#imsuperawkward

[wrinkledparchment]

the absence of everything (iii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | 2x1 - After your trip to Vegas was rudely interrupted by a suspicious manila envelope being delivered to your hotel room, you and Spencer have to cut your vacation short to go back to Quantico. Although you and Spencer try to resume your professional relationship after sharing a bed, Spencer realizes just how much you mean to him, and can finally put a name on what he feels, once and for all.

Word Count: 6,030 words

Author’s Note: So... I’ve been gone for so long but this series is probably the main thing I still receive praise for in my notes. I’m currently focusing more on writing for HL but I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I decided to feed you guys!! I hope you like it... upon rereading it, some of my favorite fluffy lines I’ve ever written are in here. How did I manage that. 

Content Warnings: Your general criminal minds ish, death, stuff like that. Some fluff content for you guys!!

Series Taglist:  @liviasaugusta @l0ve-0f-my-life @imsuperawkward @nxstalgicnxbxdy @marciscaspar @april-14-blog @sweetreid @essenceproxima @sammypotato67 @idkanymore-05 @slep-slop @squirrellover1967 @irjuejjsaa @yomama-umbridge @holybatflapexpert @rosignoelle @ladyravenclaw @yours-truly-r @spenciepoo338 @masieofthevalley @throughparisallthroughrome  @afuckingshituniverse   @ladyravenclaw @irjuejjsaa @danandphilfan6​  @yasminwashere​  @mayempress  @kys-things

the abscence of everything: i | ii | . . . 

“It is me. I am his madness. For years he’s been looking for something to put his madness into. And he found me.” – John Fowles, The Collector

. . .

The coffee table in your Vegas hotel room had cluttered manila envelopes, the key and note given to Spencer, and a piece of missing evidence from your father’s murder scene. Rage bubbled in your stomach, so as Spencer called Gideon on the hotel room phone, quickly putting it on speaker, you paced around, unable to stop seeing your dad’s case files and his dead, mutilated body over and over again.

“Gideon, [Name] and I both got a package, I got a key and a note reading ‘She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.’ She got two binded pieces of paper from a book her father was binding and repairing when he died.”

Gideon finally let out a sigh, “Yeah, I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963 and a head in a box. Everyone on the team got something, but Elle was hit hard. She was framed for murder in Montego Bay, Hotch and Morgan went down to get her released and bring her back to Quantico.”

You walked closer to the phone and stopped chewing on your nails, rage bubbling inside your chest. “Gideon, whoever the hell this was had access to missing evidence from my father’s murder investigation. Meaning, this son of a bitch is the guy who robbed and killed my father. This is personal.”

“Don’t worry, [Name]. We’re going to find him. Get on the closest flight back here and Garcia will tell you where we are, we’re going to get this guy as soon as we can.” Right after he finished, Gideon hung up, leaving you and Spencer to race to get to the airport in time.

You left your rental car at the airport kiosk, signing it out and rushing after Spencer to get on the flight back home. It was all a blur, blended together to create your perfect disaster. You were stressed, overworked, and ill-prepared. This was the case you’d joined for—to find your father’s murderer and lock the bastard up.

You’d searched and searched and searched, and the criminal found you. Just as you’d eased out of work mode, just as something besides work and murder and blood filled your mind, he stole you away. Because of course he did. Because he was looking.

Spencer was a mess, but not for the same reason. You were obviously under duress, but you were so scattered that he felt like he couldn’t do anything. He did his best, carrying your bags for you, getting you iced chai while waiting for boarding. When you did get on the plane, he immediately lifted the armrest between you back, and pulling out Dante’ Inferno, handing his leather-bound copy over to you.

Your fingers ran over the spine of the book, feeling the indents where the title was, the smooth texture everywhere else. Fine craftsmanship, it must’ve been from a passionate, talented individual bookstore owner with a knowledge of binding. It reminded you of yourself, the care and attention devoted in the craft.

“You’ve got a fine copy here, Spence,” you smiled, as much as you could. “My dad would’ve loved it.”

“Do you think you can still bind books well?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’ll never forget.”

He nodded, smiling something bittersweet, “We’ll find your dad’s old book. And you’re going to fix it.” You smiled again, a little more genuine, and flicked open Spencer’s copy of Dante’s Inferno.

“I’ve got supplies in a closet somewhere,” you recalled, voice soft and quiet in case it suddenly broke. You didn’t want to cry, and you shouldn’t, not here, but it was becoming harder to not be vulnerable with Spencer. “I dream about him every night.”

Reid nods, moving his hand to rest on your knee, moving his thumb gently, allowing you to continue. “I’ve been waiting for a lead, since before I was even in the FBI academy. I’ve been waiting for 8 years and now that I’ve finally got it… just when I was happy, too.” You pause for a minute, letting one tear roll down your face but holding the rest in. “I see his body everywhere I go, can’t stop remembering how the blood felt on my hands, how lifeless he looked. I miss him, even after all this time, and now that I’ve finally got a chance to figure out who did it, I don’t want to.”

Spencer pulled you closer, looking out the small window to see the bright blue sky and all the clouds. Your breathing was still erratic, your heart still broken. And he hated how in the moment you needed him most, he couldn’t figure out what to say. “I’m here,” he murmured, over and over again until he was sure you knew what he meant.

. . .

Even though Garcia’s explanation was rushed, you vaguely understood what was happening. She refused to look you in the eye, too, possibly because Gideon had told the team about what you’d found and how it was connected to you personally. It didn’t matter though, because you’d just pulled up to a possible unsub’s apartment.

The alleyway in which all the cars were parked was also crowded by other FBI members, all unguarded, meaning the unsub wasn’t there. The local police, and an extra car were also there, you assumed some sort of medical examiner, and there was probably a body.

You and Reid were authorized to enter after flashing your badges, and neither of you were asked to put on vests. Walking in, the both of you grabbed gloves, Spencer just holding them while you slid them on and followed him over to the crime scene.

It wasn’t overly graphic, compared to other things you’ve seen, but it was traditional to become emotionally numb in the job. No matter what, someone had died here, an ‘unrepentant bad man’ or not. The bed, and with it, the man named Frank Giles, was lying in the center of the room, a sword plunged into his chest and sticking upright.

Elle, Hotch, Morgan and Gideon all stood in the room, Hotch reading something written on the sword out loud to the rest of the team. “To learn of what should next be done, leave the blade til’ the hour be none.”

Spencer stepped closer, watching as Hotch asked Elle to step back. “The bed’s in the middle of the room,” Hotch began, Morgan interrupting for a second, “And maybe the light from here casts a shadow and points to something.”

Derek quickly began explaining his theory, “Well midnight is 00:00 hours in 24-hour time. Would that be none?” Hotch dismissed this quickly, stating that there would be no shadow at midnight, until Reid finally spoke up.

“3pm.” Everyone turned to him first, then you, then back to him. Obviously, Gideon did tell everyone that this was connected to your father’s death. And surprisingly, you looked very calm for someone about to embark on their quite literal personal case, the one you’d joined for. “Hey guys, Garcia told us where to find you.”

Hotch nodded at you, barely acknowledging how personal of a situation this was for you, but quickly dismissed it, listening to Spencer talk about medieval terms for hours of the day, then asking for lighting equipment so he could replicate the 3pm sun.

While people walked in and out with various standing lights, Gideon finally walked up to you. You turned to him, offering a quick nod and smile before quickly dropping it when he mentioned your dad. “You know you can’t let your past affect this case,” he states, and you nod. “It’s obviously personal, and I know this person is targeting you, but you can’t allow yourself to make mistakes because of your past with the unsub.”

Sighing, you agreed with Gideon, instead moving next to the shadow as Reid adjusted it, and you knocked on the wall until you heard a hollow sound, ripping away the wallpaper without need for Hotch’s command. Underneath all the wallpaper was a box, and you immediately grabbed it.

Reid stopped you, “Are we sure it’s safe?”

Hotch quickly dismissed him and allowed you to examine it. You played with the lock for only a few seconds before looking back up at Reid. “Give me the key.” Without hesitation, he handed it over and you shoved it in, and to nobody’s surprise, it fit perfectly. You lifted the lid, and familiar music had began to play, one that Reid had played for you during the classical music quiz.

“Forellenquintett,” you and Reid murmured in unison, the rest of the team looking up at each other before shrugging it off. Reid reached inside to grab the note from the music box, reading it out loud to the rest of the team.

Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.

Elle scoffed, walking off, “Well, that was worth it.”

Gideon ignored her, speaking right afterwards. “The lid. Little tab right under the lock.”

You quickly fiddled with it, revealing a CD and a lock of hair that nearly perfectly matched yours. You hummed under your breath in disapproval and disgust, Derek and Elle working together to put the lock of hair in an evidence back and grab the CD for review.

After heading back to the table room, you and Reid sat next to each other, which was your usual spot. For some reason the team seemed to eye the both of you, suspicious about what had happened in Vegas and why you two were still together when you should’ve left before that.

You carefully watched the TV after someone slid in the CD. A dimly lit desk with cluttered items all around it, and a very large throne behind it. A man wobbled into frame, clearly injured by something, which the team noted.

“I assure you, you’ll all understand in the end why it must be this way. You might even thank me. You know now you’re on a quest; a young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it. As you can see, she’s quite beautiful . . . and in distress.”

You clenched your fists when you saw the girl come into frame, screaming at the camera, begging for something. You wondered if everyone on the team recognized just how much, even from the little they all saw, how she looked like you.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule must be followed. The one rule is only the members of your team may participate in the quest.” He began to list your names, and displayed pictures of each of you in the video, you and Reid in the same frame taken during one of the previous cases. “A quest must be completed in a proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple.

“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest. You will find you also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine. Believe me when I tell you, I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us, but especially [Name].”

With that, the clip was over and all that was left was static. Reid had tensed after he’d mentioned you by name, and it didn’t fly over the heads of any of your coworkers either. The unsub knows you so well, doesn’t he? Pictures of you and Reid together, knowledge of just how to tick you off, and additionally, he knows what happened to your father the last night he was alive and is plunging that knife of knowledge right into your heart and twisting it. Involving all your coworkers in it, making it clear that all of this, it’s all for you.

You were the subject of madness, the main target of all of this. You were the ‘protagonist’, he was the villain, and everyone else—the dead, your coworkers, the girl he’d kidnapped—were all side characters in the story. But Reid, standing right next to you in the picture while everyone else was photographed individually, that said something to you. He knew about whatever was happening between the two of you, so much so that it was terrifying because he probably knew better than either of you.

Suddenly, the team was active. “This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle exclaims.

Reid fiddled with the pen in his hand, “What do we do now?”

Hotch eyed you, noting how tense you seemed when only just minutes ago, even with a dead body in front of you, you were eerily calm. “The lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” JJ walked out, vowing to figure out who the girl is. Hotch nodded, “Let’s get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.”

Elle immediately objected, “Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?”

Reid sighed, glancing at you for a few moments, “Do we have a choice?”

Everybody stayed silent, Spencer’s words lingering in the air while Gideon and Hotch went to a different room. You began quietly pinning the clues in the evidence bags to the board, not saying a single word to anybody else in the room. Elle found the soft crumple of the evidence bags relaxing, eyes closing softly until Hotch interrupted her nap and sent Anderson to take her home.

Soon enough, yet another piece of evidence, a list of number sets in a strict pattern, though it may not seem like it without a keen eye. Just as Spencer opened his mouth, you beat him to the punch. “Sets of numbers, page number, line number, word number. It’s a cipher based on a book which he expects us to know.”

Derek stares back at you, Spencer’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sure, you were quicker sometimes than he was, but you seemed so rigid, it was odd to them. “Yeah but what book?”

“Well, this ‘quest’ is clearly meant to be personal to you, [Name],” Derek proposed, “Meaning this is a book he expects you to know.” Spencer sighed, walking over to grab the ripped pages the unsub had sent you and examines them, reading the words hoping he’d remember reading this book at some point but he doesn’t.

“Dante’s Inferno?” Reid questioned, even though he obviously knew it wasn’t.

“Both of us would recognize it. Whatever book my dad was fixing that night, it was that book. Specifically, a first edition. Let’s see… that was eight years ago. Do you think memory recall would work?”

Elle and Derek simply stood off to the side while you and Reid debated each other, glancing at each other occasionally. Yet, the body language was the same as it always was, and maybe what had changed was the way Elle and Derek read the situation.

“When you got there, the book was gone; how would you know which one he was supposed to be working on?” Spencer rebutted.

“I was closing, I must’ve—” you stammered, “I must’ve known what book he was working on, I have to!” Soon, you were pacing around the room, muttering things underneath your breath and attempting to retrace your steps from 8 years ago that also occurred across the country.

Derek set his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place and stopping your pacing. “Okay, [Name], calm down, we can always try memory recall, and if not, the clues should be in the evidence—this guy is meticulous, I’m sure he’s accounted for this.”

Suddenly, Gideon walked back into the room, looking at the four of you. Spencer was still staring at the evidence board, Hotch leaning back in his chair, and Derek and you standing in the middle of the room. “[Name], you don’t have to relive that memory if it’s not necessary. How would we proceed if we didn’t have all these clues? What’s the first thing we’d look at?”

“Victimology,” you swallowed, both thankful and displeased that Gideon was looking out for your wellbeing. Everybody was watching you so closely, especially because this was a personal case to you, as if they expected you to break down at any moment.

“And we have a victim, Rebecca Bryant. Hotch and I will follow the mailman lead. Derek, take JJ and find out everything you can about Rebecca. Reid, [Name], stay here and find the book. If anybody can do it, it’s you two.”

Everyone else left the room, Reid and you staying. Sure, Gideon didn’t want you to relive the worst moments of your entire life, but you were so close. So you shut the door to the roundtable room and turned back to Reid. “I want to do memory recall.”

. . .

The chair you were sitting on was soft and sturdy, so you let yourself lean back, and you closed your eyes. You breathed, waiting for Reid to begin. You tried to calm yourself, enough to the point where your anger flooded away and all you could do was think. See your memories in a clear light.

“I’m going to try and calm down first, can you guide me?”

Spencer nodded, breathing along with you. “What is your favorite memory?”

You focused in on the word, smiling; favorite. You could hear Spencer’s giddy laugh echoing in your ears, bright city lights clouding your vision. The hood of your black rental car from Vegas reflected them, the smaller model of the Eiffel tower standing tall, neon signs and main strip casino windows. The cool, night breeze in your hair. You could still feel Reid’s lingering presence in the passenger’s seat, the way he looked at you with those doe-y, hazel eyes. His pupils were inflated, shrinking again when he turned away to change the stereo.

You could feel the pain in your toe when you stubbed it on the hotel bedframe, you could feel the newly replaced bedsheets of the hotel against your legs, and you could see Spencer standing over you, smiling so widely when you laughed. The way his warm skin felt against yours, how gentle he was with his arms around you.

You imagined the pool water as he splashed it back at you, the water droplets against his skin and the way he slicked back his wet hair. His laugh and shy smile after you told him he still looked like a rat when he was wet. The understanding look when he listened to your struggles with the BAU, your life story, the interest in your past and your hobbies.

After all the memories you’d made yesterday had flashed through your head in a matter of seconds, you registered what it meant. When you thought of happy, you thought of him. Some of your favorite moments in life were with him, being around him, watching him. Him, him, him. This feeling—it was consuming you, and it felt so delightful. You wanted it to devour you, and you let it.

“Yesterday,” you whispered after a minute of reliving the best day of your life. You didn’t open your eyes, but you could hear Reid shift in his chair and you smiled, assuming he was blushing. Profiler or not, he knew what that meant.

He sighed, “Are you ready to go back?” You nodded. “It was eight years ago. How old were you?”

“I was sixteen, and about to graduate high school.” You still remember how frustrated and overwhelmed you were. The night before you discovered your dad, you had the closing shift along with a massive pile of homework and colleges to apply to. You sat behind the wooden counter, combing through your homework as fast as you could, eager for your father to come and take an overnight shift in working with the books.

“What time was it?”

“It was five minutes until the clock struck 11,” you said, which was the beginning of your father’s shift at the bookstore. You were packing up your homework and college applications back into your bookbag, noting on a stray piece of paper all the leftover homework and applications you had to pour over in the morning. You were so tired, but you wanted to thank your father for taking the shift tonight and letting you rest.

“My father is coming in,” you tell Spencer, reliving the last moment you saw him alive. The door rang, signaling his entrance. His hair and shoulders were wet from the rain outside, something you didn’t remember about the scene until now. He smiled, asking you how your day went.

“Okay, sweetpea,” he had begun, “are you ready to go home?” You nodded to him, but not before helping him with his bags. He looked at you, smiling while you followed him down to the book storage, an icy cold basement.

You watched, setting out his materials for him while he brought out the book, which was partially bound but tattered still, especially the cover, and you had to take a double take, pausing and hearing Reid’s voice. You weren’t listening, but rather going through the evidence in your head.

JJ’s butterfly, Reid’s key, and a lock of hair all on top of a piece of bloodied parchment. You could see the dainty, cursive letters, shocked as to how you’d not remember the cover when you worked at a bookstore. You gasped, nearly crying as you remembered the last thing you’d seen your father doing alive.

You tried to shake it all out of your head, the unsub wanted to get to you. This quest was curated for you and him, a chess game, and you needed to have a level head to win. Sitting straight up, your eyes shot open and you and Reid shared a glance, him smiling proudly. You handled yourself so well.

“The Collector, by John Fawkes,” you stated, rushing over to the board where all the evidence was pinned. You took off the butterfly, the lock of hair, the key and the bloodied paper and set them in front of Reid.

“These are all on the first edition front cover, a bloodied piece of paper as a background, the key, the lock of hair and the butterfly all on top. Not only do they have a personal significance to us, but to the book. I should’ve known sooner,” you berated yourself, explaining quickly before walking off, ready to call the nearest library for their first edition copy of The Collector.

. . .

Reid, Garcia, and you had all stood around, them solving the cipher and writing the message on the board. Elle had been sent home earlier, so you were a team member short, but you were closer than you’d ever been on solving your dad’s murder. So close you could almost imagine him, smiling down at you and telling you that you were doing a good job. That’s all the encouragement you needed.

Hotch had berated Anderson for only dropping Elle off rather than staying at her house, stating that the unsub had all of your personal information. You begged Hotch to let you go to her house and stay, but he said he had needed you too much because of your connection to the case.

Instead, you watched as Reid and Garcia went over the cipher with the librarian. You walked away from the team when Hotch called you. “Yes sir?”

“Elle was shot at her house, I’m at the hospital now, I need you and Reid to keep working on those clues. I’ll update you when she’s out of surgery.”

Your stomach twisted, wondering why in all hell the unsub took Elle. This was your quest, the team were all there to aid you. Why would he hurt Elle instead of you? Instead of your family or someone you were close to? You nearly cried out as you broke into tears—this team, the BAU, is your family. And you’ve brought all of them into danger just by being here.

When you walked back into the room, you’d discovered that Reid had called his mom to be flown into Quantico by the federal agents there, and that you’d be meeting his mom for the first time. She was involved in this case now too, and you wondered if you should stick around after this. If all of this, if Elle’s shooting was your fault.

. . .

You leaned against Reid’s desk as he fiddled with the evidence bag that the poem was in. “Your mom’s safe,” you said, “agents just picked her up and she’s flying over here now. Garcia told me.”

Reid didn’t even dare to meet your gaze, staring at the poem still. “I forgot she always used to read me this poem,” he started. “And I realized that nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time, and I think it’s because they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to… except for my mother. I tell her pretty much everything in my letters. Did you know that I write her everyday?”

You smiled, leaning forward, “I did, Reid. And I know that you feel guilty about not seeing her two days ago. That you write all of those letters to make up for the fact that you think you don’t visit her enough.”

He looked up at you, a clear question in his eyes. How do you know?

“Reid, during my memory recall, when you asked what my favorite memory was… I’ve been alive for twenty-four years, and out of any memory—the ones with my best friend, the good days here, my childhood—I chose Las Vegas. Not because of the beautiful city lights, or the fancy car, but because you were there with me, just us.

“I told you about my father not because you don’t have anyone to betray me to, but because I want you to know. Because I trust you whole-heartedly, and if anybody in this world should know me best, it’s you.”

Spencer finally held his eye contact with you, swallowing hard. You let your words hang in the air before putting your hand on his shoulder and squeezing, allowing it to linger there for a few seconds before walking back to Garcia’s lair, wanting to soak up all the information she might have. 

You heard the signature ‘beep’ of Garcia hanging up on someone, and shut her door gently before striding over to her desk. “What’s going on so far?”

She didn’t lift up her eyes to look at you, typing furiously on her computer, “I’m searching for Rebecca Bryant’s biological family, turns out she was adopted by the Bryant family and her real last name is Garner.”

Penelope filled you in further on the details, actively working to unseal her adoption papers and find out what happened to the original family; after all, the victimology is the first thing you look at. 

Could you consider yourself a victim? He’d been taunting and tormenting you and your entire team, he was most likely the man who had killed your father, or at least knew what happened or was involved somehow. Your father had been murdered prior to Rebecca’s disappearance, and you considered why this man would have been involved with your father’s murder and Rebecca’s disappearance. 

Were you actually a target?

You went to sit back at your desk, looking at your old piece of parchment paper with your favorite canto of Dante’s Inferno written in cursive, the fifth, the canto of Francesca. The most famous line written in bold and in the original Italian, “Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,” or “Love, that excempts no beloved from loving in return.”

The bullpen was a shuffle of people, other agents you didn’t interact with that much, that didn’t come with you on cases, and tons of other people rushing around, going through files, making phone calls. Spencer strided over from the small kitchenette to sit at his desk, which was connected to yours, sitting across from you with a small wall of transparent glass in between. 

He smiled at you, a warm, small smile that frequently was exchanged between the two of you. Sometime in between your talk at his desk and the hour or so you went without seeing each other, there was a microscopic layer of tension between you, beginning right where your desks separated. 

The shuffling of the bullpen dulled the ache of the tension, and so did your eyes slowly closing to rest for just a few minutes as Reid spent his time half-dozing off while reading a printed out version of The Collector. Reid finally broke this silence when your head began to tilt to the side as you fell into a tiny cat nap. He called for you, with no response, so he got out of his chair and poked you in the forearm. 

You wiggled a bit in your sleep, shifting around trying to find some semblance of comfort in your uncomfortable office chair. He takes a moment to stare just for a bit at your face. Looking at your eyes gently closed, your face peaceful even in this painful position, his mind fogged with the soft midnight laughter you traded with each other in the Vegas hotel room. He imagined the weight of your head on his chest, your arm laid over his stomach, your face and warm breath against the crook of his neck. 

He realized quickly the words that came along with the happy memories made along with you. The constricting yet freeing feeling stuck in his throat and squeezed around his heart, the sort of euphoria you associate with the warm feeling of sun on your skin and driving a convertible along the coast. That beautiful, powerful, devouring feeling of knowing that someone has you. You’re theirs, completely and utterly. 

The feeling of pure joy when you stop daydreaming and start remembering memories instead. When the words to describe this feeling escape you because all you can think about is that one, special person who has altered the course of your life forever. When you can no longer write romance because none of the words you put onto a page can do this feeling--this love--justice. 

He was in love with you. He felt it in everywhere he looked, everything he did, and every moment he lived. 

Spencer took a quick look around the office, and gently prodded at your sleeping form again until you open your eyes just a little, squinting against the bright lights of the bullpen. He held out his hand, which you, in your sleepy, half-awake state, took with no hesitation as he guided you into the conference room and turned off most of the lights. 

He showed you to the couch, sitting on the far end, leaving you room to lay down and take the rest of it while the two of you rested and waited for Spencer’s mother to arrive. The crown of your head was just barely touching the side of his thigh, and eventually, moving and wiggling around in your sleep made you lay your head straight in his lap. 

He felt the sudden movement and then the weight, and stared down at your side profile, admiring the way the dim lights highlighted your face perfectly. He brushed hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, and he swear he saw a ghost of a smile on your face. He fell asleep, fingers still intertwined and resting in your hair. 

Spencer dreamt of city lights and midnight laughter and Vegas hotel rooms. He dreamt of walking up behind you while you made pancakes in the morning and piling kisses all along the side of your neck and face, arms wrapped around your waist and the way your body would be decorated in stripes by the morning sun. 

He was woken up by the distribution of weight changing, your head shifting to stare up at him, hair surrounding your face in a pile on his lap. The sleepy smile that graces your face twists his stomach into knots and melts his heart. 

You seem to not mind the fact that your head had wound up in his lap, and instead, you muttered a small, sleepy, single word. “Coffee?”

He almost laughed, just stunned by how natural the domesticity and comfortability between you two felt. Like the wall that had built between you--separating your pinkies from intertwining, separating your fates from inexplicably linking--had suddenly vanished. There was a mutual understanding there--you make me feel safe, you make me happy, you are mine.

He slid out from underneath your head, turning around just before he reached the exit to look at you, splayed across the couch comfortably, the dim 5:00 am moonlight gleaming through the windows, and your eyes, shining even brighter back at him with a giant smile on your face. 

In the small kitchenette, he tidies himself up as much as possible, fussing with his hair while coffee brewed, and just as he finished pouring the both of you a cup, a group of FBI agents gathered around the entrance with a blonde, tall and pale woman that was Spencer’s mother. 

“That’s why you’re so skinny, you know,” Spencer’s mother, Diana Reid stated only a few seconds after walking into the bullpen. Spencer turned his head, setting down the pot of coffee. His mother’s eyes were sunken just a bit, dark circles underneath, worry lines accenting her face. “Too much coffee.”

Her frame was cramped up, shoulders tightened and her body looking even more frail by the minute. Her short pixie cut looked untamed, and Spencer wondered how stressed she had been. He knows that she hates planes, and the government, and basically anything else where somebody might be watching her. 

Schizophrenia tends to do that to a person. Even the smartest people get unlucky, get ill in a time where there isn’t much help or refuse it themselves. Spencer lives every day wondering about his mother’s happiness and well-being, but knows she is taken care of in her facility. He writes her everyday, and thinks about his childhood memories, about his father and mother and how he wanted a relationship that was nearly the opposite of that. 

They loved each other at one point. Enough to have him and raise him together for a few years, and all he can think about is how much he would love and cherish his wife, his children with her, and how no matter what got in the way, he couldn’t see himself ever letting go.

All these thoughts, worry for his mother, himself, his future, his children float through his head and pass by in a few seconds. The next few seconds consist of you, whether his mother would approve of you and just how much she might adore you for seeing you make her son so happy.

Finally coming back to reality, he nodded at the FBI agents who had brought her here. “Thanks a lot guys, I’ve got her.” Walking forward, he looks at the horrified look on his mother’s face, eyebrows raised and hand coming to cover her mouth, glancing around the FBI bullpen, clearly unnerved by where she was.

Once the FBI agents have disappeared around the corner of the hallway into the bullpen and Spencer takes a few more steps towards her, she lets her hand drop from her face. “You know I’m terrified of flying,” she states, shaking her head for emphasis. 

Spencer gives a small, fake smile. “I know mom, I’m sorry.”

Spencer glances over his mom’s shoulder, seeing you come out of the roundtable room and begin walking over to where he and his mom were standing. Still obviously upset, his mom continues, “Well then why did you have those fascists arrest me?”

He can hear your footsteps echoing throughout the mostly quiet bullpen, and he tries to calm his mom down before you arrive here, to introduce yourself. 

[samsexualdeancurious]

Heaven in Hell (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Rowena

Words: 489

Summary: Rowena has ways to make her time at court more enjoyable.

Warnings: public sex, oral sex (female receiving), kind of dom!Rowena.

Set in a post-15x04 AU where Sam becomes the Boy King to Rowena's Queen of Hell, this fic is intended to be in the same AU as this 15x04 "fix-it" I wrote in 2019.

---

Rowena’s cries echo off the stone walls of her throne room as her orgasm rushes through her. Sam’s hands are steady on her hips, holding her in place even as she shakes apart under his ministrations. His mouth is a piece of Heaven in Hell - Sam himself is a piece of Heaven in Hell, if she’s going to be honest with herself. What better way to spend her afterlife than with Sam Winchester kneeling between her thighs, eating her out on her throne in front of her court?

“Good boy,” Rowena praises, more than a little breathy as she strokes Sam’s hair but her gaze is steady when she meets the black eyes of the nearest demon. They’ve been putting a genuine effort into not visibly reacting to Sam eagerly attending to her needs even as she discussed logistics. Despite their dedication to self-control, though, Rowena can still see the hunger in their gaze.

Sam lifts his head and his eyes are bright when they meet her’s. His lips are flushed as dark as his cheeks, his chin covered in her arousal, and she can’t help herself. Her grip on his hair tightens and she pulls him up on his knees to meets his mouth in a bruising kiss. Sam moans openly. She’d never had expected Sam to be a vocal lover but he has no qualms about telling the whole of Hell how much the Boy King enjoys his Queen.

Sam braces himself against the arms of her throne as he deepens the kiss with a hungry growl. His body fits between her thighs and her suspicions of his arousal are confirmed when his clothed bulge is pressed against her pelvis. She wants so badly to tell him to unzip and fuck her but she does want to get this meeting over with. Further interruptions will only draw it out longer. So instead of ordering him to take her right here on her throne, she slides one hand up the front of his long, beautiful neck to curl around his throat. He freezes and she feels the click of him swallowing. She doesn’t squeeze, just gently guides him back onto his heels.

“Down, boy,” she purrs.

Sam has his back to the room, so he has no qualms about pouting. It’s adorable and tempting but she’s not going to cave.

“Later, my dove. Be a dear and fix my skirt?”

Sam obeys but when he’s done, he doesn’t return to his own throne like she expected. Instead, he claims a spot sitting at her feet. His long legs sprawled across the top step of the dais, he leans his shoulder against her knee with a knowing smirk when he sees the jealousy on the faces of the court. Rowena smiles down at him before fixing the demon she was speaking with before her orgasm with a firm stare.

“Well? Get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

---

Like this fic? Support me longterm on Patreon HERE or make a one-time donation on Ko-Fi HERE.

—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Taglist Housekeeping!

Hi everyone - due to my extensive hiatus, I know that a lot of people are no longer in the fandom/on tumblr/have changed their URL.

So, I’m going to post my Taglists below. If you want to continue to remain on the Taglist, please let me know (comment here, send me an ask, or DM me).

IF YOU DO NOT TELL ME,  I’m going to assume that you won’t mind being removed!

By the way, while you're here, check out my recent works linked on my pinned post! I've posted a lot since you've last been notified!

SFW Taglist (No Smut): @emilysprentisss , @fbivestreid , @twofacesoftheworldbutnotsome

Reid Taglist (Everything Reid): @dreatine , @shilohpug , @draw-back-your-bow , @gspenc , @hopefulfangirl24 , @a-broken-pact , @lotties-journey-abroad , @beeblisss , @reidsbookclub , @allthecolorsneverseen , @lovingloony , @sydneekomspacekru , @random-human-person , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @sapphic-prentiss , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @violetclifford , @averyhotchner , @strictlyforliterarypurposes , @auspiciousharriet , @thotforcriminalminds , @spencerreidsmommy , @wentz2005 , @liaaacantwrite , @blxndeprincess , @safespacespence , @lovejules888 , @jayyeahthatsme

Complete Taglist (All Works): @shadyladyperfection , @princesssmooshie , @reid-me-a-story , @kya-li , @nyx2021 , @bates-mattel , @xoxospencerreid , @cynbx , @hotchandspencearedilfs , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @rainsong01 , @addievermore ,  @justaparttimeauthor , @muffin-cup , @calm-and-doctor , @bitterpeachs , @fueled-by-fanfic , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @gretavankleep37 , 

TB&TB: @shadyladyperfection , @mikariell95 , @thatoneawesomechicka , @skiller0dani , @allthecolorsneverseen , @itsmytimetoodream , @beeblisss , @moondustmemories , @sydneekomspacekru , @hotchandspencearedilfs , @materialisthicc , @random-human-person , @dontcallmekittens , @sapphic-prentiss , @reid-me-a-story , @rexorangecouny , @libidinexx , @masumiyetimziyanoldu , @a-girl-interupted , @rainsong01 ,  @addievermore , @muffin-cup , @calm-and-doctor , @bitterpeachs , @sayhi00 , @phantombaby , @hadeez , @reeidd , @reidslefteyebrow , @fightingdragonswithwho

[katymacsupernatural]

Update

I know I haven’t been on here forever, but I am running the SPNChristmas Bingo once again, and want to try and get back into writing. I’ve missed it so much!!

So, I will have my own Bingo card, and hope to post as many stories as possible. And if you want to, head on over to @spnchristmasbingo and sign up for your own card. It’s a lot of fun!

I’m tagging my forevers in this post. However if you want off this list, please let me know. I know it’s been a while and things change!

tag list:  @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher   @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming  @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67  @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles​ @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r  @whimsicalrobots​ @winchester-writes​ @zombiewerewolfqueen​ @lyarr24 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers​ @theamyhead​ @440mxs-wife​ @stixnstripesworld​ @furiouscopshepherduniversity​ @thelastpyle​

[crispychrissy]

hey! may I please be tagged in your dean/jensen taglist? thanks :)

Sure! :)

[winchest09]

could I please be tagged in War if the Winchesters please? I’m so excited!!!!!

Hey my darling, 

Of course you can! We’re excited too! You’re on our list! :) 

War of the Winchesters

[your-eternal-muse]

You Gave Her Your Sweater

Heather Series Part 11

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Bonus!:Readers Card Confession Bonus!:To Hold On, To Let Go, Spencers take Bonus!:Series Playlist

Summery: Reader runs into Heather while wearing Spencer’s sweater, solidifying the difference in their relationships.

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy, mentions of cheating

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

A/N: Okay guys, the next chapter is the last one! And I promise its gonna be so fucking long, and so fucking cute it’ll give you cavities. I’m gonna give you the good shit. The next couple weeks I might be a little slower at posting because I submitted an application for an apartment me and my sister want, and I’m fairly certain were gonna get it, so I’ll be busy packing and stuff. Thank you for your continued support!

~~~~~

I never liked grocery shopping.

I know it’s essential, but the task itself is so draining, so boring.

Even still, I can’t help but wander around, buying shit that looks good that I absolutely do not need.

I know you’re not supposed to go when you’re hungry, but I can’t help it.

I guess that’s an upside of being married to the man I am.

While one of his hands is situated in the back pocket of my jeans, the other holds a piece of paper that holds our grocery list, and he is a stickler for keeping to it.

He’s subtly leading me down the aisles as I push the cart, which is already half full of what we need.

Grocery shopping with Spencer is different.

It doesn’t feel like a chore when he’s with me.

It also cuts the time by at least half, because he doesn’t let me stray from the list. 

But I’ve had a special circumstance these past few months.

“You know what sounds so good right now?” I ask him, as he begins to lead me down the cereal aisle.

“What’s that baby?”

He removes his hand from my pocket, reaching up to grab a box off the top shelf.

“Shrimp. With cocktail sauce.”

My mouth starts to water just thinking about it.

He laughs, walking back to me, placing it in our cart.

“You hate shrimp.”

I roll my eyes. “I also hate pickles, but last week I couldn’t stop eating them. And besides,” I run my hands over my growing belly. “It’s not my fault.”

He smiles, shaking his head, coming forward to rest his hands on top of mine, leaning down and kissing the tip of my nose.

“I’ll go get you some. While you,” he slips the list into the front pocket of the sweatshirt I’m wearing. “Continue shopping.”

“Thank you, Spence.”

“Anything for my girls.”

His hands come to lift the hood over my head, pulling the string, shrinking it around my face.

“I’m never gonna get my sweatshirt back am I?”

I shake my head. “I’m gonna be buried in this thing.”

He rolls his eyes before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

“It looks better on you anyways. I’ll be right back.”

He turns and walks back down the aisle, only to turn back and say “Don’t stray from the list!”

I raise my hands defensively. “I won’t!”

I watch as he disappears around the corner before reaching into the cart and pulling out the box of cheerios, doing my best to place it back on the shelf.

“How can he like cheerios? Fuckin’ weirdo, Reese's Puffs are where it’s at.”

I grab the orange box, only pausing when I feel a kick against my side. 

“I’m gonna assume you agree with me. Cheerios are nasty. Don’t worry, we’ll make daddy see.”

Another movement, and my hand finds the place against my side, pressing lightly. “Okay, baby girl, mama still has to shop.”

“You’re wearing his sweater.”

I pause my movements, my hand still resting on my stomach.

It can’t be.

I mean it can, you do live in the same area that she does.

I turn, to see Heather standing in the middle of the aisle, her gaze falling down to my stomach, and then back up to the lettering across my chest that says ‘CalTech’.

I shove my hands into the front pocket, not really sure what to say. 

“I was cold, and I forgot mine at my place when he gave it to me.” I take my left hand out to brush some hair out of my face, letting her see the diamond ring that rests on my finger.

“He never offered one to me. Even when I forgot mine.” Her hands are in her front pockets of her jeans, and she doesn’t meet my eye.

I shrug. 

Is that supposed to make me feel bad for you?

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that, Heather.”

It’s quiet for a moment, as much as it can be in the middle of a grocery store. 

She’s the one to break the silence. “How far along are you?”

None of your fucking business bitch.

“6 months.” I cradle my stomach with my hands, smiling down at it. “We’re having a girl.”

She shuffles from side to side, running her hands over her jeans, her arms, through her hair.

I can’t help being proud of the fact that even six months pregnant, I still make her nervous. 

“You know, we talked about having kids. Or well, I talked.” It’s then that she finally meets my eye. “He told me he didn’t want any.”

I let a smirk slide over my face. “Spencer loves kids. Even before we got together he always said he wanted kids.” I look her up and down. “Guess he just didn’t want any with you.”

It’s been three years. It’s been a long time, and I know Spencer’s over her. I know I should throw her a bone, ease up on the sarcasm and poison laced words.

But she hurt him. She broke him. It took months for him to fully admit that he did love her in some way, shape or form, and that the betrayal of that love hurt. 

I would never forgive her for that, no matter what she did. No matter if he does.

The look of hurt passes over her face, but then a crying child is heard behind her and she turns. 

I look over her shoulder, and the man I saw that night at the bar is walking towards her with a spitting image of her in the seat. 

The child is crying over something I couldn’t really decipher, and I see her shoulders tense as his eyes meet mine.

I take in the ring on his finger, the one on hers, and finally look at how old her daughter is.

She knows, and turns back to me, panic slapped across her face.

“How old is she?”

She swallows, and her husband is trying to get her to stop crying. “She’s two and half.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that implies.

It’s just one thing after another, isn’t it?

“You gotta be kidding me. Are you fucking serious right now?” I cross my arms over my chest, cocking an eyebrow. 

She starts to pick at her cuticles. “I didn’t find out until after the divorce was finalized. My doctor said I got pregnant at the end of April.” 

She was pregnant with another man's baby for almost 2 and half months, while being married to him.

Buckle up baby, I’m about to rock this bitches shit for a second time.

“You were going to pass it off as his, weren’t you? You were going to fuck him, and than two weeks later tell him that you were pregnant.”

I take a step forward, anger boiling in my chest. “You know he’s a fucking genius right? He’d do the math in .2 seconds and figure it out? What is with you and thinking you can get away with this shit?”

He must have sensed a disturbance in the force, because not two seconds later he comes around the corner, holding my snack in his hands, only to pause when he takes in the scene. 

His eyes flicker to me, then to Heather, the baby, and finally the man, who is puffing his chest to try and appear like the alpha male he thinks he is.

His hands tighten around the container of shrimp, before walking past all three of them, coming to stand behind me, tossing the container into the cart, one hand back in my back pocket, the other in his front. 

He stares down Heather, his eyes going back to the child every couple of seconds. 

I know he’s doing the math in his head, and he figured it out probably faster than I did.

“Unbelievable.”

She pinches the bridge of her crooked nose, looking up to say something but I cut her off. 

“Don’t. You have nothing to prove to us. You made your choice, now you have to live with it.” I look at the man behind her.

“Not even half the man.”

Spencer turns towards me, his chest moving to contain laughter at the look on her face.

Not giving her a chance to get the last word, I turn, and push the cart down the rest of the aisle, turning it as I hear her start to yell at him and her daughter.

He pulls me into an empty one a few rows down, turning me to face him as he leans down and kisses me. 

I wish I could kiss him forever.

“I love you so much, you don’t even know.”

I grab his hands and place them on my stomach, where our daughter was making herself comfortable. “I think I have an idea.”

He laughs, his eyes not leaving my stomach as he feels her movements. 

After a few moments, he removes his hands, grabbing one of my own as he turns me back around to keep shopping. 

“Really?” He points to the box of Reese's Puffs. 

“What? The list said cereal, Reese's puffs are cereal!”

He shakes his head, kissing the top of my head. 

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Permanent Tag List: @criminalcow @pinkdiamond1016​​​ @eternityofaxiom​​​ @you-had-me-at-hello-dear​​ @marvels-gurl​​ @theamuz​​​ @write-from-the-heart​​ @sungieeeeeee​​​ @mjloveskids666​​​ @chococerealmilk​​ @itzsoff​​​ @gia-kerks​​​ @doctorspencereid​​​ @imsuperawkward​​​ @andreasworlsboring101​​​ @itsmoony​​​ @cielo1984​​​ @heistmaster69​​​ @nevvvv​​​ @theseuscmander​​​ @complementaryvacuum​​​ @waywardswain​​​ @lindaze​​​ @urie-bowie-mercury​​ @spencerreidsimptime​

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[emm-jayy]

NSFW Alphabet- Spencer Reid

Warnings: smut, nsfw, dom spencer

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-Cuddles!! Lots of playing with your hair and telling you how good you did. And then a warm shower where he cleans you off.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-Spencer loves your breasts. He is definitely a boobs guy. He likes seeing your reaction when he cups them, and pinches your nipples.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

-Spencer loves to cum in your mouth, or basically anywhere on you. He likes claiming you as his, sort of. On occasion, he will like to cum inside you, if it is safe and you are on the birth control .

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-While Spencer loves being dominant over you, making you feel good, he wants to try being submissive. He sometimes wants you to hover over him and tease him endlessly.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

-Spencer wasn’t too experienced whenever he started dating you, but god did he know how to please a girl. He learned what parts of your body made you clench and moan, and he used that to his advantage.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

-Spencer loves it when you ride him. He loves to see your boobs bounce up and down. Though he doesn’t let you do the moving most of the time. He will grab your hips and move you to his liking.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

-Spencer is serious when he needs to be, but if something goes a bit wrong, or is funny, he will let out an airy laugh, shaking his head. Though, it’s typically right back to business

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

-Spencer grooms himself. He’s not clean shaven most of the time, but it’s nothing to complain about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

-Spencer will be rough and demeaning occasionally. But usually whenever you are both nearing your end, he will murmur how much he loves you, how good you are to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

-Spencer loves to send you videos of him masturbating while he’s on cases with the team. He loves knowing that it makes you squirm

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-Spencer loves praise and degradation. He loves mixing them to see your reactions. Spencer likes to see how you react whenever he calls you his good girl, and his slut.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

-At first, Spencer was very strict on only having sex in the bedroom. Though as time went on, he started needing you more and more. He wanted you in the kitchen, living room, shower, and even sometimes in a dressing room of a department store.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

-Almost anything involving you will turn Spencer on. If you are wearing something tighter, or maybe you just reach up to grab something and your skirt rides up. His pants will get tight, and he will need you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

-Spencer doesn’t want to do anything without talking to you about it first. You guys do have a safe word, and he will stop whenever you use it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

-Spencer is great at giving oral, and he loves giving it. He wants you to moan, pull at his hair, begging him for more. It makes him feel in control. He does love it when you go down on him. He plays with your hair, pulling it slightly, and then fucks your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-He loves to mix the two. Spencer will be going hard into you, then slowly pull out, teasing you by kissing your neck, until you are bucking your hips for more. Then he’ll smirk, giving you what you need.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

-Spencer really wants to take his time, but sometimes he just needs you. He will take you into the bathroom of the jet and just rut into you, putting his hand over your mouth so you will be quiet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

-Before Spencer tries anything new, he always asks you, and/ or you guys have a conversation about limits. He always wants to make sure you are okay with the risks he wants to take

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-He can’t go for more than two rounds, but he always makes you finish way more than twice.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

-One day, Spencer found your small bullet vibrator in your drawer. He automatically went over to you, pulling you into a kiss. Things got heated fast, and whenever you were begging him to go inside you, he brought out the vibrator. He pushed into you, softly groaning at the feeling, and then set the vibrator on your clit. You automatically clenched around him, and the experience was very enjoyable for the both of you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-Spencer loves to tease you, but not for too long. Once he hears your begs and whimpers for him to touch you, he has to do it. He really likes public teasing as well, but he always makes sure that you get enough pleasure afterwards.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

-Spencer is a quiet moaner usually. But he is very vocal with praises. Whenever you go down on him, he is constantly praising you. Telling you how good you’re doing as he slightly fucks your mouth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

-Spencer is very interested by all of the different orgasms a woman can have. He has researched the erogenous zones, and wants to give you those orgasms. His first experiment was a nipple orgasm. He even bought nipple clamps online (with your permission) to see if he could bring you to one.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-He is pretty well endowed. A good 7 inches, and he knows how to use it. Spencer always has you begging for him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-It used to not be very high. In fact, it took awhile for you two to even have sex in the first place. But after Spencer felt you wrapped around him for the first time, he couldn’t get enough. It became a regular thing for him to begin to feel you during random parts of the day, needing you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

-Spencer always makes sure that you are taken care of before you fall asleep. He makes sure you are comfortable, and clean. Then, you two fall asleep holding each other.

~

@1800-fight-me @rachel-rebellio @itsarayofsunshine @cupcake525 @soupmakesmynoserun @elizabethkaylynn @drspencr @mattgraygubler @reid-187 @darling-doll9 @disney-dreams-world @myfavbau @softpeteparker @chaoticsteverogers @throughparisallthroughrome @whollytaciturn @imsuperawkward @pinkprincenamjoon @spenciereiddd @pinkdiamond1016 @eideticprettyboydrreid @aperrywilliams @mahleeyuh @garcias-batcave

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer Not Profiler PT.3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, mentions of death, anxious/nervous ticking, tic attacks

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part 3! Remember that requests are open! So is the taglist, however I may be closing the taglist in a few weeks! thank you for reading!

You never knew you were scared of being on private jets until Dr. Spencer Reid rolled along.

“Statistically, Private jets crash more so than commercial planes do. The rate is commonly expressed as the number of accidents per 100,000 flight hours. The accident and fatal-accident rates declined again in 2015. In fact, the fatal-accident rate fell below one to 0.84, meaning there was less than one fatal crash per 100,000 flight hours.”

You think he was trying to make you feel better, but it only made you even more terrified.

“I would like to join the Bureau!”

Emily smiles happily, she knew that getting to know you would be a blast, and your people reading skills would come in major handy.

“That’s wonderful!”

Garcia yells out before wrapping her arms around you, it makes you freeze at first, but the hesitation wears off and you hug her back before shaking hands with everyone else.

When you shake Dr. Reid’s hand, you linger for a second, barely a second, before shaking hands with Hotch.

“This is going to be difficult, you’ll need training.”

You nod, shaking his calloused hand firmly.

“Of course sir, I’m willing to go through all of the training in the world for this.”

He smiles, but barely, only noticeable if you were looking (which you are) and you feel ecstatic at the small gesture. 

“Well, we have a jet to catch, so let’s hurry up. wheel’s up in thirty.”

The first few weeks of training were intense, you were physically trained by Morgan, he got you into shape and gifted you with a subtle six pack that you could see if you squinted hard enough. 

Hotch trained you to handle a gun, which you kind of sucked at. Every time you shot it, you jumped five feet in the air and had a mini panic attack, which Hotch had to help you out with.

Emily, Rossi, and JJ made you into a pretty damn good interrogator, which made you smile every time they complimented you.

You were shocked when you learned that you actually did need lessons in profiling, you needed to learn certain behaviors at crime scenes when you couldn’t see the unsub. Reid helped you in that regard. He also told you all sorts of fun facts, which you happily listened to, you loved learning new things and you would even insist upon hearing the facts sometimes.

You and Penelope had races against each other to see who could get into what faster, so far you two were tied.

Today is the day though, your first day as an official member of the team. Surprisingly, you still couldn’t say the word profiler without spiraling, and you’ve been having anxious tic attacks all night and all morning.

As you walk into the doors to the big office in the early early morning, your wrists slam together twice, making you wince and rub them, feeling the bruises from last night scream in rage.

“I’ve gotta learn to stop that...”

You realize you’re the first in the office, so you just take a quick seat to try and ground yourself, but it instead spirals into a tic attack as you take in what’s finally happening after all of these long and torturous years. 

“Y/L/N. You alright?”

You turn to the cold voice, seeing Hotch standing at the top of the stairs. You thought you were alone, you hoped you were, but if anyone was going to be at the office, you weren’t surprised it was Hotch.

“Oh, sorry sir, I’m just having first day nerves! I feel like I’m back in middle school...”

He flashes you an understanding half-smile, walking up to you and patting your shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, everyone here is already obsessed with you, you’ll fit right in.”

You smile, trying to act like you were okay,but when your fist harshly collides with the side of your head, you sigh and clutch the now bruised spot.

“Well, the others should be here soon, your desk is right there, next to Reid’s.”

You couldn’t stop the pink heat that bum-rushed it’s way onto your cheeks, trying to avoid Hotch seeing by moving to your new desk an sitting down, subconsciously clapping your palm against the desk.

“Wowie. I’m all official and everything huh?”

You smirk before the door clicks open, people beginning to enter the once-empty office space and making your nerves go through the roof once again.

That is, until Derek and Reid walk in with Garcia chatting about something random with Emily laughing at her.

“Hey Y/L/N! How’s the day so far?”

Derek asks, sitting on your desk. You immediately swat him off with a fake pout painted across your lips.

“Hey, I just got this space, I’ll be d-damned if I let some-some sweaty man sit on it.”

They didn’t miss your nervous stuttering, but in the short time the team had known you, they knew you hated when your tics were the center of attention, so they simply gave sad smiles and moved on.

“We have a new case, Y/L/N, I’ll give you a moment to adjust, round table in ten.”

Hotch walks away, back to his office before Garcia plops down on your desk. Derek notices how you don’t shoo her off and throws a whole fit.

“So you kick me off but not Penelope?”

“Is Garcia a-a sweaty m-man? I don-don’t think so!”

You all laugh before they sit down, Reid sitting next to you and logging into his computer before setting his stuff down.

“You ready for your first case?”

Reid asks, you shrug in response, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“I g-guess we’ll find-find out.”

Your wrists slam together again, making you hiss in pain a bit, Reid looks concerned and takes one of your wrists in his hand, gently brushing one of his long, slender fingers over your bruised nerves.

“Well a better question, are these going to heal correctly?”

He asked with a sudden seriousness that you didn’t particularly enjoy. 

“Well I don’t know Mr. Genius, why don’t you tell me?”

He looks up at your sarcastic words and smiles a bit, cheeks being brushed with a bit of red as he answers.

“Well they won’t heal properly with your tics, if anything they could get worse, the veins in your wrists will actually get really damaged and it could affect your entire nervous system, you might want to get it-”

“Spencer, as much as I love listening to your rants, and I do, I don’t love listening to the ones about my health being in danger.”

He smiles and discontinues the topic, letting you take your wrists out of his gentle grip and returning to your computer.

“Alright everyone, let’s get to the round table.”

-

-

-

-

-

Throughout the entire case, you stick close with Reid, he made you feel safer than the others somehow. He didn’t say anything about you being with him the entire time, he just accepted the helpful points you gave him. 

One night, you two were up all night trying to find a connection, laying out on top of a desk, listening to Mozart (he insisted) and trying to make a connection between the victims.

You had gotten so excited when you finally made a connection you started jumping up and down with Spencer, holding his hands happily as he joined your silly theatrics.

He seemed to be the only person that can relax your anxiety, even just standing around him helped slow your tics. You didn’t know why he relaxed you, he just did. 

On the jet back to the BAU, the two of you shared earbuds to listen to classical music, you had left your headphones back in Oregon so Spencer offered his left earbud.

Even back at the offices when you were working with Penelope, he brought you green tea, telling you it would still keep you awake but it wouldn’t make you as jittery or paranoid as coffee would.

As soon as he left, Garcia started looking at you weird, giving you googly eyes.

“What?”

“You like him don’t you!?”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows furrowing down, your cheeks get all rosy. No way! You didn’t like him like that, you just enjoyed his company.

“No I don’t! You’re finally going crazy huh?”

“You totally do! You’re getting all blushy and everything!”

“I don’t like him like that! I’ve never liked anyone like that, why would it start now huh? It wouldn’t. I don’t like him.”

She gives you a doubtful look, but drops it, letting you spin around to another computer while sipping on your freshly hot green tea.

The next day, you take the elevator up with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, JJ and Derek were talking about some show, while you listened to Spencer ramble about how unrealistic the show was.

“But Spencer, Dr. Who isn’t very realistic, but you still love it don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but I’m immediately biased to Dr. Who for my love of it, with any other movie or show, I don’t hesitate to point out faults.”

You chuckle at that, Spencer’s passion for Dr. Who was unmatched for anyone else’s love for any show. It’s insane. 

“Okay before pretty boy goes on about Dr. Who for hours, let’s escape.”

The doors open, allowing you and the other team members to walk in. Your desk was still fairly empty, not even a plant there to accompany your computer, you were still holding onto your runaway life, whether you admit it or not.

“Y/L/N, I need to talk to you. My office now.”

“What was that about?”

Panic bubbles to your chest, Hotch’s tone was too assertive, too aggresive. It was scary.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: 

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @thatonezesty13��@nightlygiggless @aberrant-annie @holybatflapexpert @spencerreidisbootiful @april-14-blog @jackryan-plz @ajwantsapancake @lightswriting @emilouu @yourmisosoup @lizziebritish @101donuts @rainsong01 @pretty-boy-genius @squirrellover1967 @gublerstyles @delievia @boxofsparklingmuses @annestine 

[samsexualdeancurious]

Midnight Snack

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 471

Summary: Sam makes a midnight snack run.

Warnings: ciswoman Reader, talk of periods.

A/N: Just a lil something I wrote in the middle of the night lol. Enjoy xD

---

Thank god for twenty-four-hour convenience stores, Sam thinks as he wanders through the aisles of the Gas-n-Sip. The fluorescent overheads hum softly, impossibly bright compared to the dark night outside the store. One bulb flickers and Sam’s eyes jump to it instinctively, old habits long engrained, but he’s pretty sure it’s just a short and not a haunting. If it is a haunting, well. He’ll send Dean up this way in the morning. Hopefully the bored clerk at the front counter can make it until then. She probably wouldn’t even notice if there was a ghost, though. She didn’t even look up from her magazine when Sam walked in.

Sam’s arms are already loaded up with snacks, some Y/N specifically requested and some Sam is anticipated she’ll want later. Better to save himself having to make another trip.

He makes a stop by the freezer to grab a pint of Y/N’s favorite ice cream flavor and then heads to the front. The clerk barely looks at him as she scans and bags his items. Bags in hand, Sam begins the trip home.

When he arrives at the bunker, he finds Y/N curled around a heat pad on their bed, flipping rather angrily through Netflix options. She lifts her head when Sam comes in.

“Snacks,” she sighs, reaching for the bags with grabby hands.

Sam chuckles softly and hands the snacks over. She immediately starts going through the bags, searching out her favorite chips to start. Sam toes off his shoes and strips down to his boxers and a t-shirt before climbing up onto the bed behind Y/N. She’s already munching on chips and he’s probably going to want to change the pillowcase before they go to sleep but Sam doesn’t complain. Instead, he lays down behind her to tuck his body up against her back.

“How goes it?” he asks, reaching around to hold the heat pad to her lower belly. She groans in appreciation.

“I hate my uterus,” is the response he gets.

“Fair enough.”

Y/N laughs softly and puts her hand over his, gently positioning him exactly where she wants him. Sam complies. He knows pressure helps and he would lay his head there in place of the heat pad if she were on her back but this will do for now.

“You’re the best,” Y/N murmurs, much calmer than when he initially entered the room.

“Ony the best for my girl,” Sam replies. “Gonna pick something to watch or scroll forever?”

Y/N gives his arm a gentle smack but settles on her usual go-to show for periods, a choice Sam could have predicted if someone had asked. He doesn’t tease her, though. Instead, he nuzzles into the side of her neck and accepts the chip she offers him over her shoulder.

—

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward @onethirstyunicorn

[winchest09]

hey hey hey!! I was wondering if I could please be tagged in Life For Rent? thank you :D

hi, hi, hi!

Of course you can darling! You’re on the list - look out for the preview being posted very soon!

Life for Rent

[your-eternal-muse]

I Watch Your Eyes

Heather Series Part Three

Part One  Part Two

Summery: Reader isn’t one for parties. What happens at one solidifies that for her.

Words: 1.7k (they’re getting longer folks, just you wait)

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of vomiting, description of breakdown, swearing, ANGST

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader, Platonic!JJ x Platonic!Reader

A/N: Y’all......it hurt to write this. I broke my own damn heart, which hopefully means it’s good. Also, Heather needs a last name and I just can’t bring it in me to think of one. Suggestions? Anyway, Tag List is open! Enjoy this painful chapter!

I’ve never been one for parties.

Small get-togethers at Rossi’s with the team, that’s different.

That’s family.

But wearing a cocktail dress and being around people I didn’t even know worked in the department? Sucks ass.

So, why am I here again?

Oh yeah.

I have to be here. Hotch’s orders.

I have to smile and exchange pleasantries and sip more champagne than I’d like to admit to.

But mostly, because Spencer asked me to be,

“Please? I just really want you there. I’m planning something, and I’d really like my best friend there.”

I have no backbone.

 I caved as soon as he said please.

I don’t know what he’s planning. I don’t even know what he's thinking half the time.

I used to know him like the back of my hand.

No, I don’t think I even know myself.

But here I stand, around a table, sipping on champagne, not really listening to the conversation the girls are having around me, wishing I was anywhere else but in this banquet hall, watching him twirl her around in her pretty pink dress.

“Y/nnnn…” A sing-song voice hits my ears and a hand waves in front of my face.

I blink, coming back to the present. “Yeah? What were we talking about?”

JJ laughs. “Where are you tonight? You’ve been staring off into space for the past 15 minutes.”

I scoff, shifting my weight on my feet. 

Stupid, fucking heels.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve just been….admiring Heather's dress.”

All their eyes turn to look, and they hum in agreement.

A beautiful rose gown adorns her body, flaring at the waist, flowing around her as she spins.

I’m sure Spencer is the one who bought it for her.

She was the center of attention tonight, though I’m sure she’s used to it at this point in her life.

“She’s gorgeous.” Emily says, swaying her head slightly to the music.

I’m sure she’s fully aware of that, Emily.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.” Penelope smiles, gazing happily at them. 

JJ glances at me, a soft look in her eyes.

I can’t help but agree.

He’s glowing.

His eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

I don’t think he’s stopped smiling since he met her.

You’d never make him that happy.

I down the rest of my champagne.

“Well, watching them dance makes me want to, so I’m off to search for my knight in shining armour. I’ll see you all later, my loves.” Penelope blows a kiss, before she leaves in search of Derek, and I watch as the song ends, and they exchange a kiss before Heather walks back over to her table, and he makes his way towards us.

“I didn’t take you as someone who danced, Spence.” Emily questions, taking a drink from her own glass.

He laughs, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his hair. “She convinced me.” He wipes his palms on his pants.

“You okay there Spencer? You seem nervous.” JJ speaks with a chuckle in her voice. 

If only I could be so light hearted.

“I will be.” He turns, smiling at me. “Thanks for coming tonight. It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

I reach up and straighten his tie, smoothing down his jacket, smiling up at him genuinely for the first time in what feels like years.

Huh.

I guess it has been a little over a year since I met Heather.

“Anything for you Spence.”

“I missed that smile.”

You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

I can’t help the blush that spreads across my cheeks. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I simply don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t seem to notice.

He takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

I roll my eyes, and chuckle. “Good luck with whatever it is you’re planning.”

“It’s a surprise. For everyone.”

I see him swallow and take a final deep breath before he walks away, back towards his table where Heather stands, charming the people around her.

The wheels begin to turn in my head.

“What do you think he’s on about?” Emily asks, laughter lacing her words.

I watch as he stands next to her, grabbing her hands to hold them within his own.

“Who knows what goes on inside his head nowadays.” 

I can feel JJ staring at me, but I can’t take my eyes off the scene playing out in front of me.

They exchange a few words, and then he’s on his knee,holding out something for her.

Her hands cover her mouth.

No...

“Oh my god.” 

Emily and JJ follow my line of sight and I can hear happy gasps as Heather exclaims “Yes! Yes I will marry you!” for the world to hear.

The hall erupts into cheers and applause and I. Can’t. Breath.

“Y/n? Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” JJ’s voice is soft, and motherly.

I wish someone would scream at me.

“I’m fine. Just too much champagne. I’ll be right back, promise.”

The words don’t even register before I’m walking away from the happy moment.

Their happy moment.

I barely make it out of the hall before I burst into tears, a hand clasps over my mouth to keep the sobs and bile back.

I run down the hallway, slamming into the bathroom, rushing into a stall where I promptly empty my stomach of tonight.

This is it. There’s no chance anymore You missed it. And now you have to live with the fact that he will never love you like her loves her. It’s your fault you feel this way, and no one else's. Your fault.

I reach up and flush, falling to sit on the floor and lean against the wall of the stall.

I hold my arm over my mouth, trying to swallow down the sobs that threaten to echo throughout the building.

The door opens, and heels click to stand in front of my stall.

“Y/N?”

It’s JJ.

Her voice is laced with concern.

I try to take a deep, quiet breath, but it comes out shuddery.

Fake it ‘till you make it, right?

“I’ll be right out, JJ, just needed a minute. Go join the celebration.” My voice cracks at the end and I want to hit myself.

She’s quiet for a moment.

“I know, y/n. Please open the door.”

God fucking damnit.

I sniffle, reaching up to slide the latch over, before pushing it open.

She sits down next to me, and without asking, pulls me into her arms.

I let go.

I curl myself into her, and sob.

Sob for the what if’s and could have beens, for the future I saw between us, for the chances I should have taken but didn’t, for the fact that Spencer Reid deserves someone so much better for a best friend.

She rubs my back and holds me close until the sobs have subsided.

“How did you know?” My words are wet.

“It’s the way you look at him. Like he’s your entire world. Like you would do anything for him.” She brushes some hair out of my eyes, and swipes away some of the tears that are still falling down my face.

“It’s the way he used to look at me.” 

Her smile is sad, and her eyes are distant.

“Does anyone else know?” That’s the last thing I need. For everyone to figure out my secret, to look at me like I’m a child who’s upset they can’t get what they wanted.

She shakes her head.

“No, not that I know of.”

Good to know my acting skills are solid.

I nod, standing up and walking over to the sink.

My eyes are red and puffy. Streaks are run through my foundation, and mascara coats my cheeks.

There’s no salvaging this.

JJ sets her purse down on the counter, digging through it until she pulls out a small pack of makeup wipes.

“I always end up taking off my makeup before I leave these things anyway.”

She hands one to me, and the small smile on my face isn’t forced.

“Thank you.”

She smiles back, and we both turn to the mirror, wiping off the evenings makeup and any signs of breakdown.

My eyes are still puffy, but I can blame that on getting sick.

She hands me a container of mints, and I open it, popping one into my mouth before closing it, and returning it to her.

The air is quiet between us.

“I was planning on telling him. The day I met her, I was going to tell him.”

I bite my lip to hold back more tears.

“I love him, JJ. I love him so much, and he’s never gonna love me the same way. How do I go on, living my life like it never happened?”

I’m cold. 

My chest feels hollow and heavy at the same time.

“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t.” She grabs my hand, holding it between hers. “But I do know that you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to bare the weight of it alone anymore.”

I nod, pulling her in for a hug, my arms around her waist, my face in her neck.

A home hug.

“Thank you, Jennifer.”

I feel her breath hitch.

She kisses the side of my head. “You’re welcome, y/n.”

We break, and I wipe away a few straggling tears before standing straight, and shoving a smile on my face.

She walks out first, and I follow, trying to look as okay as you can after having a breakdown on a bathroom floor.

We make our way back to our table, and I see JJ shoot a glance at Emily that tells her not to ask questions.

Spencer and Heather are standing in the middle of the hall, glasses of champagne in hand.

He has an arm wrapped around her waist, and he keeps glancing down at her. 

For a moment, his eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on mine, his smile grows.

He raises his glass, and I raise my empty one.

He laughs.

My hands shake as I set my glass down and he goes back to the conversation around him.

Another glance down at her, a kiss placed on her temple.

I down the rest of JJ’s drink when she’s not looking.

God, I fucking hate parties.

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[wrinkledparchment]

the absence of everything (ii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | The entirety of the BAU team is exhausted and ready for their two week break. Morgan and Greenway are heading to Jamaica, Gideon to a cabin, Hotch to his family, and you’re tagging along with Spencer on his flight to Vegas. You’re staying with him for a night before heading out to San Diego to visit an old friend, but you have so much fun with Spencer you want to stay. 

Word Count: 9,589 words

Author’s Note: Wow this took me so long to finish,,, I’m so sorry about that. But uh yeah this is based on the first half of the first episode of the Fisher King, and you finally get soME explanation into the reader’s backstory!!

Content Warnings: Cursing, tiny description of death and murder, but mostly some cute vacation fluff with Spencer along with some Italian speaking, oh and tragic reader backstory mmm yumby

Series Taglist: @liviasaugusta​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @imsuperawkward​ @nxstalgicnxbxdy​ @marciscaspar​ @april-14-blog​ @sweetreid​ @essenceproxima​ @sammypotato67​ @vixengustin88 @slep-slop​

the abscence of everything: i | ... | iii

“Morgan, your friend’s resort better be as nice as you say it is,” Elle said, carefully pouring herself another mug of coffee from the freshly brewed pot. Everyone in the office was preparing for their two-week break, and Derek had been going around trying to convince his coworkers to join him at his friend’s resort. He’d been successful in convincing Elle, but everyone else had somewhere else to be. Not even you agreed to go with the pair.

“Hey, I never said it was his,” Derek defended, leaning on the counter next to Greenway and following her back to her desk. “He just manages the place. But trust me when I tell you, it is off the hook. Hot sunny days, cool breezes at night, never ending tropical drinks with little umbrellas,” he wrapped his around Elle’s shoulder, “and nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories.”

The two of them arrived at their respective desks, turning around when Reid briskly walked by them, grabbing things in and around his desk and stuffing them into his satchel. Derek walked up to him, trying just one more time to convince him to come with. “Oh, there he is!”

Spencer glanced up quickly, continuing to stuff things into his bag. He really did not want to be late to the airport this time. It happens every single time, and he was determined to make sure he wasn’t late, because, of course, it had consequences beyond himself now.

“Pretty boy, it’s your last chance! I can get my man to swing you a hotel room for practically nothing, even you might get a little lovin’ out there,” Derek attempted to persuade him, leaning on your empty desk.

You walked in, a black bag slung over your shoulder as you approached the three of them, knowing exactly what Derek was up to. “Hey Spence, you almost ready?”

Morgan’s eyes swept over to you, in shock and disbelief. Were you and Spencer going to Vegas together? He questioned you with his eyes, but you decided not to answer. Derek finally looked over to Spencer just as he nodded in response, humming and gathering the last of his things.

“You guys are visiting Spencer’s family together?” Elle asked, and her voice boomed throughout the office, but luckily Hotch hadn’t gotten out yet. It wasn’t like you were staying or anything.

“We’re both taking the plane to Vegas, I’m staying with Spencer for a night and then I’m driving out to San Diego. I intend not to pick up the phone under any circumstances, and if any one of you calls me excluding Spencer, I will personally beat your ass when I get back here.”

Reid tried to hide the smile blooming on his face as his cheeks turned a bright shade of red, realizing how terrible ‘I’m staying with Spencer for a night’ sounded to the rest of the team. The two of you were best friends, went out for lunch all the time together, and spent most of your cases beside one another. It wasn’t that big of a deal to be sharing a room for just one night, right?

All you would be doing was staying with him and maybe going out for some typical Vegas fun for a night, sharing a room, and then waking up, renting a car, and driving to San Diego, driving back and getting on another flight with Spencer back to Virginia. It wasn’t inappropriate, and both of you knew that nothing would happen. Nothing at all.

“Mmm, excluding Spencer, huh? If you two are trying to hide your relationship from the team, you’re doing a terrible job.”

You sighed loudly, sarcastically smiling at Morgan and waving at Greenway as you and Reid walked out of the building side by side, but unfortunately, Hotch caught up to the two of you in the elevator. He looked at the two of you standing closely, and immediately knew what was going on.

“You’re going to Vegas together?” he murmured, peeking up only a little from his cell phone. You let your head drop against the elevator wall, sighing again while Spencer explained to Hotch you were just taking the same plane headed out to Vegas. He decided not to tell him that you’d be sharing a room for a night though, figuring it would help your case.

Hotch nodded, still very suspicious, but he decided against saying anything further. All of you got out together, going in the same direction, and Spencer followed closely behind, getting in the passenger seat of your car and setting his satchel near his feet. You set your duffle bag next to your suitcase in the trunk before joining him in the car, turning the ignition key and backing out just after Hotch had.

You began driving to Spencer’s apartment, needing to get his suitcase. He immediately flips the radio to the classical station, and you laughed at him loudly. “Okay, I get it,” he groaned, but refused to change the station. “If I’ve made you listen to so much classical music, I’m sure you can name this song.”

You looked over at him quickly, smiling, listening for only a few seconds to the song. “Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 9, No. 2. Easy.” You watched as he smiled, nodding and praising you for getting it right. “That one’s easy, I shouldn’t even get credit for that.”

The song continued playing in the background, Spencer giving you directions to his apartment. “You did some really nice work on the case with the double agent,” he commented.

“Oh god, don’t mention it. Seriously, do not mention it, we’re on vacation, and we’re not at the BAU,” you smiled, looking over before lightly patting his shoulder, quickly looking back to the road. “It’s just you and me now.”

Spencer’s heart fluttered inside his chest, and just as you put your hand back on the wheel, you pulled onto the side of the road near Spencer’s apartment. It was the first time you’d been here in a while, so you decided to come in with him. You both got out, and you followed him into the building and into his apartment.

It was cozy, medium-sized, perfect for one or two people. There were plants everywhere, a huge bookshelf, a comfy couch and a small dining table with even more books stacked on top. Right near the door was his suitcase, and he grabbed it quickly and began shuffling back outside. He tossed you the key, telling you to lock it while he brought the suitcase out to your car. You locked it tight, pushing on it a few times just to make sure. The little silver key felt so comfortable in your hands yet so foreign.

You took a minute, just standing there with the key to Spencer’s apartment and it felt so right. You loved that he could just give the key to you and trust you to lock his apartment for him before leaving for two weeks straight. Things felt exactly the way they should right now, you and Spencer heading out to Vegas together. You just wished that it would be longer than a night, but you already had everything planned and your rental convertible and beach house were already paid for.

You skipped back down the steps and over to your car just as he arrived, popping the trunk, and moving your luggage around so his would fit. He closed the trunk for you, both of you getting back into the car. You handed him his key with a wide smile, and immediately driving towards the airport so you’d be there in time for your flight.

You opted to turn the radio to a different station, wincing as you turned onto the Today’s Hits station to have your stereo blast a new Fall Out Boy song, and you turned it down remarkably, looking at Spencer as he massaged his temples, head aching from the loud volume.

He listened to song, trying to understand the lyrics but he was incredibly confused. “Did the singer just say, ‘freak shit in your cheese’?” Spencer asked incredulously. All he was met with was your raucous laughter before you turned and gave him a heart-wrenching smile. He knew he could not continue like this for much longer—watching you smile and laugh at nearly anything he says, watching your eyes light up when a song you like comes on—and not kiss you. He lost the last remaining bit of his sanity when he found out you knew every single lyric of Fergalicious, when you made eye contact at a stop light while singing along perfectly. He laughed so hard his throat was sore afterwards, and you promised to get him some tea at the airport in apology.

You played several more rounds of “Guess the Classical Song” and had a total win-lose ratio of 6-3, Spencer complimenting you every time you got one right. Eventually, you decided to make him guess 80s’ songs on the radio, and he utterly failed. You wondered if he’d ever listened to anything other than classical music in his life. You nearly cried when you found out that the only song he had recognized so far was Billie Joel’s Uptown Girl, apparently because his mom had been a very big fan of Billie.

Eventually, Don’t Stop Believin’ came on, and much to your delight, he knew every lyric. You swear you could feel the contentment radiating off of him as the two of you screamed the lyrics as loud as you could, the windows rolled all the way down while his shaggy hair was whipped around by the wind. You began driving through the airport parking lot towards the end of the song, searching for a spot you felt comfortable leaving your car in.

You rolled the windows up and kept the radio playing while you made sure nothing of value was visible in your car and Spencer took out the suitcases, keeping his satchel over his shoulder and attaching your black duffle bag to your suitcase, which he also planned on dragging around for you. Once you shut the trunk, your radio was shut off and everything went silent.

Spencer’s voice echoed throughout the parking lot, following you over to the gate and checking the time. Surprisingly, you were early for the flight scheduled, meaning you had plenty of time to get Spencer that tea you’d promised him. Your steps synced again, as usual, and you allowed the corner of your mouth that Spencer couldn’t see pull upwards into a half-smile. You could’ve easily been mistaken for a couple, granted how much you smiled at each other, softly speaking in the crowded room, eyes focused on the other.

Even knowing it was all an illusion, a faux love, you were comfortable. You allowed yourself to pretend for just this flight, just this tiny moment in time, that you and Spencer were in love. That you were soulmates, entwined together and inseparable. You let yourself sink into the dream that was loving him, all of him, every single bit.

The sun began setting just as you cleared security and arrived at your gate, parking your suitcases near the large glass windows that overlooked the plane you were about to get on for a non-stop flight of 5 hours. Spencer flopped down into the uncomfortable airport chair next to the suitcases, about to get up to go get some disgusting airport dinner, but you put your hand out in front of him.

“You stay here, Spence, I’ll get us some food and that tea I was going to get you,” you smiled, rummaging through your duffle bag to grab your wallet and the notebook with all of Spencer’s favorite foods in it. You may not have an eidetic memory but you do have a pen and some paper.

“Do you know what I want?” he challenged, raising his eyebrow at you with a wide smirk plastered on his face.

You met his glare, “You bet I do.”

“Mmm, how much?” he asked, prepared to bet with you, and you negotiated that he had to buy you dinner in Vegas if you got him something he genuinely liked here.

You quickly wandered off, searching through the notebook and recognizing an affinity for Indian food, so you quickly bought some Indian for the both of you, and bought chai tea, one with extra honey for Reid’s sore throat. Walking over to him with a plain brown bag that concealed the meal you bought, you dared him internally to taunt you.

You were sure he could smell the Indian food, especially after you took out his meal tray and set it on his lap, chai tea right next to him. “Extra honey for the sore throat.” He looked at it, shock evident on his face, and he couldn’t believe that he felt . . . appreciated?

“How’d you know?” he asked, murmuring about knowing the best restaurant in all of Las Vegas, then quickly opening the lid and taking a bite. For airport food, it wasn’t half bad.

You shoved your notebook and wallet back into your duffle bag, reminding yourself to mark this dish as one of his favorites later. You looked back at him, sitting down and beginning to eat. “I pay attention.”

He nodded, humming while eating his food. The two of you tried to finish as quickly as possible, and you got up to throw away the garbage just in time for the boarding to be called. Spencer, ever the gentleman, let you go inside first, taking your suitcase and putting it in the cubby himself. You grabbed the window seat, thankful that there wasn’t another person in your row. He sat in the seat right next to you, leaving the arm rest down as he grabbed a book from his satchel. The translations of the Divine Comedy, all 100 cantos of them.

Spencer had been reading it to you every jet ride back from a case, and despite you actually enjoying—as best you could—the Divine Comedy the first time you’d read it, every time you fell asleep before Spencer could even get to the next canto. You were only about 4 cantos from where you’d left off before you nodded off again. Even with the arm rest between your seats, and the terrible quality of them, your head was rested comfortably on Reid’s shoulder as he held the book in front him despite not needing it.

Reid could almost feel the exact moment you fell asleep, every muscle in your body relaxing and the weight on his shoulder just a little heavier. You didn’t snore, thankfully, but he could hear you breathing. It was just as peaceful for him as it was for you, allowing himself to look over your head and out the window to see utter darkness. He could feel you trying to move into a more comfortable position in your sleep, so he raised the armrest in between you with his unoccupied arm and scooted himself closer to you. He loved how you trusted him this much.

You’d said you had trouble sleeping, especially with people you didn’t know or trust around you. This plane was full of strangers, and yet, you were sleeping soundly on his shoulder, like he was the only person on this plane or in the world in general. The warm breath fanning on his neck, the weight of you resting on his shoulder felt so right. As if everything that had happened to him previously was just to get him here, to this exact moment, miles high in the air and honey coating his throat from the tea you’d given him.

There was no question of if anymore, only a question of when, when will you be mine? When will your thoughts be filled with only Spencer, when will he be able to wake up and see you lying in his bed, sunrays shining down through the curtains he had forgotten to close before your day off? He knew now that he wanted you, but he just wasn’t sure if he’d get you.

He allowed himself to close his eyes, soak in the warmth of having you, even just for a fraction of a second. Bathe in the satisfaction that anyone who could see the two of you in this moment would know how much you loved each other. The lights on the plane slowly dimmed, the stewardess recognizing that most passengers were already asleep, and Spencer finally faded into sleep, his head slowly moving to lean against yours.

The plane landed in Vegas at about 1am local time. Even though you were both asleep for the majority of the flight, you were still exhausted after getting out of the airport. Neither of you had access to a car, so Spencer sleepily waved down a taxi for the two of you to take him to his hotel. Luckily, you got there just as graveyard hour check-ins were about to close. You were too tired to admire the hotel, this one free of a casino though it did have a bar and a rooftop pool.

Finally shoving the keycard into scanner and opening the door to the hotel Spencer would be staying at for the next two weeks, you gratefully smiled and left your suitcase near the door, toeing off your shoes and immediately flopping down onto the couch. Spencer noticed this, and he was sleepy as well, but he still didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

“I will literally throw you onto the bed if I have to, you’re not sleeping on the couch. I can take it instead,” he negotiated, moving to grab some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt for himself to change into. You groaned, slowly standing up to get yourself ready for bed as well.

You continued to brush your teeth as you walked out of the bathroom to look out at the skyline, taking your time with exploring the moderately-sized hotel room that you’d be staying in for about another 36 hours. Given the fact most of those 36 hours would be spent sleeping, you’d have very minimal time with Spencer, so you needed to make it count. Going back to the sink and rinsing your mouth, you finally turned off the bathroom light when you asked if Spencer was done getting ready.

You immediately frowned, seeing him sleeping on the couch with nothing but a very thin blanket. “C’mon stupid, get up,” you said, lightly shoving him so he would move.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

You rolled your eyes, forgetting that he couldn’t see it in the dark room. “Then we’re sharing the bed. It’s big enough for the both of us,” you pleaded, smiling in contentment when you could just barely make out him nodding. You only began to move towards the bed after he’d stood up, both of you bumping into tables or the dresser on the way, a string of curses leaving your mouths and soft, quiet giggles hanging in the air.

You finally crawled into the bed, loving how soft and clean the sheets felt. You faced Spencer, and he faced you too. Neither of you made a move to cuddle, too scared of the implications of that, so instead, he gave you a small smile. “Goodnight, [Name].”

Spencer woke up sometime around 8am, the bed around him warm and an unusual yet welcome weight on his chest and stomach. He knew by now that his hair was probably ruffled and unkempt from sleeping, he could feel his shirt being wrinkled and folded against his back in an odd way, and his eyes burned from the sun gleaming down directly onto his face. He was so tired, so exhausted, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to go back to sleep, and for a brief moment, he forgot about his job at the BAU, about the man he shot and killed, about bruises that Hotch’s shoe left on his stomach. He even forgot about the weeks old case in Hollywood, Lila, and her stalker.

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

. . .

All there was in his world right now was clean sheets, the Vegas hotel room, and you. He finally peeled his eyes open, remembering your whimpers and soft sobs during the night. Remembering how he woke up around 5am to see you writhing in your sleep, and how he just whispered assurances in your ear, bringing you close to him after you’d barely woken up. He was so tired, and he hated seeing you in distress, and hadn’t thought of the consequences or what would happen in the morning, until now.

His heart began racing, tilting his head just enough to see your face buried in his t-shirt covered chest, your arm slung over him just the way it had been on the jet ride back from LA. He scolded himself, how could he be so stupid? You were his coworker, his best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

He slid himself out from underneath you, hoping not to wake you up so you wouldn’t even know the two of you had been cuddling at all. It was shocking, to see you so peacefully idle, no worry at all. Even when going out to lunch with him, or at the BAU bar nights, you never looked as relaxed. Spencer tried to bite back his smile, hating himself for so creepily staring at you in your sleep.

Reid turned away, looking around the hotel room for something to occupy himself with until you woke up, and he spared a glance at the copy of The Divine Comedy, but looked away. It was your story, the two of you were reading it together, although he could read it without even opening the book. Eventually, he settled on reading the magazines set on the dresser about Las Vegas. He already knew all of the attractions, but you were here for just a day. The two of you were on vacation together, he had a finite amount of time with you, and he just wanted to have the best day he could before he wouldn’t see you for another 10 days.

He was flipping through the magazines, looking at coupons, restaurant menus, anything he could find. He only glanced up when he heard you groan, and the ruffling of sheets about 15 minutes later. You tossed and turned a bit, eventually settling and trying to stretch, feeling around the bed. It happened in just a matter of seconds, your hand touching the empty space where Reid was, and you shot up and out of bed, grabbing your cell phone and glancing around the room until you saw Reid.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. I’m just reading a magazine, I woke up before you did,” he soothed. Soon, you sighed dramatically and fell sideways onto the bed, whining.

“You scared me, Reid!”

He chuckled softly, getting up and heading over to the bed where you lay, standing over you. “Would you like breakfast?”

The two of you walked down clad in your pajamas from the night before, the only difference is that your hair was brushed and you were wearing Spencer’s cardigan from the flight, him citing how cold the hotel room was compared to the Las Vegas air when he offered it to you. Of course, you didn’t need convincing, but he didn’t know that.

It was about 8:30am when you two arrived in the cafeteria of the hotel, and it was completely empty, surprisingly. You guessed that most people staying here were hungover and would sleep past noon, only going out after sunset. Luckily so, your socks provided shields against the cold tile floor as you danced around Reid, who was trying to put together a healthy breakfast for the two of you. There was even a make-your-own-pancake station, which you took advantage of, making Spencer a pancake with a smiley face made of chocolate chips and diced bananas. While you worked on the pancakes, he put together a fruit bowl for the two of you to share, full of berries and every fresh fruit they had.

The two of you took your “homemade” breakfast to the small table they had in the corner that overlooked the strip, looking out at just one bit of young Spencer’s world. You couldn’t imagine what he could’ve been like at that age, how proud he made his parents before his dead left and his mom was sent to the sanitarium.

You listened to Spencer talk a lot about his life before the BAU, how he grew up here in Vegas, and what his school experiences were like. While he was a child prodigy and you couldn’t necessarily relate, you’d been gifted and in an accelerated program when you were younger too. Spencer’s the youngest on the team, you second to him only because you’d worked hard and proved yourself, working at the right place during the right time and being extremely lucky to get offered the job at the BAU.

Eventually, you moved onto talking about what the rest of the day would look like. Spencer said he would go see his mother first, and spend the rest of the day with you, giving you the kind of tour day only a Vegas native could. Once you were done eating, you headed back up to the hotel room, putting on a swimsuit underneath your clothing and then meeting up with Spencer.

You got a call from the rental car company, saying that it was ready, and you could pick it up a day early if you’d like. The both of you took a taxi, Spencer holding the book he would give his mom at the sanitarium. Spencer stood beside you as you signed paperwork at the counter, while he inspected the car. It was a sleek, black Cadillac, the top was already down. It was gorgeous, and for the price he’d heard, it was affordable, rental-wise.

Spencer had to take a minute, trying to stop those fleeting thoughts of the two of you driving along the Pacific Highway, the sun blinding Spencer while he tried to look over at you, wind ruffling your hair while you smiled so brightly. He needed to stop them, but he didn’t want to. The image of the two of you, careless in California while all troubles about the BAU were left behind.

He heard your footsteps come closer, turning around swiftly to make eye contact with you. You smiled mischievously, dangling the keys between your fingers in front of him. You pulled open the door, sliding in quickly, adjusting your seat and gesturing to the passenger’s seat next to you. “Tell me how to get there.”

Spencer glanced back to the spot the cab had been, seeing nothing but an empty road now. You explained that you’d paid him behind his back and told him to go ahead and leave, that you’d be taking Spencer the rest of the way. Spencer shook his head, muttering ‘thank you’s and ‘you didn’t have to’s.  

You left the top down, driving through the crowded roads of Vegas until you arrived at the Bennington Sanitarium, his mother’s current residence. The shift in mood was immediate; as soon as you pulled up, Spencer went stiff. “You don’t have to come in, if you don’t want to,” he said, playing with his hands in his lap, not once glancing up at you.

“What do you want me to do, Spence?”

He swallowed harshly, as if not expecting the question. It took a few minutes for him to give a half-response. “They’d need to authorize you to let you in since you’re not family, but even just staying in the waiting room would be . . . nice.”

You nodded, unbuckling yourself and raising the hood of the car once you made sure Spencer had everything he needed. You walked by him, side by side, each step in sync, just like normal. Even with the obvious tension, you still were joined by the hip. You watched him approach the front desk, and walk through the big, steely metal doors.

Once Spencer stepped through, seeing his mother rocking back and forth in the chair that looked out to the window, his heart sank. He barely came to visit her, and the first time he did in ages, he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

Even with your support, sitting right outside the doors that let him in, he didn’t think he could talk to her today. He wondered what you’d think of him, what he’d think of himself, if he stepped out too quickly. Would you understand? Do you know how hard it is to watch someone you love suffer so greatly? Spencer knew you would, hoped you could just direct his worries away. Even if it was just was just for a day.

“I heard a rumor you were here,” a woman spoke as she walked up to Reid. He turned towards her for a moment, before his eyes wandered back off to his mother. He asked the woman about how she was doing. “Schizophrenia is a lifetime illness. The meds stabilize the worst of her symptoms, but she still has bad days. What makes her most happy are her journals and your daily letters. She is exceptionally proud of you.”

Spencer smiled only for a second, “She is?”

The woman nodded, “She talks about you all the time to anyone who will listen, staff, other patients. Her journals are filled with the cases you write her about. Calls them your adventures.”

His guilt ran even deeper into the pit of his stomach. “Mom’s of the belief that you can find adventure all around you if you just look. That’s what happens if you’re a professor of 15th century literature.”

“She’s going to be so excited that you were finally able to get here in person.” Spencer’s heart nearly broke, knowing that he just couldn’t do it today. Whether it was how sad she looked, or the fact that whatever mood he was in after left, you would have to put up with for the rest of the day, he didn’t know. He didn’t grasp the emotion he was feeling, didn’t understand it. It was far deeper than guilt, or sadness, or pity. It was something way, way worse.

“Maybe it’s better if I just let her rest today.” The woman tried to convince him to stay and visit for a while, but instead, Spencer just handed her the book he was going to give her. “Can you give this to her? It’s, uh, Margery Kempe, her favorite.” With that, he quickly walked back out to the waiting room.

You sat there, writing in a journal when he came up to you. Immediately looking up, you realized something was wrong. You weren’t sure if you should ask, so instead, you got up and walked side by side back to the car, setting your things inside the console and beginning to back out. Spencer seemed to relax a little bit, his shoulders dropping down and his head leaning fully against the seat, taking a deep breath.

As you began to pull out of the parking lot, he quickly looked back at you, brows furrowed, “Do you know where we’re going?”

“No idea,” you replied, a grin on your face as you turned back to the road, unperturbed. The happiness that radiated off you, it was infectious, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “You were reading that Vegas magazine earlier, where should we go?”

“That depends, what do you like doing while you’re on vacation?” Spencer asked seriously, reaching into his satchel, and pulling out the tourist magazine from before.

Again, from the corner of his eyes, he could see the mischievous smile painted across your face, “Something stupid. I just want to do something terribly, incredibly, awfully stupid with you.”

Even the simplest things you did made everything in him coil up, tightening around his stomach and making him feel lovesick. The simple ‘with you’ was enough for him to explode. He laughed, carefree again, and smiled. “Well I guess we go where all the stupid things happen then—Downtown.”

With his expert directions, you managed to find a parking place inside the Fremont East Entertainment District, which he called ‘FEED’. It awfully confused you the first time he’d said it, but he clarified later with a smile. Somehow, time had passed by quick and it was already noon. You knew you were hungry, but the smell of Mexican food near the Fremont open-air mall made your stomach growl.

Spencer immediately began walking in the direction of the restaurant, buying you what he cited as ‘the best thing on the menu’, and getting one for himself too. You sat down at a table, eating, idly chatting, and watching the huge crowd outside the restaurant pass by. There were plenty of street performers outside, but the loudest by far was a group of musicians, one with an alto saxophone, another with a sousaphone, and finally someone else sitting on a lightweight cajon.

There was a set of cards tucked inside the individual table baskets, and after you had both finished, Spencer pulled out the cards and began shuffling them. You watched as the cards slowly began bending, even without the pressure of Spencer’s hands. He’d done that in a matter of minutes, and you could barely even overhand shuffle. “How are you doing that?”

Spencer glanced up at you, continuing to shuffle the cards before realizing what you were asking. As a Vegas native, he was incredibly confused. “Do you not know how to shuffle?” You pursed your lips in embarrassment, looking at the incredulous expression on his face. Slowly, you shook your head.

He hummed, but he didn’t make fun of you like you thought anybody else would, had they known you didn’t know how to shuffle. Suddenly, all the times you declined to shuffle the cards for the team on the jet and pawned it off on Spencer made sense. He gathered the cards in his hands again, giving you a pointed look as he separated them.

He separated the deck in half quickly, readjusting his hands and pointing out how his fingers were positioned, using his middle finger to bend the cards and his ring and pinky finger to hold the outer edge. Very slowly and carefully, he released the cards, letting them shuffle together and then, insanely quickly, did the cascade finish which just looked like nonsense to you.

He pushed the cards your way, and placed your fingers exactly how Spencer had, and released. Spencer had to suppress laughter because that was the worst shuffling job he’d ever seen. Instead of one card layering on top of another from the other half, you’d just released it in chunks, huge portions of the deck remaining un-shuffled.

You tried again, and again, and again until your thumb felt like it was going to get it’s skin ripped off if you did it one more time. You’d improved, but your shuffling was still mediocre, so by the time Spencer could sense your frustration at your lack of shuffling skills, he took over and began shuffling.

“What would you like to play?” he asked. “Kings in the Corner, Pinochle, Poker?” He watched you frown, contemplating. Spencer always won any card game that involved actual skill, being a Vegas native and a certifiable genius on top of that.

“Hmm, how about war? That’s the only thing I have a chance at winning,” you suggested, your smile growing uncontrollably when he laughed. After dealing you both half the deck, you immediately began flipping cards, going the whole round without going to war once. You were both evenly matched, each of you having two aces in your deck and a similar number of lettered cards.

“Good thing this is a game of pure luck, or I would have beaten you already,” Spencer smirked, and you smacked his hand across the table.

“I will have you know, luck is on my side today,” you smiled, and Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Actually, luck can’t choose sides—”

You laughed loudly, other patrons having to fight the urge to coo at how adorable the two of you were. You seemed so happy together, like a young couple still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. Just as you were beginning to feel confident, Spencer took your king in a war, and you groaned loudly. He smiled triumphantly, continuing to demolish you in a game purely based on chance.

He looked so cute when he won. His face just filled with the type of pride you can only feel from winning something that didn’t matter at all, like a quick card game in a Mexican restaurant with the coworker you decided to vacation with. You wanted so desperately to kiss the smirk right off his face.

You pushed down those feelings quickly, Spencer pocketing the deck of cards and guiding you out of the restaurant, the scent of numerous fast food restaurants and cigarette smoke filling your lungs. You could barely hear anything by now, Fremont street was so crowded that Spencer had placed his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close to him so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Time had passed so quickly; it was already around 2pm and you’d only visited one place so far.

You two got back in the car, Spencer directing you to get onto interstate 15. You didn’t bother putting the top down, but you left the windows open, wind still messing up Spencer’s hair regardless. He finally directed you off the interstate just before you passed the Bellagio, and you parked in the parking garage, letting Spencer guide you to the botanical gardens.

Once you stepped inside, you were hit with the refreshing scent of greenery and flowers. The massive glass ceiling allowed the mid-afternoon sunlight in. There were plenty of people circling around, but not so many that it was too crowded. A large cherry blossom tree hung over you, the entire garden floor being covered in fallen petals. And in front of you, Spencer, his hair seeming nearly golden in the light, eyes soft, shoulders relaxed. He looked stunning, everything about him disheveled from the car ride. You watched carefully as he straightened out his shirt under your gaze.

“Gorgeous, right?” Spencer confirmed, seemingly satisfied with your reaction. Perhaps never having been to Vegas was a blessing in disguise, getting shown around a new city with someone you were hopelessly crushing on. You got to see the places he wanted to show you, and furthermore, what he thought of you and felt you would like. “You can’t come to Las Vegas without doing or seeing something involving the Bellagio, it’s nearly impossible.”

You nodded, eyes still focused on the scenery around you, desperately trying to look anywhere besides Spencer. You could feel how warm your cheeks were getting, and you just wanted to keep your flustered state under wraps. As if he sensed this and wanted to make it one-hundred times worse for you, he walked closer and set his hand on the small of your back, urging you to move forward.

He didn’t move it for the remainder of your exploration of the Bellagio, and you didn’t dare complain about it. The soft voices of guests echoed around the conservatory, and all you could do was absorb the somehow soothing atmosphere despite it holding tons of people.

You both walked around the Bellagio shopping area, brushing shoulders with other young people who’d come to get away. People kept smiling at you, others clearly checking out one of you, but the biggest shocker came during one of Spencer’s signature lectures, this time he was teaching you about the Las Vegas economy, more specifically the rich history behind the oldest hotel-casino in Vegas that was still running, the Golden Gate Hotel and Casino. Further, he began talking about the 50-cent shrimp cocktail which, as of now, was actually a 99-cent shrimp cocktail, and eventually talking about how much money hotels and businesses lost from having the price that low.

You, having aced every single econ exam you’ve ever taken, were incredibly interested in the specifics of the pros and cons of serving the shrimp cocktails, and you knew that if any of the BAU team were here, they would tease you endlessly after. You look like a lost puppy, you could nearly hear them saying. Of course, if anyone did say that, it would be accurate. You looked hopelessly in love with Spencer Reid.

You’d both stopped at a tiny ice-cream cart, Spencer ordering each of you a cone. He continued on the shrimp cocktail rant, both of you talking about the economics of it all, arguing what price it should be raised to and the hotel finances.

“Here’s your ice-cream, you two. I hope you guys decide to have your wedding at the chapel here, I could end up working it, maybe give a testimonial,” the worker joked, handing over your cones. Spencer’s cheeks immediately went bright red, unable to say any pleasantries. You waved it off, smiling and thanking the worker without correcting it and dragging Spencer’s frozen body away by his hand after he took the ice cream.

He set his hand right on the small of your back again, ice cream cone in the other hand, and his face the color of a tomato. The shade deepened once you’d walked far enough away and began incessantly laughing. And now, all that Spencer Reid could think about was you on your wedding day and how beautiful you looked when you smiled. He almost dropped his ice cream about five times, not daring to move his hand, fearing you would disappear.

You began walking back to the car while eating your ice cream, knowing it was nearly 4pm already and you were leaving tomorrow morning. Dear god, did you want to stay. You wanted to wake up every morning knowing that you would be spending the rest of your day with Spencer Reid. But San Diego was waiting for you, and you’d promised that you would visit.

By the time you both had reached your car and concluded discussions about shrimp cocktail economics, your ice cream cones were finished. You rolled the top down, deciding to drive along the Vegas strip before heading back to your hotel for a little while. Everywhere you went smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, and you decided to ignore it and be thankful that you wouldn’t be around here for much longer.

Spencer Reid won’t be in San Diego with you, but you’ll still have sandy white beaches, the cool ocean breeze, and your small rental beach house. Speeding all the way back to the hotel, you smiled at how Spencer continued to fight the wind as it messed with his hair. You decided that this was yet another situation where he looked almost terrifyingly adorable.

Parking inside the hotel garage and rolling the top back up was a process, making sure that your car would be completely safe here while you and Spencer relaxed in the hotel for a little bit before spending your last night together on the Vegas strip. Spencer didn’t put his hand where he normally did, opting to keep it inside his pocket. Both of you didn’t stop at your room, instead going to the rooftop pool, where the 4pm sun was still smiling upon the water.

There were a few couples dotted along the edges of the pool, some loud pop music playing from the speakers. You immediately changed into only your bathing suit, diving straight into the deep end of the pool and smiling as the cold water cooled you off from the normal high temperatures of the Nevada desert.

Spencer was less enthusiastic, changing into his swimsuit but not getting in, instead just staring at you from the pool’s edge. You paddled over to him, preparing yourself for all the disgusting facts he was about to tell you about public pools. Instead, he just dipped his foot in and kicked the water directly at your face. You rubbed at your eyes, shaking the water off your head and peeking out of one eye to look at Spencer, who had a giant grin plastered on his face.

“Get in here, idiot,” you challenged, “If you can get into a pool fully clothed with your gun still in your holster, I think you can join me.”

He immediately surrendered, clearly caught off guard by your reference to his fling with Lila just a few weeks ago. Sure, most of the BAU team still made fun of him for it occasionally, but you almost never brought it up. “You know, the CDC—”

“Shut up and get in, Spencer,” you interrupted him, tugging on his hand so he would come in. He joined you, still wearing a white t-shirt. You assumed he was just uncomfortable with being shirtless, probably afraid of some girls hitting on him. The t-shirt clung to him in the pool, revealing his muscles which you desperately tried to avoid looking at.

As soon as he was submerged up to his neck, you splashed him in the face as payback, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and making him look like a rat that had just taken a shower. “You still look like a rat when you’re wet,” you joked. He splashed you back in the face, which you quickly dodged, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Did you just—did you just stick your tongue out at me?” he questioned, chuckling underneath his breath and you shrugged. You watched him brush his hair back with both hands, just like you’d seen him do while making out with Lila in the pool back in LA. Your stomach twisted in jealousy, and you tried your best to ignore it. You didn’t have much time with Spencer, and he wasn’t yours, so there was no point.

You were sure that he could sense the shift in mood regardless. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow morning?” Spencer asked, and you nodded solemnly.

“Probably closer to the afternoon, but yeah. So, I can be at the beach house by about 7pm.”

Spencer tried to smile, tiptoeing around the fact that he’d miss you so much. “What’s waiting for you in San Diego?”

“I’m visiting an old friend,” you said. “She owns a bookstore down there, her father and my dad used to operate it. When I was in high school the store got robbed while my dad was working an overnight shift repairing old books. I came in the next morning and found him, shot in the head over the work table with a rectangle area that had zero blood spatter right in front of him. The goddamn robber stole the first edition book my dad was rebinding, and they never caught him.”

“Is that why you joined the BAU?”

You chuckled, “Yeah, as cliché as it sounds. I was an early hire on the police force there after I graduated high school two years early and was going to UCSD. All I did was look over his case files and I had enough and applied to the FBI Academy, Hotch found me and after I was done, they hired me here, I didn’t transfer or anything. Right place, right time; as much as I wish I could say I worked hard to be here, it was all luck.”

“Well you had to be special to get here as early as you did,” Spencer commented, and you shrugged.

“Nepotism, probably. Hotch knew someone who knew me, Hotch visited the academy and found me, and decided I was good enough. He took me under his wing, and I had to work to prove to Strauss I deserved to stay, and I’ve had to keep doing that as long as I’ve been at the BAU.”

Spencer hated how close to home that hit him. Working endlessly and bending over backwards to prove to all the higher-ups and people that had never worked with you that you deserved to stay, despite glowing recommendations from your bosses and peers. “We’re in the same boat then.”

You smiled, “Yeah, that’s probably why I immediately liked you the best when I first got here. I didn’t need to prove myself to you, and we make a great team.”

Immediately, his face lit up at the compliment, and you swore that your heart melted right then and there. “We do,” he grinned, and immediately, the warm, cozy, friendly atmosphere was back. The two of you sat underneath the artificial waterfall, and you let the water wash over your whole body. You stayed there, chatting with Spencer, people watching, and profiling other people for fun until around 6pm.

After you both got out of the pool, you guys both went to shower and prepare yourselves for dinner and a tour around the strip, since it was always it’s prettiest, brightest, most eccentric self at night. Both of you got into the convertible again, not bothering to roll the top down this time but instead rolling down the windows.

Spencer’s hair didn’t get as messed up, and you secretly made a note to never make that mistake again. His hair was so much cuter when it wasn’t gelled back. You parked on the side of the street near a casual, homey Italian restaurant on the main strip, and it was possibly the most endearing and welcoming place you’d ever been. Spencer opened the door for you, and immediately you were hit with the scent of fresh-baked bread and pasta sauce. The inside felt and looked just like a small family restaurant in Florence.

You were immediately greeted by a friendly hostess, who guided you to your table, quickly turning and speaking Italian to someone at a different table before turning and smiling at you. Now was as good a time as any to impress Spencer Reid by speaking Italian with the waitress.

“Scusa, so soltanto un po’ di italiano. Come ti chiami?” you spoke quickly, showcasing your familiarity with the language. She looked taken aback for a minute before smiling and introducing herself, making polite conversation with you before you told her you both needed to look at the menu.

“Lascio decider a te e al tuo ragazzo,” she said, gesturing across the table to Spencer. Oh dear god, she just called Spencer my boyfriend, you thought. You chuckled a little, telling her in Italian that he wasn’t your boyfriend. She nodded, “Sarà presto il tuo ragazzo." You kept translating over and over in your head, watching dumbly as she walked away.

“What did she say?” Spencer asked, “You guys were talking too fast for me to even begin translating.”

You grinned at him, “She called you my boyfriend.”

His cheeks went red again, your own cheeks beginning to heat up, and neither of you discussed the topic further, instead opting to look over the menu, him telling you which dishes he’d had here before, which he recommended, those he didn’t like. Eventually, she was back, and you told her both of your orders in English, thanking her in Italian. She just winked at you, turned to Spencer and told him that everything would be ready soon.

“You know Italian?” Spencer eventually asked after deciding the topic was safe again.

You nodded, “Yeah, I originally read The Divine Comedy in Italian, a 20th century version my dad got when traveling in Tuscany. It was one of the first books he let me rebind after he taught me.”

“Binding Italian classics, and then reading them? And you say you aren’t special,” Spencer commented, saying the last bit underneath his breath, but you still felt flattered nevertheless.

“My dad was very familiar with the Tuscan dialect of Italian, and thus loved reading some of the Italian classics. La Divina Commedia was written in the Tuscan dialect of the time, and my dad loved it. It’s interesting that the book you just so happened to read me that night on the plane was La Divina Commedia, isn’t it?”

He smiled, understanding what you were getting at. “You keep a canto written on an old piece of parchment paper on your desk, I assumed you were a fan. Can you recite it just as well as I can?”

You chuckled, hearing the footsteps of the waitress behind you. “No, but I can translate it.”

She set your food down, quickly walking away, the clatter of the plates on the table making Spencer’s statement of ‘fair enough’ sound like just a whisper. You continued chatting with Spencer, this time both of you sharing a few things about your early childhood. Spencer talked about his rival in school, Ethan, meanwhile you talked about your best friend and coworker, the one you’d be visiting tomorrow in San Diego.

You’d managed to convince Spencer to share a bottle of fine wine with you, both of you only slightly tipsy by the time you left the restaurant. Spencer hated alcohol for this exact reason, but in the flaxen light of his favorite restaurant in Vegas, he couldn’t say no to you.

You cruised, top down, slowly along the strip, you staring at all the bright lights. Spencer could see the reflection of the neon signs in your eyes, the bright Vegas lights making your skin almost shine, and he swore he’d never seen anything prettier. With the sun already set, the late-night air chilling you both to the bone, he wished that you would be here longer. That you both would drive around his hometown in the sleek black convertible you’d rented for the remainder of the vacation, falling asleep in his arms after a long night of staring at the Vegas casinos he hadn’t been banned from yet.

By the time you were both at the hotel and ready for bed, the alcohol had finally completely kicked in, making you laugh loudly when you stubbed your toe on the bedframe. Spencer was still brushing his teeth, quickly finishing up when he heard the commotion. When he saw you, you were laying on your back, eyes squeezed shut, your lungs struggling to keep you breathing when you were wheezing so much.

In perfectly tipsy Spencer Reid fashion, he decided, right then and there, that he loved you. Even when you had wrinkled the bedsheets and your oversized t-shirt wasn’t ironed properly, and especially then. When you were drunk on wine and your eyes were still full of pictures of Vegas lights. Spencer Reid didn’t think he could love you more than after he’d just found out you speak Italian, after you’d driven him back to the hotel while barely listening to the blasting radio and ignoring the cigarette smoke in the air.

God, you were so beautiful laying on his hotel bed late at night, cackling so hard you had to hold your stomach. So, he crawled into bed after you, waiting for you to move upwards. He didn’t say anything when you cuddled into his arms, and in fact, he let his arm drape over you and draw circles on your arm. He let you nuzzle into his neck, feeling the warmth of your breath and the patterns your fingers drew on the side of his stomach. The pure bliss the both of you felt in the warm, hotel bed quickly faded into slumber, and your last lingering thought was ‘I hope I never forget this’.

. . . 

You woke up, the bed now cold and without Spencer. There was a note in his place, citing that he wanted to visit his mother at the Sanitarium today as soon as he could so he could see you off. It seemed he’d left a while ago to get to the weekend visiting hours that began at 7am, but the door was left slightly ajar, a large manila envelope sitting just outside it. You decided to get up, and you rubbed your eyes free of sleep.

The package had no address, simply your name. You grabbed it and moved to the couch, opening it quickly and easily. Spencer barged in through the slightly open door, looking worriedly at you and then down to the envelope in your hands. He didn’t say anything, just moving to sit down next to you. You pulled out two bound wrinkled pages of a book with the title and page numbers scribbled out. Dried blood was splattered on it, and it smelled remarkably old.

Your heart sank down to your stomach, insides curling with realization. Oh.

It was the opened pages of the book your dad was murdered over.

Spencer must’ve realized a few seconds later, him pulling a package with a key out of his pocket, along with a note reading She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.

You swallowed hard, looking at Spencer, the paper clutched in your hand. It wasn’t La Divina Commedia, it wasn’t a book you’d even read at all. But if you recognized the size and proportions from all those months you spent pouring over your father’s case files, this was the book he was working on the night he died.

“This son of a bitch killed my father.”

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer not Profiler END

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of therapy, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia, anxious tics

A/N: This is the final chapter loves!

Even a year later you had to deal with anxiety, anxious tics, paranoia, and your past, but Spencer was by your side the whole time. He helped you to accept your anxiety, and he came with you to every therapy session you had, waiting in a separate room while you spoke with a young woman.

You constantly worried about Spencer leaving you for all of your mood swings, but he constantly reassured you that he could never. He truly loved you. 

And as he promised to you, he was taking things slowly, making sure everything he did was okay. Because some days, you couldn’t stand being touched or coddled, the feeling was suffocating, other days, you needed him to be holding you every hour of the day.

You don’t know what you did to deserve him, or anyone on the team. They were so patient with you.

“Y/L/N. My office please?”

You looked to Hotch, who stepped into his office again. Turning to Morgan, who you were just joking around with, you both shrugged. But you went to his office nonetheless, preparing to be told off for drinking all of the coffee.

“If this is about the coffee, it wasn’t me.”

You stopped speaking at the sight of two young women, they had to be your age.

Y/BF/N and Hope.

“Oh my god guys!”

You laughed in excitement, bum-rushing them in a hug, which they gladly returned. You swayed in the hug, feeling their giddiness seep into your skin.

“Oh my god you guys! What are you two doing here? I thought I would never see you again!”

They had tears streaming down their faces, you did too. Hotch quickly explained that he remembered they had never held up their end of the deal when you joined, so he had Penelope search endlessly for your friends. He left the office, letting you be alone with your friends.

“So we’re really sorry for putting you on the run like that, we didn’t mean to!”

You burst out in laughter, waving your hands around furiously.

“No no no, it’s fine guys. I don’t blame you at all!”

The three of you continued to catch up with each other. Apparently they hadn’t seen each other in two years. They had gone through a lot of interviews with the government to try and find out where you were, but they said nothing. 

Later in the evening, you were back at your apartment with Spencer, cuddling on the couch while Dr. Who re-runs play on the T.V. Your apartment was much more personalized now. You had your walls painted a light blue grey color, pictures and plants on the walls, cluttered counters as well.

“I’m glad I got to see them again, They really haven’t changed much.”

You smile against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Oh yeah? What did you talk about?”

“You mainly. I told them all about how you make me feel. They said we should just start planning a wedding already. I told them that I wouldn’t be opposed.”

And that’s when Spencer knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. That same week he made several phone calls to a few people, Mainly Hotch and Rossi.

And about a month later, you were having another very rough day. You wanted nothing more than to be in Spencer’s arms at home, but you had so many files to take care of.

You finish up another file before standing and walking to the coffee table, where Spencer and Hotch were speaking. They quickly stiffen up as you walk over, Spencer wraps his arms around your waist and sets a careful kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Hey baby, want me to make you some coffee?”

You nod at his offer, letting him go and sparking a random conversation with Hotch about Jack. You loved the idea of having kids, and you’ve actually babysat Jack and Henrey a lot. They were both really funny and adorable. They kind of made you want some of your own.

Spencer handed you the coffee cup which you sipped on gratefully, leaning your head on his chest. 

But mid-sip, Spencer just flips your entire day around.

He holds a shiny diamond ring in front of you, before speaking in a low voice.

“Will you marry me?”

-

-

-

-

-

Which led to you sitting behind your eldest son, brushing through his knotted curly hair. You had to reach forward a bit, it’s hard to reach over your pregnant belly.

“Mama, is papa making dinner?”

You smile at the young 5 year old.

“Yes, he should be done by the time I finish your hair, but he does also have the twins to deal with so the house might burn down.”

The small boy with curly wavy hair gasps as you laugh. You lift him up, carrying him down the stair to see Spencer holding both the twins while struggling to cook.

“Spence, you should have told me the twins were up!”

You set your oldest son in front of his toys, quickly taking the tiny babies from Spencer’s tired arms. He had a sweaty smile on his face as he continued to stir the Miso soup.

“You know, as soon as this baby comes, we’re gonna be working overtime.”

“Just get Morgan over here, force him to take care of them and tell him he owes us for something.”

You laughed at his joking tone, cradling the babies in your lap before setting them in their cribs before going out to the porch to set the table. The air was crisp and chilly, nipping at your skin.

Spencer came out with your son, sitting him in his seat and putting a spoon in his small bowl of soup.

You loved this moment, your twins were safe and sound in their cribs, your son eating a piece of tofu, a little girl on her way, and the love of your life, Dr. Spencer Reid smiling a smile that could light up the world, right next to your side ready to fight it all.

“I love you.”

You spoke, not towards anyone in particular, just generally.

You finally felt safe. You could finally live without looking over your shoulder.

end

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @hopebaker​ @thatsonezesty13​ @nightlygiggless​ @aberrant-annie​ @holybatflapexpert​ @spencerreidisbootiful​ @april-14-blog​ @jackryan-plz @kalebtheo​ @ajwantsapancake​ @lightswriting​ @emilouu​ @yourmisosoup​ @lizziebritish​ @101donuts​ @rainsong01​ @pretty-boy-genius​ @squirrellover1967​ @gublerstyles​ @delievia​ @boxofsparklingmuses​ @annestine​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @allthedumbassfandoms @irjuejjsaa @zhangyixingxing1​ @madcrazy50​ @maryhuffxoxo​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​ @officialbogbody​ @m3lly-x​ @dark-night-sky-99​ @eu-solidao @thupidalethea​ @bad-idea-personified​ @random-thoughts-003​ @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal​ @boiled-onionrings​ @polywitcheyes​ @bxbyspxncer​ @snitchthewitch​ @yoruebeautiful​ @blablasomethingblabla​ @zhangyixingxing1​ @etherealgubler​ @valkyrie-5583​ @peaxhyjaes​

A/N: That’s the end! My new series Sinfully Sweet will be out soon, so if you would like to be added to the taglist just let me know! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[samsexualdeancurious]

hey! can I please be in your forevers taglist? thanks :)

@imsuperawkward of course!