#stressed spencer

[spencewalterreid]

the one with the pharmaceutical company; case fic

I might be foraying into the world of fanfiction again?? I've never written a Reid fic before, so please leave any ideas, criticism, or comments if you'd be so inclined:) let me know if y'all want a part twooo! I already have the whole thing written so it would be no biggie

Reid x bureau!reader. no use of y/n. just chatting, not really fluff and not really angst? mostly exposition. stressed reid. i'm so so bad at content tags please be patient with me

part 1, part 2

Reid sits in his seat in the office, supporting his chin with his open hand and resting his elbow on the table, scribbling frantically across a piece of copy paper. Presumably, he’s drawn the short stick and got dumped with leftover paperwork, poor sap.

The coffee on his table is already cold, and when I look at him closer, he looks exhausted. His mouth is in a downward curve against the pressure of his palm, and his hair is a mess.

"Hey," I say softly, approaching with caution so as not to startle him. I lean against his desk, folding my arms against my chest. "You good? You seem frazzled.”

Spencer’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, visibly jumping as he's pulled from his contemplative state. He blinks rapidly and shifts to sit up straight. He clears his throat, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, then shuffles the papers in front of him to try to get them aligned.

"Oh, hey," he replies, voice hoarse from the hours of silence. Reid slumps back in his chair effectively causing it to scoot backward, the metal legs screeching against the floor.

"I'm... I'm alright," he assures albeit to no protest, although the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers as he sets down his pen suggest otherwise. "Just... just working on these case files. There's so much data to sift through, so many... inconsistencies to resolve.”

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "Sometimes it feels like the answers are right there, hidden in plain sight, but my brain just can't... can't connect the dots. It's frustrating, you know? Like trying to read a book written in a language I once knew but have since forgotten."

I chuckle. “How on Earth would you know what that feels like?” I tease with a soft smile. “Don’t you remember everything?”

Reid rolls his eyes. “I can speak fluently in six different languages, conversationally in twelve, and minimally in seventeen. I do not by any means know all the languages in the world, and I can forget things just like anyone else can,” he huffs indignantly, spite in his voice. I raise an eyebrow at his attitude and he reiterates: “I’m so sick of everyone thinking I’m supposed to know everything. I don’t, and it isn’t fair that I’m always supposed to have all the answers. I just-” He cuts himself off, rubbing his eyes again with a sigh.

Reid's eyes dart to the stack of papers, then back to me, a hint of vulnerability in their depths. "Sorry. Anyway, that's just... that's just me. I'm fine, really. I'll figure it out. Sorry.”

“Reid-” I drop my arms and move toward him just a bit, but he interrupts before I can address it.

His lips quirk into a half-smile, trying to set me at ease even as his own mind races with unspoken thoughts. "How about you? How are you holding up? You've been through quite an ordeal yourself lately.”

I sigh, but I don’t push it, instead opting for an apathetic shrug."I mean, it sucks. I'm new to this, you know? Not jaded yet, I guess." I shift my weight to my opposite foot and cross my arms. "That case was fucking brutal. And I mean, maybe it's because I'm new, young, you know, but regardless of how awful that guy was... seeing someone die in front of you is something you don't come back from."

I search him carefully, his dark eyes and wrinkled brow. I seem so whiny, I bet.

Reid listens intently to my words, his expression softening with each passing second. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes, usually so intense and piercing, now hold a gentle warmth, a flicker of understanding.

"Listen to me," he says softly, voice low and earnest. "What you're feeling, it's completely normal. Losing innocence, seeing the darker side of humanity, it's a rite of passage for all of us in this line of work. The fact that you can still be affected, still feel deeply, it's a strength, not a weakness."

Reid's gaze drifts to my crossed arms and he reaches out, hesitantly, as if seeking permission. Gently, he places a hand over mine, his long fingers wrapping around my wrist. His skin is warm, almost feverish, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Seeing someone die like that... it's not something you ever truly come back from. It changes you, shapes you, in ways you can't even begin to comprehend."

Spencer’s thumb brushes over my pulse point, a soothing gesture almost unconscious in its tenderness. "But you survived it. You kept going, kept fighting. That's not just a strength, it's a testament to your character. Don't diminish that by thinking you're not jaded enough, not experienced enough. You're exactly where you need to be."

His eyes hold mine, a profound intention etched in his expression. What that intention might be, I’m not totally sure. It's a look of solidarity, of shared grief and trauma, but also a look of hope, of resilience.

He continues, though with a bit of trepidation. "-And I know I'm not the easiest person to talk to, with my... idiosyncrasies,” he chuckles dryly, “but I'm here. I'm here if you need to talk, if you need to vent, if you need someone to make sense of the senseless with you. Okay?"

It's not a question, but a promise. A vow of support, of camaraderie, forged in the fires of shared trauma and tempered by an unconquerable spirit.

I swallow thickly. I want to respond, want to say something polished and eloquent to try to sound like I have a shadow of a clue what I'm talking about, but I don't. I twist uncomfortably and his hand falls from my arm. 

"You said you're frustrated with the files you're going over." I clear my throat, then push myself off the desk to roll a chair over. I sit down, crossing an ankle over my knee and leaning forward, my elbows on his desk. "Do you wanna bounce some ideas off me?" Before he answers, I continue, "Tell me what it's about. Give me background. Maybe a fresh mind could help.”

Reid's face lights up with a rare, genuine smile at your offer. It's a smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners and transforming his often stern demeanor into something almost boyish and approachable.

"Thank you. I... I would appreciate that very much," he says, a note of gratitude coloring his voice. "It's a complex case, one that's been giving me trouble since the beginning. It's about a series of deaths, all seemingly unconnected, but with one common thread - a pharmaceutical company called Neurotech."

Reid leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm against the armrest as he gathers his thoughts. "They've had a run of bad luck lately, with a string of clinical trials gone wrong. But the strange thing is, the drugs they're testing are all based on the same compound, a new neurotransmitter regulator. It's a promising field, but one that's fraught with risks."

He reaches for a folder on his desk, pulling out a pile of papers and spreading them out in front of me. "These are the autopsy reports, the toxicology screens, the trial data. Look at these brain scans. The damage is... it's like nothing I've seen before. It's as if the drug is eating away at the grey matter, causing a rapid degradation of the neurons."

Reid's eyes are ablaze with intensity as he speaks, his passion for the science, for the mystery, shining through. "But here's where it gets interesting. The subjects in the trials, they're all over the place. Different ages, different genders, different medical histories. And yet, the symptoms are the same. Severe cognitive impairment, loss of motor function, and in the worst cases... death."

He taps a finger on a particularly grim-looking scan. "This one, for instance. The subject was a 28-year-old woman, no pre-existing conditions. She died within 48 hours of the final dose. And look at this damage. It's... it's grotesque."

Reid's eyes meet yours, a haunted look in their blue depths. "I think Neurotech knows more than they're letting on. I think there's a connection between these deaths, and I think it goes right to the top of the company– but I can't prove it.”

"Okay." I take a careful breath, glancing over them. Have you spoken with Garcia about it? I have a couple things I immediately want to know more about. Assuming you're right about it being a company thing and not a singular unsub, first and foremost, I would wanna know the background of the people running these tests."

I flip through the papers, glancing at names, dates, medical details. "But what if you're wrong? You seem so sure it goes deeper — how do you know it isn't just someone at the top calling the shots, or silencing questions?"

I eye him carefully. "Here's my thought. Considering the nature of the procedures, it seems like someone is trying to play God. We've seen that before with the guy trying to implant new limbs on people. Maybe he or a loved one has a brain disease and he's toying with fixes.”

Spencer vaguely spins back and forth in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin as he considers your words. His eyes narrow slightly, a sign that his mind is working overtime, weighing the possibilities.

"You raise a valid point," he says thoughtfully. "I hadn’t considered that angle, but it fits with the level of sophistication and resources behind these trials."

He reaches for another folder, pulling out a few sheets of paper with names and photographs printed on them. "These are the key players at Neurotech. The CEO, Victor Cassell, is a renowned neuroscientist with a reputation for being brilliant but mercurial. He took over the company after the old owner retired.” Reid points to a photograph of a severe-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard and piercing eyes. "And this is the lead researcher on the trials, Dr. Lila Patel. She's a rising star in the field, but her methods are... unorthodox. She's been known to push ethical boundaries in the name of progress."

He taps a finger on the desk, a sign of his contemplation. "As for Garcia, I haven't spoken to her about my theories, but I plan to.” 

Spencer’s gaze turns introspective, a hint of self-doubt flickering across his face. "You know, sometimes I wonder if my need to find patterns is blinding me to the simpler explanation. But then I look at these files, at these lives lost, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye."

He leans forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "What if it's both? What if there's someone at the top calling the shots, and a rogue individual pushing the boundaries of ethics and science? It would explain the resources, the secrecy, the desperation. And it would make this a far more dangerous and tangled web than I initially thought."

"That's what I'm thinking, too," I concede. "Someone fear-mongering people into supporting his cause – maybe even genuinely convincing others that what he's doing is righteous." 

I flip through the papers, looking at the descriptions of the people who underwent the procedures. "Okay, you said victimology was all over the place -- what if it isn't?" I point at the occupation section. "Teacher. Mechanic. Waitress. On and on it goes. All low-paying jobs. Hang on."

 I drop the files and pull out my phone, looking up obituaries for those that have died. "Right. LeeAnn Thompson is survived by two daughters, Darla and Grace, and sister Dalia." I send him a link, then look for the others. "Bingo. Pattern. Not only were they in low-paying jobs, but they were all on welfare. There's your pattern." I plop my phone down on the desk. "Desperate for money. Now we know why they were doing the experiments in the first place.”

A flicker of excitement and anticipation passes over Reid’s face, shining through the weariness. He leans in to look at my phone, his gaze scanning the obituary notices, his mind putting the pieces together at a staggering pace.

"This is... this could be the break we need," he murmurs, a hint of awe coloring his voice. "The financial strain, the desperation, it would explain why these individuals would be willing to take such risks, to subject themselves to unproven treatments. It's a vile form of exploitation, preying on the vulnerable and the desperate."

He looks up at you, a newfound respect and gratitude in his eyes. "You've hit on something significant here. This could be the key to unraveling the whole operation, from the top of the company down to the individuals being recruited for these trials."

Spencer stands up abruptly, a new sense of urgency in his demeanor. He starts to pace the small office, his mind racing with the implications. "We need to get Garcia in on this, need to cross-reference the records with welfare databases, with financial records. If we can prove a pattern, a deliberate targeting of these individuals, we can start to build a case."

He turns to me, a fierce determination in his eyes. "And then there's the question of the researchers themselves. Lila Patel, the lead scientist behind these trials, she must have known the risks. The financial stakes, the vulnerability of the test subjects, it's all so clear now!"

He stops pacing and faces me directly, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude. "I... I underestimated you. This insight, it's... it's brilliant,” He explains with a grin for the ages. “It's going to change everything. Thank you for your perspective, for your keen eye. We're going to solve this, and bring those responsible to justice. Together.”

I smile warmly. "It isn't too awful late, you know. I bet Penelope isn't asleep yet." I glance at my watch. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind putting something together. We have a case, Reid. We can present it tomorrow.”

Reid looks at his watch, then back at me. The joy in his face just at the prospect makes me lightheaded. He’s never more beautiful than when he’s excited about something.

"You're right. You're absolutely right," he agrees.

Reid grabs his coat, already moving towards the door with renewed vigor. "Let's head to the office and see what we can find. I want to have everything ready to present to the team first thing tomorrow. If we move quickly, we can catch them off guard, before they have a chance to cover their tracks."

He pauses at the door, looking back at me, that damned smile still on his lips. "And hey.” He waits for emphasis, then continues, “Thank you. Thank you for your insight, your fresh perspective. You've got a keen mind, and I'm grateful to have you on this team, on this case. Let's go solve this, together."

With that, Reid strides out of the office, his long legs eating up the distance to the elevator. He's a man on a mission, and it’s a damn sight. Downright inspiring.

----------------------------------------------

side note. would y'all be cool if I gave the main character a name? I'm embracing bi!reid so i'm thinking twink. i know y/n is popular but i simply cannot bring myself to do it. for upcoming chapters i need to be able to have something with which to introduce mc to NPCs.

[sailorholly]

Stressed

Summary: Spencer’s been in a bad mood lately, you help him feel better.

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

W/C: 1.4k

See my Masterlist here

“Who drank the last of the coffee and didn’t make another pot?” Spencer propped up on his cane, asked the crowded police station. One of the officers set his mug down beside the case files spread on the table before him.

“I did. I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know it was a big deal.” Spencer scoffed. “You didn’t think that anyone else would want coffee, when we have barely had three hours of sleep?” The officer looked stunned, obviously caught off guard by the grumpy FBI agent.

“Kid, like I said, I’m sorry.” Spencer limped over to an empty chair, taking a seat. “Don’t call me kid. It’s Dr. Reid to you.” Hotch shot him a warning glance. “Reid.” Spencer dropped his gaze. The officer put his hands up in defeat, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

You wait until the room clears before going over to Spencer. You walk slowly as if you were approaching a wounded animal. “I started a fresh pot just for you. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s finished.” You smile at him, but he doesn’t return it. “Thanks.”

You can tell he’s still upset. He has been moody for a few weeks. Even though you all had agreed not to profile each other, the team had been taking guesses about what was wrong. You still didn’t have an answer. Hotch tried to speak with him privately, but he wouldn’t open up.

At the end of the day, everyone was glad to be back at the hotel. It wasn’t like the comfort of your homes, but at least it was a place to lay your head down. You all had been running on fumes.

You took a shower, thinking of every detail of the abduction. Something didn’t make sense to you, and you couldn’t get your mind off it. You dried your hair, deciding to knock on Spencer’s door to talk through it.

If anyone could help you figure it out, it was him. He answers the door, looking grouchier than before. “I’m trying to sleep. What do you want?” He snaps. You take in his attire. He’s wearing a cardigan over his button up and dress pants, the same outfit he had on earlier.

You frown, pushing your way into his room. “Since when did you start sleeping in your work clothes?” He closes the door, gripping his cane as he walks toward you sitting on his bed. He sits beside you, keeping his distance.

“You’ve been a real asshole lately, Spencer. It’s so unlike you. Is there anything you want to talk about?” He looks away, avoiding your face. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge you. I’d love to help you, especially if it gets you out of this bad mood.”

You watch as he considers your words. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” He asks quietly. You place a hand on your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” The faintest of smiles appears, the first one you’ve seen in a while.

“Now spill.” He sighs. “I am unbelievably stressed. My mom is on a new medication, and she’s giving her doctors a hard time. I got a new neighbor and he plays loud music late at night. I’ve asked him to stop, and he does for a while. Until I go on a case, when I get back, he’s started again. And I’ve been getting these headaches that won’t go away.”

He rubs his left eye, shoulders sinking in relief after he confessed. “Well, all those are valid reasons to be stressed. You really need to get laid.” You giggle, elbowing his side. “I’ve tried.” You stop laughing. You weren’t expecting a sincere answer. You were only joking.

“Wait, you’ve tried to have sex, but can’t find a partner?” You ask, a little surprised. “Yeah, I think it’s my awkwardness paired with the cane. It freaks them out. They probably think I’m an unsub.” He pushes his hair behind his ear.

“I like the cane.” You admit. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah! I think it’s sexy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you just take care of yourself?” You wince. You were having the most awkward conversation of your life with your favorite coworker.

“I tried that. But I couldn’t finish. My mind would race with a million thoughts. It kills the mood.” You lower yourself to the floor, getting on your knees in front of him. “Wha.. what are you doing?” Spencer asks nervously, his voice raising.

“Helping.” You state matter of factly. You unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down. You’re careful when you tug his pants and underwear down his legs, going slowly so you don’t hurt him. He takes a deep breath when you wrap both hands around his hard cock.

You lower your head toward his lap, taking him between your lips. You suck slowly, waiting for his reaction. He lets out a shaky breath when you take him to the back of your throat. You suck harder now, saliva dripping down your chin.

Spencer watches you intently. He can’t believe this is happening. All the nights he had laid in bed, imagining this exact scenario as he pleasured himself. His biggest fantasy was playing out before him. He grips the white comforter on the bed with one hand, the other holds your head in place as you bob up and down on him.

This was too much. He was going to come, and he hadn’t seen you naked yet. “Come up here, I want to touch you.” He sounds almost like he’s begging. You release him, standing to remove your clothing. “Take everything off.” You command as your panties hit the floor.

He wastes no time, throwing his cardigan and shirt beside your discarded clothes. He didn’t even unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know how he managed to get it off. “Lay back against the pillows.” He scoots until his back hits the cushiony wall. You climb on top of him, legs positioned around his hips.

You start grinding against him. The head of his cock rubbing against your clit. He tilts his head back, greasy curls splayed out on the pillows. You pepper kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, while large hands cup your breasts.

He tugs at your nipples, rolling them between calloused fingers. You feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You couldn’t remember a time when you were more turned on. “I want you to sit on my face.” You notice the faint blush rising on his cheeks as he said the words. “You sure?” He nods his head, confirming. “I want to taste you.”

You place your thighs on either side of his head. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up to where you need him the most. His curious tongue meets your center, collecting your arousal and bringing it to your clit. He moans, the sound vibrating against you. You clamp your legs tighter around his ears, letting him devour you.

His tongue swirls around you expertly. He could be writing in Morse Code for all you know. You reach for the headboard when his lips wrap around your most sensitive spot. The suction and heat of his mouth tip you over the edge. You reluctantly remove yourself from him, still feeling needy.

“I need you inside of me.” You kiss above his belly button and his cock twitches. “I can’t get on top because of my leg.” He points to the offending appendage like you had forgotten about it. You beam at him, as you you straddle him once more. “I got this.” You line yourself up with his hard length, sinking down on him.

He gasps when he fills you all the way. You move yourself on top of him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. You rock your hips back and forth, letting your head tip back when he brushes your g-spot. You call his name, tilting your hips so he hits it again.

“You like that?” Spencer asks, gripping your hips, working your body with his. You feel the pressure building inside you. It’s unbelievable. You’re lucky if you get off once during sex, and your second orgasm is quickly approaching. Spencer feels you clenching around him.

“Already?” He is in complete awe of you. You were even better than he imagined. “Oh God, Spencer! I’m so close.” His hands hold you harder. He sits up, pressing his chest flush against yours. Your peaked nipples rub against his chest, adding fuel to the flames.

He removes a hand from your waist, bringing it down between you. The pad of his thumb drags across your clit, making you writhe with pleasure. He looks down at where you’re joined, admiring the view. “You’re taking me so well, Angel.” He swirls fast circles against you, and your orgasm rolls over you in waves.

Spencer watches as you come undone. He follows closely behind you, a string of curses leaving his lips. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. “I need to be in a bad mood more often.” Spencer thinks out loud, his lips curling upward into a smile.

Tagging some people I think would like this.

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lamentis-10 @megharat-barnes @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid

[criminalmindshyperfixation]

reid: wow hotch you’re so intuitive you knew that elevator would break!

hotch: ..?

morgan: that’s why you didn’t get in isn’t it?

hotch a claustrophobic: …yes

[taiturner]

I thought playing again was my dream. But tonight on that field, I realized I just needed one more time out there with my boys and a chance to say goodbye to this game on my own terms.

ALL AMERICAN, 6x09 "100%"

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Leverage S02E06 The Studio Job.

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Leverage 4x7- "The Grave Danger Job"

[10ava01]

A Year Too Late

Brother’s best friend Frank Castle x F reader

Summary: Franks nightmare of loosiing you becomes true.

Trope: Hurt, Pills, age gap, stress, flashbacks, academic weapon, eating disorder, reader is exactly like Spencer Hastings, comfort end the end, addiction, perfection, overwhelming them self.

Authors note: I’ve wrote the scene from Pretty Little Liars (season 4 episode 20) but just a little differently. If you feel triggered please stop reading. Please seek for help if you struggle with any of this🫶🏻.

Masterlist

Frank had always been a constant in your life—to be exact, your brother’s best friend, the guy who somehow felt more like home than your actual house sometimes does.

You aren't sure when your crush on him started, maybe sometime in high school when you realized he isn't just some older guy who hangs around your house, drinking beers with your brother.

No, he is something more to you.

Someone special.

Someone untouchable.

But that never stopped you from trying to get him.

And trying, you indeed did.

You are not even subtle.

Your witty remarks are always a little sharper with him, your eyes lingering a little longer than they should.

And Frank, you might ask?

He noticed.

Of course, he does.

Anyone who has two eyes could see your crush on the older boy.

He sure isn't stupid like how he might act.

But even then, he never acted on it, never gave you more than fleeting moments of softness that kept you hanging on.

Hoping.

Until the night before he left.

You had been in the backyard, sitting on the wooden steps of the porch, a warm summer breeze twisting through your short hair.

Frank had come out with a beer in hand, his sleeves rolled up as always, forearms flexing as he took a slow sip.

You didn't do anything but watch him.

Memorized his beautiful face for the last time.

"You’re quiet," he had said, looking down at you.

He was analyzing your face and body language now.

You shrugged. "Nothing to say."

That was a lie.

Of course, it was a lie.

You could have said a million things to him.

You would have begged him if it meant for him not to go.

But even you knew it wouldn’t have done any good.

Instead, you looked at his sharp jawline, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the ends, the roughness of his knuckles.

For one last time, you took a good look at him.

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

You wanted to stay like this forever.

"You'll be fine while I'm gone," he said. "You're tough."

You scoffed. "I don’t need to be tough. I need you to be here."

Frank had gone still at that, his grip tightening around his beer bottle.

For a second, just a second, you thought he might say something, might even admit that maybe—just maybe—he felt the same way about you too.

But then, he only let out a slow exhale, stood up, and ruffled your hair like you were still the kid who used to follow him and your brother around.

"You’ll be fine, kid," he had said. "I'll see you soon, promise."

A promise you weren’t even sure he would keep.

And just like that, he was gone.

The first time you saw Frank again, it was like being sucker-punched in the gut.

You aren’t the same as he hoped for you to be.

You changed.

You have always been ambitious, always been a force of nature.

But now? Now you are something else entirely.

Polished.

Controlled.

Distant.

Frank had expected things to be the same way he left them a year ago—your house, your family.

You.

But you changed in ways he isn't sure how to process.

Your hair is longer now, your clothes are different, more refined.

You carry yourself differently—straighter posture, sharper focus.

You barely look up from your books when your mother greets him in the kitchen, just mumble something about school before grabbing a glass of water.

Sure, people change over the years, but you?

Everything you had been seems to be replaced by some better version of yourself.

And no one seemed to notice or care.

Not your brother.

Not your parents.

Not your so-called friends.

But Frank did.

He always noticed you, even the tiniest detail.

Frank didn't say much the first day, just observing everything.

He sits at the dinner table, listening to your brother talk about work, your mother gossiping about the new neighbors.

You barely contribute, only offer a small nod if needed or a vague hum every now and then.

You do it out of politeness, but your focus is somewhere else.

And then there was the way you were picking at your food.

Frank didn't say anything about it.

He just watches as you move the vegetables around your plate, barely taking any bites, sipping from your water bottle like it is the only thing keeping you grounded at this point.

It doesn't sit right with him.

None of this does.

The next day, he stops by your house again.

Your brother invited him over to watch the game, and Frank figures it is as good a reason as any to see you again.

Maybe even talk to you.

He finds you in the kitchen, standing by the coffee maker, staring at your phone with a furrowed brow.

"You always this tense now?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

You look up, startled for a second but not surprised before rolling your eyes. "Just busy."

Frank nods slowly. "Yeah? You sleepin’ at all?"

The bags under your eyes make him worry.

You are one of those people who take care of themselves before anything.

But this new you makes him worry.

You scoff, shaking your head. "Jesus, Frank. What is this, an interrogation?"

Your annoyance tells him that his plan of making small conversation is going the wrong way.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Just asking."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "I’m fine."

You look exhausted, like you haven't slept for weeks.

So of course, he doesn’t believe you.

Not for a second.

2:45 AM

It has been almost a week since Frank got back, and every day, he sees more cracks in the version of you that everyone else seems to accept as normal.

The perfect version you have created for yourself is, in his eyes, anything but perfect.

But this?

This is something else.

Standing outside your bedroom door, he could hear the frantic scribbling of your pen against paper, the quiet but erratic clicks of your laptop keys.

He doesn’t knock.

He just walks in.

You don't even flinch, too absorbed in the chaos of your own mind to notice him at first.

You are buried deep in your work.

Your desk is a mess—papers scattered everywhere, your laptop glows in the dim light.

A half-empty bottle of water sits beside an uncapped bottle of pills.

Frank’s jaw clenches.

He is furious.

You are the last person who would take pills, but here you are with half an empty bottle of them on your desk.

Your breath picks up every few seconds, your eyes bloodshot red as if begging to be closed even for a second, and your hands are shaking from the writing and typing.

"You planning on sleeping anytime soon?" he asks, voice low.

He knows he has to do something, even if it means dragging you to your bed and forcing you to sleep.

You freeze.

Not expecting anyone to be awake at this hour and definitely not Frank Castle.

Your grip on your pen only tightens before you force yourself to relax at his voice, leaning back in your chair with an exasperated sigh.

"What are you doing here, Frank?" Your voice shows no sign of shock.

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back. "Except I already know the answer."

You roll your eyes at him, standing up to stretch, but the motion only makes you sway slightly.

Frank is in front of you in a second, his arms steadying you.

He easily sees through you, and you hate it.

You huff a laugh, step out of his grasp. "I’m fine."

You don’t even sound convincing to yourself, let alone for him to believe you.

"Yeah?" His eyes flick to the pills on your desk. "That what those are for? Helpin’ you be fine?"

He is angry at you, and you don’t even blame him, but if he knew what situation you were in, then he wouldn't judge you.

You would rather die than speak out loud about your addiction to the pills.

Your stomach twists. "They help me stay awake."

It's one of the things the pills do.

They also give you dizziness sometimes, nausea, loss of appetite, and let you be wide awake at nights like this.

Frank exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. "Jesus, kid."

Kid again.

"Don’t call me that," you snap, suddenly angry. "I’m not a kid anymore, Frank. You don’t get to leave for a year and come back acting like you know what’s best for me."

You have had enough of his bullshit.

Everyone welcomed him back like he never left, without second thoughts, but you aren't like everyone.

When he left, there had been a hollow place inside your chest, and after some time—and thanks to the pills—you felt a little better.

But only for him to come back into your life and ruin the only good thing you built for yourself.

Frank Castle takes and takes until there isn't anything left for him to take.

Until you are nothing.

He leaves and doesn’t even look over his shoulder for even a second. Not for anyone, and you had accepted this fact.

That he is a selfish asshole who took everything from you and left you like a piece of shit.

You are so done with him, and now he is standing here in front of you, lecturing you about what is right and wrong.

He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating you.

"Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta, because no one else around here seems to notice that you’re burnin’ yourself out."

His soft voice makes you almost forget how broken you are because of him.

You swallow hard, your heartbeat hammering through your ears.

You're too exhausted to discuss anything, and the number of pills you took today makes you even more nauseous.

For a moment, it was just silence.

Then, softer this time, he said, "What the hell happened to you?"

He truly wanted to know, as if he isn't the one who made you the way you are right now.

You wanted to tell him, pour your broken heart out to him.

How the pressure had become unbearable, how the expectations never stopped, how the only way you know how to cope is to keep going, to keep working, to never stop.

How after he left, a part of you died.

But you couldn't tell him any of that. You wouldn't. You made a promise to yourself.

So instead, you look away.

Somehow, avoiding everything became so much easier.

You even find comfort in it.

Frank sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "C’mon," he says, his voice softer now. "You need a break."

Panic fills your head at the thought of taking a break.

You aren't even close to finishing the assignment.

Sure, you still have weeks till the due date, but it needs to be perfect.

You need to be perfect.

You can't let anyone see the broken side of you.

Poor little Y/N got her heart broken over her brother’s best friend, who she never had a chance with anyway.

No, you can't become a failure.

Not now.

Not ever.

You shake your head. "I can’t."

He sees the hesitation in your eyes. "You can," he insists. "And you will."

Even after a year, he still has the same effect on you.

And somehow, when he says it like that, you almost believe him.

Almost.

[bondwithme-murderstyle]

welcome to my masterlist. below you can find all of my works sorted by fandom and the length of the fic.

minors dni 18+ content

(specific tags can be found on AO3 links)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Fics (all 18+)

rootbeerpeeches_rb on AO3

Criminal Minds ↳ Between The Raven and The Writing Desk 224k Spencer Reid x oc!Brooke Myers hiatus ↳ Meet Me in St. Louis (Meet Me Anywhere) 271k Spencer Reid x oc!Colette Valentine active/regular upload

Stranger Things ↳ Boys Don't Cry 137k Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson hiatus

That 70's Show ↳ She's a Bathtub Toker 135k Steven Hyde x Jackie Burkhart hiatus

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One-Shots | Requests

fluff | angst | smut

One-Shots

Spencer Reid ↳End of Session

Aaron Hotchner ↳Who's The Boss? Pt.1 Pt.2

Asks/Requests are OPEN!

i do not give consent for my work to be published elsewhere

[bluffempire]

hello spamangela nation

[youbutstupid]

Watching Criminal Minds all the way through and getting to episodes 12x22 and 13x01 is wild because in the space of two episodes it’s like ‘Reid is out of prison! His mum is going to die. Jk she isn’t. Cat is pregnant with Reid’s baby. Jk she isn’t. Reid’s mum is gonna die again. Oop tricked you again! She’s fine. MORGAN IS BACK! Oop he’s gone bye bye. But Matt Simmons is back! Walker is dead…. Tara is dying. EMILY IS KIDNAPPED. Tara is okay :) Reid is back on the team though! He isn’t lmao but. Emily is fucking dying. Are you having fun?’

[k-illdarlings]

CAT ADAMS REALLY PISSED ME OFFFFFF. She really struck nerves. Oh my god i was really on edge watching date night. I like max so much she makes reid so happy and i really thought cat’s gonna break them off GOSH????????

[cheriesbucky]

THIS ISNT A DRILL IM GONNA POST MY FIRST EVER FANFIC FOR REID ON HERE YALL

[juliets-roller-derby-awesomeness]

lassiter you oblivious bastard stop walking in on them about to be cute and romantic ansnajs

[blcssom]

closed for @prophvtics — plot in source !

in his defense, if he'd known anyone else were around spencer wouldn't have been walking around quite so freely. in fact, he likely would've sequestered himself until he could be certain he could escape without having to make small talk with anyone. when he opens the door, he hears them before he actually sees them and the quick apology is poised on his tongue until his eyes flit up to find them in an..... illuminating position. "————- i didn't know— i mean... i thought i was alone——-"

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Leverage S03E14 The Ho Ho Ho Job.

[nymphnana]

Did 4 activities in 2 hours 💪🎀