as her expression morphed from concern into something more serious, an unsettling tension settled between you, pinning you both in a moment that seemed to stretch on.

when the nurse began to deliver the news her words flowed without sound, each gesture amplifying the weight of what she had to say. you felt your breath hitch as a wave of uncertainty crashed over you, the reality of her news unsettling sinking in like a stone. the room, once familiar and comforting, suddenly felt small and suffocating, the walls closing in as vivid memories backtracked through your mind—laughter, plans, and dreams that now teetered on the brink of change. the warmth of the space became oppressive as your heart raced, fear mingling with disbelief.

in an instant, the safety of your world unraveled, and the gravity of ciara's presence anchored you to an unsettling truth. the air was thick with unvoiced questions, your heart heavy with the weight of responsibility and the unknown. as the silence roared in your ears, every breath turned bittersweet, a reminder of how everything that had once seemed so certain was now tinged with complexity. you stood there, caught between the past and an uncertain future, realizing in that moment that everything had changed.

fifteen minutes. that's how long it took to get discharged.

the car glided smoothly along the dark road, the headlights casting fleeting beams of light onto the pavement, illuminating the otherwise shadowy world outside. ciara sat in the drivers seat seat, her silhouette a quiet presence lost in thought, her silence wrapping the cabin in an almost palpable stillness. each soft breath she took seemed to mirror the steady thrum of the engine, but the weight of her unspoken emotions filled the air, creating a tension that was hard to ignore. the familiar contours of the landscape slipped by in an undulating blur, trees lining the road like silent sentinels.

as the miles rolled on, your mind began to wander, seeking distraction in the rhythmic pattern of passing objects. you started to count the trees, the sturdy trunks becoming a makeshift anchor in the sea of swirling thoughts. one after another, the arboreal figures flickered past, offering a sense of solace as if each counted tree marked a moment of time that moved further away from the hospital. the darkened silhouettes blurred together, yet you found a strange comfort in the repetitive task, allowing your focus to drift into the rhythm of your surroundings.

six hours, thirty-one minutes. and not a single call from spencer.

as the car glided to a stop in the driveway, the familiar surroundings of your home greeted you with an unsettling mix of comfort and anxiety. the sky was turning shades of purple and orange, a vivid sunset framing the moment. ciara turned off the engine and sat in silence for a moment, her eyes fixed on the front door, as if gauging its significance. you both understood that what waited beyond that threshold was life-changing.

you unbuckled your seatbelt and took a deep breath, your mind swirling with thoughts you had been trying to organize all day. today had felt unending, a series of moments stacked upon one another, each one urging you toward this very conclusion. the weight of what you needed to reveal pressed heavily on your chest, and you were acutely aware of the time you had spent wrestling with your emotions.

ciara glanced at you, her expression a blend of concern and encouragement. you could tell she wanted to say something, perhaps offer reassurance, but instead, she simply gave your hand a gentle squeeze. the gesture felt grounding, a reminder that while you were stepping into the unknown, you were not entirely alone.

with a nod, you exited the car, the cool evening air wrapping around you like a cloak. you took a moment on the doorstep, hesitating as you glanced back at ciara, who offered you a reassuring smile before she drove away. the sound of the engine faded, leaving you with the echo of your own heartbeat.

spencer sat there, something heavy on his mind. his shirt was off, and he was stood in sweatpants and the line of his boxers showing. his hair was damp and flew down to his shoulders, his arms clinging onto the back of his neck and he eyed you up and down. you stared up at him with heavy, red eyes. you set down your purse and stared off into the distance.

he stared at you in silence. it was pissing you off. he was acting like a fucking child, and now really wasn't the time. your heart raced as your thoughts spiraled, the weight of everything you had been holding inside bubbling just beneath the surface. You could feel the frustration rising as you realized you were no longer willing to play your eyes met, and in that shared moment of understanding, something unspoken ignited.

“I can’t do this anymore,”

“I'm pregnant.” You blurted simultaneously.

The air shifted, charged with the gravity of your revelation and his confession, and the silence that had ruled the room felt like it was finally ready to crack open, revealing the unvoiced truths waiting just beneath the surface. your eyes widened and jaw feel open, as you grasped what just came out of his mouth. tears welled up at your eyes, and his met with yours with the same expression, and at the same time you both uttered;

“What?”

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