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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years ago

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Dog Days! I fell in love with your hotchreid so I'm so excited to see how you treat moreid too!

I have so much fun with this one, but there's SO MUCH going on idk what I want to do: either tell you the plot or give you snippets from my messy outline. So -- legit -- I flipped a coin.

I can't tell you much about what is going on or why, because spoilers, but just know that there is a snowstorm of the century outside, Spencer has been snowed into Morgan's house while dog-sitting Clooney (Morgan had returned home to Chicago for the holidays), and Morgan has just recently discovered that Dr. Spencer Reid has had a crush on him for a very long time.

Super unfinished blurb/outline/clip below the cut! SPOILERS

When Morgan arrives at his house, it’s like four in the morning. Clooney doesn’t come greet him, nor does he chase him off, and Morgan finds the dog with Spencer in his bed -- because the pipes burst and flooded the room Spencer was staying in. He’s fast asleep, in Morgan’s clothes, cuddling his dog and soft from sleep and… Morgan almost doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Brushes some of his hair out of his face, watches how Spencer wakes gently but not fully, stretching and the long lines of his body curve in a way Morgan hasn’t allowed himself to stare at in a long while. Against his bedsheets.

“Reid.” he tries to wake him, but damn if the boy isn’t a heavy sleeper. “Reid. Pretty boy, wake up --”

“Tooearly,” he’ll mumble rolling a little but not enough and his curls are everywhere and Morgan isn’t sure what he wants to do beyond fall asleep also. And be as warm as Spencer looks.

“Sleeping beauty, either wake up or scoot over,” he teases, and Spencer hums noncommittally, not even questioning why Morgan is there. “You’re hogging the whole bed.”

“NoI’mnot, Clooney is.” The dog looks at Morgan with an expectant stare and Morgan can’t help but grin, enjoying… whatever dynamic this is. This domesticity.

“Well then both of you scoot over.” He rumbles, taking off his winter jacket and soaked socks.

“Don’t gotta answer to you if I’m dreaming,” Spencer grumbles out, curling into Clooney’s fur and dozing as Morgan gets dressed for bed. Usually he doens’t dress much at all, but it’s freezing and… fuck it, he’s about to share his bed with his dog and his best friend who has a serious crush on him so. Clothes.

“You argue with me even in your dreams? I’m touched, pretty boy,” he snickers, then kneels on the edge of the bed about to either pick up and move his dog, or push the both of them all the way over. “Now seriously, move before I move you myself.”

The dip in the bed is Spencer’s first clue he needs to wake the fuck up.

His eyes snap open and he’s pushing himself up onto one arm slowly, hair a mess and Morgan’s shirt half off his shoulder. Lips parted in shock and not sure what to say beyond --

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sleep, but someone won’t let me into my own bed.”

Ask Game: WIP file folders Game

#spoilers #dog days #some profanity #because I cuss like a sailor in real life #this is legit an outline it's not final or even first draft material #but it's fun #moreid #clooney is the real star of the fic #katyswip #sr #katyswriting #✨mer

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sapphiics · 4 years ago

Text

2020 mutual appreciation post!!

if you thought i wasn’t gonna copy my entire dash, you were sorely mistaken! who cares if we’re like over two hours into 2021? not me, so let’s begin:

first a very fun moodboard i made to sum up my quarantine

now for my moots:

@multi-mess-of-a-person Nellie!! you hold such a sacred place in my heart, because i feel like we’re really alike and think similarly, and even if we don’t talk often i love conversing with you and am very glad that we started talking! i love you so much, and you were like my first friend here! also i refuse to say anything bad on hotchniss when you’re on the dash because I love you too much

@greenaway-lewis Lucy🥺 lucy i love you so much, you’re incredibly hilarious and really fun to talk to(even if you do crap on all men🙄) and i’m so glad we started talking! i’m never bored when it comes to you and i care about you so much!! I love your writing style a lot your elle fic was super good! you make up for not being a hardcore morcia stan with your amazingness and the fact that you love temily and tara in general

@thestrawberrygirl elle i’m so glad we started talking even if it’s only been for a little bit so far! you worked your ass off to get on my biggest fans list(which i absolutely adored thank you very much🥰) and you’re such an incredibly interesting person i couldn’t imagine ever not wanting to hear what you say!

@kermitsaysgayrights sophia i love you. you’re such a sweet person and not only do i just adore your energy and personality but you are also the penemily widen and i love all of your content for them you practically raised the ship from the ground up!! i’m so glad we started talking recently and i really love you (and the rest of the mafia🥺) i love your blog so freaking much. the diner au has a sacred place in my heart

@marry-me-prentiss Jaz!!! I love you so much! you are such a nice and caring person and never fail to send me a good morning every single day(i love attention it means a lot to me) I’m so glad we’re moots.

@ssaemxlyprentxss the very first blog i followed🥺 viv when i tell you i had the biggest blog crush for so long i was so shocked when you followed me!! not only are you super talented but you’re funny, gorgeous, and very caring to everybody. and you’re a good writer like objectively good like getting me to read jemily good which is mucho wild.

@agentshortstacc where do i begin joey? my love, my partner, the apple of my eye the ying to my yang!! i’m so glad we’re moots(and in love ofc) and i love your fics and headcanons!! like i’m super particular but i love your stuff so much! you’re also such a nice person and i love you extremely so.

@gothwyfe i cannot even begin to explain how cool you seem to me i see all of your posts and i want your energy so bad. you’re funny as fuck and seem absolutely lawless.

@gaymemeaesthetic pluto first and foremost you were carrying the dash in memes when i went on my **** dive. you’re extra hilarious and i love your blog so much. i didn’t even know you followed me and i was super surprised to find out that you did you’re somebody who i like all of your posts. i love you🥺

@babey-jj you’re blog is so funny and great that i can completely forget about the fact that hey there delilah was your most listened song 2020(🤨) but for real i love you and i think you’re such a cool person.

@peanutbutterworm We only started being mutual every recently but absolutely everything you say about morcia and penemily speaks to me on a deep soul irhbdbdjdjdh why weren’t they endgame type level i think you’re amazing and hilarious.

@haleymalaffey haley haley haley. i could write a whole paper on how much i think the entire world of you. First and very foremost you completely match my morcia obsession on a level absolutely unparalleled i thought i was very much going crazy with how much i loved them until i found your blog and i was immediately smitten even before knowing how much of a caring and perfect person you were. you’re incredibly nice to everyone on here and i’m so grateful for you every single day. i love you so fucking much. i type this as i listen to the playlist you made for me (specifically You’re my best friend by Queen) and i can’t even comprehend how amazing you are.

@fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 Maggie!! i love you and your blog so much you are like the prime minister of the moreid fan club. you’re such a positive person on here and fill me with so much joy interacting with you🥺

more people i very much love even if we barely talk @sunlightgalaxy okay nic you gave me this really nice review of my fic and i read it like 5 times and almost cried so thank you so much it meant everything to me

@rosesonmyheart i love your blog so much!!! it’s not only a nice break from all the cm but also morcia morcia morcia which is what clouds my brain daily

@hotchsbabygirl cj sometimes i swear you’re only there to cause me physical and mental hurt with all your morcia stuff i cannot handle it they keep me awake at night with all their wasted potential. i love your blog an insane amount it’s almost unreal.

@penelopeminded I really like your blog( i am also very obsessed with lists so it’s perfect for me) so much that i can excuse ranking hotch and beth over misty(nothing beats misty😤)i like get excited seeing you in my notifs.

@screechingshepherddeputygoth love, you like all my posts shitty, random, totally balls off the wall all of them you are a trooper! also when you sent me that ask i was so incredibly touched and i still think about it🥺 thank you and i love you

@thejeidhater annie you are so sweet! we just became moots very recently but i think you’re such a nice word on and i’m very excited to only get to know you more

okay that is it y’all i am so freaking sorry if i forgot anybody, i love all 170 of you guys and i’m so grateful for this blog🥺

#mutual appreciation #happy new years #fun fact the child is the middle is me at 4

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pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Some thoughts on Zugzwang

A/N: This ended up coming in at just under 1k words, which means I consider this a drabble and not a full fic! It won’t read like my usual writing, it’s all in present tense and contains almost no dialogue.

I wrote this as a part of my Galaxy Universe (MASTERLIST), it can also be read as a free-standing BAU!Reader x Platonic!Spencer drabble though!

WARNINGS: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 08x12, regular CM things

Tossing it under the cut because of the amount of spoilers in this thing

You weren’t at Spencer’s apartment when he woke up. He had fallen asleep reading the night before after you had gone home. He was on his way to meet you when he stops to call Maeve because he had promised you he’d reschedule his date with her, and after the dream he had he knows he needs to do it then. He calls you as soon as he gets the message, he wants you to be there when he’s meeting with Hotch.

From that moment on, you’re essentially full Spencer support at the beginning of the case/presenting to the team because Spence is part of the victimology. You do what you can for the team to make up for the loss of Spencer’s brain, while simultaneously making sure he is not completely losing it.

Hotch sends you to the loft with Morgan and JJ. He reasons that if Maeve is there you’ll be the best person for her to talk to and also the best person to tell Spencer he’s right if she isn’t there. You want to stay with Spencer but can’t argue with Hotch’s reasoning.

As soon as the sweep of the loft is done and it’s determined to be an active crime scene, Morgan calls Hotch and you call Spencer. You try to be delicate and also stay honest about the fact that Maeve is actually missing, but Spencer’s anger about learning that Maeve was engaged is messing with his emotions about the whole thing. You go with Spencer, Hotch, Morgan and Rossi to talk with Bobby Putnam.

You get a weird feeling when Diane opens the door, but can’t sort out the cause before Spencer recognizes Bobby from the restaurant and Hotch is pushing him out the door. When Hotch comes back in he asks you to wait in the hallway with Spencer, and doesn’t explain further. You are the one who suggests you wait outside, claiming the older building is giving you the “heebie jeebies”.

You were going to tell Diane to leave when she comes outside but Morgan beats you to it, something you’re a little salty about because you’re still taking responsibility for maintaining Spencer’s sanity. You stay quiet while Morgan has his little heart-to-heart with Spence, it’s a Moreid bro moment that you decide doesn’t need interference. If Morgan had been saying something stupid though, you would have stepped in.

You’re with Spence when he makes the connection that Diane is the unsub. It relieves you a little bit, knowing Spencer’s head was clear enough to make the connections as well as the concrete direction the team now had to finding out where Maeve was.

You aren’t surprised or offended when Spencer picks Blake to do his cognitive interview. Alex is the most emotionally removed from the team just because she’s the newest, you know you would be biased and too wrapped up in making sure Spencer is ok to be effective if he had chosen you.

You stay with the rest of the team, trying to work on solidifying the celebrity stalker theory. It’s during this time that Rossi suggests you take a break- even just to drink a cup of coffee. You aren’t really given a choice, and as you’re standing in the kitchenette sipping at the hot liquid you realize the amount of tension you’ve been carrying all day (and hiding from Spencer). It’s a welcomed reprieve from the chaos, and you feel much better and ready to work when Spencer and Blake come back with their breakthrough.

You’re sent with Blake and Morgan to check out the Junior College that Diane works at. You’re still not super happy to be separated from Spencer, but both Rossi and JJ separately reassure you that he’ll be ok with them and they’ll call you if anything happens. Nothing turns up at the college, so you head back to home base to find Spencer building a geoprofile.

You agree with Hotch that Spencer shouldn’t be part of the takedown on account of his possible death, but as soon as Spencer explains his reasoning why he wants to be there, you’re strapping on your vest and very sternly telling Spencer not to take his vest off under any circumstances.

“Spencer,” you stop him right before you get into the SUVs.

“Yeah?” he turns around quickly, frantically.

“I trust you on this, but you’re the only you we’ve got. You deserve to have good things, and you deserve to live. Tell me we’re making it out of this in one piece.”

Spencer looks you up and down, obviously noting your sincerity by the way his breathing changes and his eyebrows raise, “we’re making it out of this in one piece.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you sigh, squaring your shoulders, “let’s go get your girl.”

(A/N round 2: This almost directly leads in to my fic Cosmos)

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @itsafreakingtouque @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #platonic soulmates

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ssa-sapphic-inactive · 4 years ago

Note

cyma criminal minds characters 🤩

thank you for sending an ask! okay so...

i’m casting you as derek solely because you gave me a whole playlist with multiple songs and i just really feel like you’d be the one at the club who runs to the dance floor every time an iconic bop comes on

@ssa-santiago is hotch for sure because even though he’s incredibly nice and supportive, dean claims that he doesn’t smile and that his daily expression is always “😑” which is completely okay because we love him anyway and don’t think of him any less because of it <3

@ssamorg is 100% penelope because morgan has been nothing but sweet to me and she also gives me bright and cheery vibes, which i love :)

@pagetsimp is jj just because she’s a blonde 💁🏼‍♀️

(lol, no i’m kidding. it’s actually because even though she’s nice, kind and pretty, i low-key think jassy could kick my ass if she really wanted to)

@morcias is george foyet, and haley, before you come for me, just hear me out! we have to give the man props for being extremely intelligent and strategic, which i feel like you are. also, he’s very dedicated to his craft, and you are also very dedicated to morcia and everything involving it. plus, and i mean this affectionately, you practically ✨radiate✨ chaotic energy in the best way possible

@lanalikesnobanana is emily and i literally can’t think of any other person for you lilli, so accept it. i mean, it’s probably the best compliment i could give anyone because i literally love this woman so much. she may seem closed off, but you can just tell she has a good heart and emily has a way of making the people around her feel safe, and that is definitely your vibe because of the whole shirley temple conversation we had the other day <3

@hotchgans is kate callahan and no that’s not just because you have her as your profile pic. it’s because i just get that energy from you even though we don’t know each other too well. plus you’re a moreid fan and they make a pretty good trio. plus kate is willing to go the extra mile for ones she loves and maggie, you went the extra mile when you designed my theme and i love you for that

if you weren’t tagged, don’t be sad! that’s only because i didn’t want to cast several mutuals or else this would have took forever lol. if you’d like to be in one just send a cyma in my inbox! ;)

#ask games 🗣#cyma 🪄#plz send more because i’m really bored lol

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cyn-00 · 4 years ago

Note

“I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” - moreid!!!!! pls (no pressure doe)

n. 1 from General prompts, then!! 💘

Prompt list (requests currently closed)

Read it on AO3

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

Saying that Spencer was listening to JJ blabbing about Henry's toys would be at the very least disrespectful towards her.

Normally, he would've been all chirpy and engaged in pretty much anything concerning his Godson; but either the alcohol mildly blurring his grey matter or the way Derek was dancing with Penelope seemed way more entertaining, that Friday night.

"Spenceeeyy" the blonde beauty sitting beside him at the bar mock-sang his name.

He jerked his eyes away from their two colleagues. "Mh?"

She snorted, dropping her gaze to stare at the bottom of her empty glass on the counter, formerly filled to the brim with a Mojito.

"Okok, I see you're a little too drunk to bear with my stories about Henry, huh?"

Reid frowned. "I'm not drunk!" he almost squealed.

"Pretty boy, we wouldn't think any less of you if you were, amIright Jayje?"

The two directed their gazes toward a fairly wasted Derek Morgan, sauntering away from the crowd and closer to them.

Neither answered, instead watching the man place a hand on the skinny genius' shoulder to steady himself as he catched his breath from the restless dance.

"Babygirl over there's got some moves, I'm telling ya!" he said out of nowhere, as though having to justify himself for his exhausted state.

"Well, then," JJ prompted, jumping off of the high stool. "let's see if 'babygirl' has some moves left for me, too!" she yelped enthusiastically, throwing Reid a complicit glance before heading toward a giddy Penelope right in the middle of the makeshift dance floor of their usual pub.

The couple followed her with their eyes for a few feet, before Derek turned his head to focus his attention on his boyfriend.

He grinned fondly - or drunkenly; either way it was beautiful as always - and wrapped his arms around Spencer's middle from behind, releasing a sigh along with a content hum.

"Only you 'n me now, yeah?" he mumbled, burying his face in the genius' neck right above the collar of his button-up.

Derek was a very physical and warm person even when sober, but drunk Derek was a whole other story. All touchy-feely-kissy, and on top of that "warm" wasn't even close to describing how nearly burning his skin felt. Spencer was decidedly surprised at himself the first time he'd discovered he did not mind drunk Derek at all.

"Mhmh" he nodded, closing his eyes as he let his back lean against the man's front.

The general murmur of people's talks and the loud-ish music compensated for their silence for a few seconds.

"Spencer?"

Reid was a bit taken aback by the sudden seriousness, conveyed by the tone and the lack of silly pet names.

"Yes?"

Morgan didn't continue immediately, instead tightening his arms around him and placing and indefinite number of velvet kisses on the side of his neck - four or five, the genius gauged.

"I love you." the man said, nuzzling his nose in the tucked spot under Reid's earlobe.

Spencer was almost sure his heart skipped a couple of beats, and after that started pounding so loud it seemed like all the other noises in the room had been switched off.

"Tell me that when you're sober..." he found himself countering, in some sort of sheepish snort - because if being in a relationship with Derek Morgan was in an of itself too good to be true, THAT was simply impossible.

Spencer felt the other man's chest rumbling with a chuckle against his back.

"A'ight then: tomorrow mornin', when I'll be having the worst hangover ever and I'll hate your pretty guts if you try to talk to me," Derek paused - in the condition he was, even having come up with more than 5 words in a row baffled Spencer.

"then, I'll say it again, and you'll HAVE to believe me."

Reid giggled. "Alright but until THEN, all this is just pure theory."

The man behind him let out an exasperated grunt, probably rolling his eyes - if only Spencer had found the energy to turn enough to see his face.

"You can't be mad at me for needing proof! I'm a man of science." he teased, defending his motives.

"Mm'kay then, 'man of science'," Morgan drawled, shifting up one of his hands from were it was settled on his boyfriend's belly to affectionately stroke his chest.

"What do you say we get home now, mh?" he asked in a soft tone, craning his neck forward so that his kisses could reach at least Spencer's cheek. "morning will come quicker if we leave earlier." he whispered.

It didn't make sense, of course. But Spencer always allowed Derek to talk nonsense.

"Ok. But I'll drive." Spencer asserted; the awareness of his boyfriend's hammered state stronger than his aversion to driving.

The other man laughed as he untangled his limbs from around the genius' dainty frame. "Clearly."

Needless to say, the next morning - in between kisses and snuggles and wrinkled blankets and headaches - Derek repeated the words. Seven times.

I love you, Spencer.

I love you too.

#criminal minds #moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan #cm tag #shemar moore #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x derek morgan #derek morgan x spencer reid #sperek #fluff #drunk derek morgan #moreid one shot #prompt list #moreid fluff #ask #bau #moreid fanfic

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rxseinbloom · 4 years ago

Note

whats ur favorite criminal minds fic?

I honestly don’t really have specific “favorites” because I haven’t read that many fics? I mostly write them.

HOWEVER (though I may be biased bc they’re my mutuals), I do have some favorite authors.

Anything and everything by @penelopecult 💖🥺💓. Her characterization is out of this world and her writing is often a perfect mix of funny, poignant, sweet and hot. I may be biased because I love Rose w my whole heart but also she’s just. Really Talented.

@cyn-00 ‘s episode follow-ups/rewrites are always the CUTEST and feed my moreid soul constantly, Especially the comfort after hard cases/stressful episodes ones, they always get me.

@reid-and-writing just wrote a moreid sickfic that was one of the cutest things EVER, it’s up on her account ❤️

If you’re in the mood for x reader works, @veraiconcos and @linguinereid are Artists and on the rare occasion I read one, it’s theirs!

Also @bonesofhoneycomb has some WIPs that I’m anxiously awaiting and can’t wait to read!

I also write too, subtle self-promo ✨

There are so many more incredible writers on here, but these are some of my faves! I may make a full rec list one day.

#oc #answered asks #fic recs #cm #criminal minds #moreid

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andyet-here-we-are · 5 years ago

Text

Happy birthday, sweetheart. May all of your dreams come true, and I wish you aaall the love and happiness in the world, all of which you deserve.

I feel so lucky to have you as my friend, @3tothe1 . You’re the raddest person ever 💜 (btw, if there are any Bill Hader fans on my blog, they should follow her because her blog is rad just like her~)

I hope you like your first gift! ^^

…and I hope life gives you daffodils soon.

I love you so much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829619

Richie The Daffodil by Moreid

Summary:

Richie gives Eddie flowers more than twice a week, and at one point their home is one week away from looking like an actual garden. There are flowers EVERYWHERE, so Eddie tells his lover that he should stop giving him flowers.

Being the stubborn man he is, Richie doesn’t stop.

Words: 1,652 Chapters: 1/1

Richie loves flowers.

He loves how beautiful they are, loves the way they smell, the way they brighten up the room, and more importantly: he loves giving Eddie flowers.

Eddie teases with Richie for it every time, because “Flowers? Seriously? Since when you got that sappy?”

The truth is: he finds this really romantic and adorable. He blushes like crazy every time Richie shows up with flowers in his hands. That’s one of the reasons why the taller man keeps giving his boyfriend flowers, he loves to make him blush, and the way his eyes light up like a kid who is watching the fireworks for the first time.

But the thing is, Eddie is the one who takes care of them, and he cares about each of them because Richie gave them to him, dammit! He just can’t let them root, and even though sometimes he dry them in books, he can’t simply dry all of the flowers.

Richie gives him flowers more than twice a week, and at one point their home is one week away from looking like an actual garden. There are flowers EVERYWHERE, so Eddie tells his lover that he should stop giving him flowers.

Being the stubborn man he is, Richie doesn’t stop.

***

About a month later, Richie is away for a week because of his stand-up shows.

On the fifth day, when Richie calls Eddie -it’s Sunday and morning for him, but Eddie knows it’s almost midnight in where Richie is- Eddie answers the call as soon as he hears it.

It’s a video call, but the other man turns off his camera immediately before he can even get the chance to see him, and Eddie can’t help but worry. Because since when Richie turns off his camera when he is away?

“Why did you turn your camera off?” he asks, a little frown appears on his face. “And why you sound-”

“Didn’t want ya to catch me doing things that got me on Santa’s Naughty List, baby,” Richie jokes, because of fucking course he would try to brush off the fact that he sounds terrible.

“Richie, what happened?”

“Nothing. Just missing you.”

Eddie sighs before he says: “I know. I know you do. I miss you, too, baby. But you sound so… Off. So I’m asking you once again, what happened?”

Eddie thinks Richie will make a joke again instead of telling him what’s the problem, but Richie surprises him after a moment of silence as he says “It was so damn crowded today, and I couldn’t sleep well last night and it’s just- that’s so stupid, never mind me.”

“Richie-”

“Can we just- like, not do this right now? Let’s talk about you.” Richie lets out a yawn, “Tell me about your day?”

Eddie doesn’t force him to talk, because he knows that he eventually will when he wants to talk about it, let it be ten minutes later or when he gets back home two days later. So he talks about his day -well, more like his morning- giving him all the details.

Eddie can wait.

About fifteen minutes later, the only thing that comes from the other end of the line is his boyfriend’s soft snores, and Eddie smiles to himself slightly. He doesn’t want to end the call, there’s a good chance Richie will have a restless sleep tonight, and even if Eddie can’t be next to him physically, his voice can be there at least, in case he has nightmares.

So, he keeps talking.

And if he says "Fuck work, I’m staying home today,“ no one has to know.

At one point he finds himself in their living room, not really surprising when you consider that he’s the type of person who paces around like crazy when he is on the phone. Or when he is overthinking things. Once he realizes that he is pacing, he stops, then settles on one of the ridiculously comfortable black chairs that stands in front of their window.

"I never told you that, but… I named one of the flowers ’Richie’. That pretty daffodil you gave me two weeks ago,” he starts, smiling fondly at the memory.

“Sometimes, okay okay, more like every time you are not around, I talk to it,” Eddie admits, “…it reminds me of you.”

“Do you know what they symbolize, Richie?” he asks, pausing as if Richie will answer at any second before he decides to continue again:

“They symbolize a new beginning. Rebirth. I wonder if you knew that when you got them. Probably you didn’t, though. Did you? There could be a flower which meant 'I hope you go to hell, dickface ’ for all I knew and you would still get it for me just because you thought it looked beautiful,” Eddie lets out a chuckle.

“Anyway. What I’m trying to say is… You, Richie Trashmouth Tozier, are my daffodil. You gave me a new beginning and, I feel like… I feel like after all these loveless, dull, meaningless years… I was born with you again.”

He doesn’t notice that the snores had come to a stop.

“Geez, Eds. And you say I am the sappy one,” There comes a gravelly voice, and one very sleepy, but also happy looking Richie greets him on his screen.

His first reaction is murmuring a soft "fuck" as if he is caught doing something wrong, which makes the taller man laugh.

“…how much of it did you hear, you sneaky bastard?” He asks after a moment, pink spreading through his cheeks down to his chest. Not only he is embarrassed because Richie probably heard all of it, but because after all these years, that laugh still does things to him.

He can swear that Richie’s laugh is the most wonderful sound in the whole world.

“Just a moment ago you were telling me that I was your daffodil, and now you are telling me that I’m a bastard. Wow, Eddie Spaghetti, you wound me.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I thought you hated flowers,”

“I never said that I did.”

“Oh, you sure ‘bout that? 'Stop with the flowers, motherfucker. I hate these fuckin’ flowers, fucker!’ ” Richie imitates, “You were literally turning into a cute, midget version of Samuel L. Jackson whenever I gave you flowers.”

“I- Don’t talk like that in front of it. Flowers are affected by the way we talk,” he demands, and a wave of regret washes him over immediately after.

Richie will never let him live it down, will he?

“Now you’re just being a hypocrite. You are not exactly Mary Poppins either, ya know. And one more thing, I am affected by the way you talk to me either, but that doesn’t stop you from breaking my heart. Oh wait, I don’t have one.” Richie yawns:“ ’t was stolen from me yeeeears ago.”

“Go back to sleep, Rich,” Eddie tries, even though it’s not likely that he will listen.

“Sleep is for the weak,” claims the other man as he props himself up on his elbows on the hotel bed. “It’s overrated.”

“Your sense of humor is overrated.”

“Ouch. That one hurt, Eds,” Richie brings one hand over his heart, feigning offense “that one hurt.”

“I’m not gonna apologize for speaking the obvious.”

“You’re the meanest robber ever. Remind me why I’m dating you again? I should seriously reconsider my choices.”

“Because you love me, dickwards. And no one can love you more than I do.”

That brings a smile on Richie’s face.

“Yeah, that’s also true.”

“Did you just say 'also’ ? So you do accept that your sense of humor is shit.”

“At least I have one. Can we maybe get back to the moment you were admitting your undying love for me?”

“Nope,” Eddie refuses, popping the 'p’ “that train is long gone.”

“Damn, I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“But we all know that keeping your mouth shut has never been one of your strong suits.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Richie laughs again. “Hey, Eds.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t wait to meet little Richie.”

“You’re the one who gave it to me, you already met-”

“But it didn’t have a name back then! Now it’s not the same flower once it was. Its whooole life changed when you gave it that name.”

“Also, little Richie ? Please don’t call it that. It sounds like you’re talking about your dick. I clearly remember you referring it like that. It was a traumatic experience for me.”

Richie chuckles at that before he defends himself: “It was just that one time! I call it 'Big Richie’ now, cause ever since you came back to my life-”

“Oh Jesus, I should have never answered your call,” Eddie complains again, running a hand over his face.

“You know you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.”

“For real, though… I can’t wait to meet Richie The Daffodil.”

“I’m sure it can’t wait to meet you properly as well.”

They both don’t say a word for a while until Richie calls his lover’s name again, Eddie only hums in response, letting his features soften.

“You’re my daffodil, too,” Richie says softly, and Eddie smiles so brightly that his eyes nearly go missing as his dimples deepen. “It’s not fair that I’m not there to poke your beautiful, adorable dimples,” he then whines, pouting like a child. “Poke them for me.”

“Leave my poor dimples alone, you weirdo,” teases Eddie, still smiling widely. “Go to sleep, and maybe you can see me and my dimples in your dream if you’re lucky enough.”

“I am lucky enough, Eddie,” Richie whispers, “I am lucky enough.”

“We are lucky enough, my love” Eddie corrects him, “we are lucky enough.”

And despite everything they both have been gone through, they mean it.

Because it’s the truth.

Because life is not always kind.

It’s not always sweet.

But if you’re lucky enough;

It gives you daffodils.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fanfiction #3tothe1 #my writing #not witcher related #but it's a special occasion

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reidslibrarybook · 3 years ago

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RJ!!! THANK YOU FOR WRITING, ILYYY <333

Spencer Reid knew two things: he didn’t have any Christmas traditions, and he wasn’t afraid of elevators.

this line already has be cackling

This wasn’t some rickety old thing that he was going to get stuck in.

throwback for the poor man 🤪

honestly? aside from derek/savannah and luke/penelope, i absolutely love ralvez with my whole heart. i love them together they're the absolute cutest

“Okay, Alvez and I are leaving now,” Spencer let Emily know before hanging up and tapping the elevator button a few times in rapid succession.

i'm literally just thinking abt how spencer would always pronounce his name wrong all the time and it's making me giggle

Creeeeeeeak.

Well, that couldn’t have been good.

i acually love the parallel so much between morgan and luke. i've never been a moreid person but i love the drawback to the elevator lmaoooo. it's actually one of my favs morgan/reid interaction lmaoooo

“She always kicks me out of the kitchen. We have a big dinner and then we watch Titanic. Out of the stellar collection of Christmas movies we have, we always go for Titanic. Don’t ask me how that got started, but it is now firmly a Christmas movie in my mind. It’s tradition.”

anyone who watches the titanic is incredible. period.

“I remember…I brought home a Christmas tree one year, because my mom usually forgot. I must have been a sight. Some nine-year-old kid dragging this tiny little tree down the sidewalks of Nevada,”

god this whole paragraph is so sad, i hate that he never had a normal childhood and never would even iof his dad had stayed. you write him so well, my heart is actually aching

“Trauma.” Spencer paused. “…Torture.” Luke frowned. Spencer didn’t look up as he formed the words, kept his eyes trained on a speck on the floor that seemed to have captured his attention. Luke didn’t want to push him. He understood it was easier this way. Spencer cleared his throat, licked his lips, and pushed forward, imperfect words and all.

awww, spencer feeling open enough to share with luke. this is so nice, i'm glad he can finally have someone to talk to

If either of them were to look up, really look at each other, they would see the matching shades of pink across their cheeks; a pop of color in the stark, metal room. Luke leaned his head against the railing behind him.

oh god.....so cute. aksndkjanfnewfnrgm

PLZZZZZ KAJFJEQKNOFEQinekaqnjufbqeofhwenfkjnKLADNKAJJFEANFKJASNOFHAEOHFJKAENFJAB

And before Luke knew what was happening, soft lips were on his, prompting him to respond, newfound realization spurring him forward. Eagerly.

AHHHHHHHHH RJJJJJJ STOP IT PLZ I CAN'T NOT HTIS THE KISS SO CUTE AWJNFOIWEAHOIHEWONROUWAGIQEAIOHQRTUIB

overview:

jesus this was just the cutest thing ever. all the emotions were so raw and incredibly well written. you're an incredible writer and i absolutely loved this fic so much!!!! love you always, rj!

A Not-So Claustrophobic Christmas

Summary: What happens when two FBI agents get stuck in Quantico on Christmas day? Deep conversations, new Christmas traditions, and perhaps an appreciation for the faulty mechanics of elevators.

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid

Word count: 7.1k

Category: Hurt/comfort

Rating: T

Warnings: Talks of PTSD and trauma, Referenced drug use, Referenced torture, Referenced homophobia and Catholic guilt, Confined spaces

Read it on Ao3

Cards (Prompts): Fountain (Season 13-14), Medal (Trapped Together), Morgan (Prompt 1: "I didn't think you had that in you.")

This fic is for @reidslibrarybook's 1k celebration! Congrats, Nat!

Spencer Reid knew two things: he didn’t have any Christmas traditions, and he wasn’t afraid of elevators.

See, when the team got the call that they’d have to spend their Christmas working a case, no one was particularly overjoyed. But Spencer, who had never really done much for the holiday anyway, was perfectly content as he rode up in the Quantico elevator to greet his teammates and get to work on the latest case. In his mind, there were little qualms to be had.

In addition to being okay with working on Christmas, Spencer Reid was also perfectly content taking the elevator to the seventh floor, as he did every day. Despite all the facts and statistics in his head about elevator-related deaths (30 per year) and injuries (17,000 per year), he knew, logically, that elevators were quite safe. Knew for a fact that this particular elevator was quite safe; it had been inspected within the last six months, after all. This wasn’t some rickety old thing that he was going to get stuck in. Quantico was a safe place. It was safe here. It was going to be just another day of work, another trip in the elevator. The only difference being the holiday. Statistically, Spencer knew everything was going to happen exactly as expected. Business as usual.

Now, if Spencer had watched any cliché Christmas movie like the many Luke was familiar with, he would’ve known that nothing ever goes according to plan on Christmas.

The day had begun with an intense case. A kidnapping, local. Tension accented every step, every breath. Spencer wasn’t special here; they all knew the reality of the situation. What was at stake. The fact that they didn’t have to travel out of state only meant that they could save those few precious hours for more productive work. Luckily, it only took around half a day before they had a promising lead that resulted in the team rushing out of the building to help on the ground. Even Penelope had left the safety of Quantico. Everyone was scattered around the greater D.C. area while Spencer stayed back to work on the geographical profile. Well, nearly everyone. Luke had also stayed back to help go through all the evidence they had.

Spencer liked Luke; he really did. Despite their lack of closeness, there was an inherent familiarity between them. A sense of comfort. But right now? Spencer couldn’t help but feel as though he was being babysat. Did they really both need to be stuck back at Quantico right now? Luke probably wanted to get this case over with like all his other teammates, anyway. He seemed like the type to have Christmas traditions, regular yearly plans. Spencer looked over at the man plaguing his thoughts and felt a chill run through him at the sight. Feelings of claustrophobia, maybe. He didn’t need someone else distracting him from his work.

“Reid, look at this,” Luke spoke up suddenly, piles of papers strewn in front of him. Spencer got up to the other side of the round table, leaned over to inspect what Luke had found. As the two discussed the discrepancies in location and evidence, a warm magnetism passed through them, pulling each of the agents closer and closer together. As they got into a flow in their own investigation, their shoulders hunched forward over the work in front of them, brushed against each other. At that touch, a spark of an idea made Spencer shoot upright and take out his phone. It just so happened that someone else distracting him from his work was exactly what he needed.

“Hey, Prentiss, we’ve got something,” He greeted as he began to spew facts at Emily on the other line. They’d done it. The breakthrough in the case. Luke unconsciously puffed his chest as the other man excitedly described their revelation. Soon, they’d all be on the ground, saving the victim, arresting the UnSub, and getting back home in time for delayed Christmas celebrations. Luke, for one, couldn’t wait.

Spencer tried to relay as much useful information as he could before Emily was requesting they both meet up with the rest of the team to assist with the case on the ground. As he listened to the address and instructions, he motioned for Luke to come with him, mouthing Let’s go as he did. The pair walked out and towards the exit, Spencer in front and Luke in tow, ready for what lay ahead.

“Okay, Alvez and I are leaving now,” Spencer let Emily know before hanging up and tapping the elevator button a few times in rapid succession. He could hear Luke approach from behind. Years on the fugitive task force allowed him a quiet kind of gracefulness that Spencer could appreciate. A softness around rough edges. He risked a glance at the other agent. Luke was staring up at the elevator with a gentle determination set across his features. Spencer understood the feeling. Before he could dwell on it though, the elevator arrived, opening its doors and welcoming its new occupants into the shiny room. The pair hurried in, and Spencer hit the button for the garage as the doors closed.

“I’ll drive,” Luke spoke, slicing through the tension that came with cases like these. Urgency like this. The steady drop of the elevator did nothing to help.

“Sounds good,” Spencer responded. He thought over everything he’d just gone over in the case. Of the next steps waiting on site. The two watched the numbers tick down as the elevator descended. 7…6…5…4…

Creeeeeeeak.

Well, that couldn’t have been good.

Spencer stilled, listening for the tell-tale sound of the elevator whirring, felt for the sinking motion that came along with descending to the ground level. Nothing. Luke looked around.

“Uh…Reid?” He spoke slowly, carefully, before placing his hands on his hips. “I think we’re stuck.”

Spencer looked around before sighing in agreement. “We are.” Luke nodded, taking in the situation before him.

“So, how long do you think we’ll be in this thing?” Luke inquired, shuffling his feet as he turned toward the other man.

“30 minutes,” Spencer replied without hesitation. Luke huffed a laugh.

“Damn, you really just knew that, huh?”

“Well, that’s the average amount of time most elevator entrapment cases last before help arrives. However, I believe most people are gone for the night and it is a holiday so that may impact things a bit.” Spencer turned toward him as he explained.

“What’s ‘a bit’?” Luke asked.

“A few hours, maybe.”

Luke groaned before leaning back against the cool, metal railing of the elevator carriage. May as well get comfortable if it was going to be a while. He took out his phone to provide an update of the situation.

“Hey, Prentiss, it’s Luke.” He listened to Emily’s quick greeting before describing the predicament at hand. “Yeah, Reid and I are currently stuck in the elevator at Quantico. We’re okay, but it could be a while before we’re out of here.” Spencer looked at him. “I’m going to pass you to Reid so he can update you on the situation,” Luke added, leaning forward to hand Spencer his phone. Spencer took the cell, quickly relaying pertinent information about the case to their unit chief. After he had said all that he needed to, he inquired into the reality at hand.

“Can Garcia do anything?” Spencer put the phone on speaker just in time for Emily’s apologetic words.

“Sorry, guys. She says it’s not a problem she can solve – not for lack of trying, of course.” The two men nodded.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed, pulling the help lever on the panel in front of him. “It was worth a shot. We’ll wait for help. Well, you know where we’ll be in the meantime. At least we have service.”

“Of course, I’ll text you both updates on the case. Stay safe,” Emily added.

“You, too,” Luke replied as Spencer handed off the phone. He ended the call and pocketed the device, resting his head against the wall, hands gripping the railing behind him. The two stood there for a moment, mentally shaking out all the excess energy they had from the urgent case. Trying to let go of their Plan A.

“The FBI can’t get an elevator working,” Luke laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Guess in case of emergency most people just take the stairs.”

“Not even the federal government is exempt from bureaucratic incompetence,” Spencer joked. Luke harked a deep laugh at that.

“Oh, they invented it,” Luke added, thinking about all the paperwork and red tape he went through last week. Spencer smiled, propelling Luke forward.

“So, tell me,” Luke continued, looking for a way to pass the time. “What else do you know about bureaucratic incompetence?”

* * *

Spencer and Luke had chatted for twenty minutes before the pair lapsed into a semi-comfortable, boring silence. It was another ten minutes before Luke got tired of staring at his phone. He tucked it back in his pocket and risked a glance at Spencer, observed the lanky man settling in on the opposite side of the elevator, legs curved into a crossed position. The books previously in his bag lay in a stack in front of him, having taken no time at all to read through. Now, the genius sat there quite literally twiddling his thumbs. Luke sighed, prompting Spencer to look up. The two grinned at each other in not-quite-awkwardness. Spencer felt that same magnetism he’d felt earlier at the round table in their echoed smiles. That sense of familiarity, he could call it, even though he and Luke weren’t close. There were definitely worse people he could be stuck in an elevator with.

“What were you reading?” Luke motioned toward the pile of books precariously balanced at the opposite corner as he sat down.

“A few studies on obsessive behavior and stalking I had tucked away for the case. That and Slaughterhouse-Five.”

Luke blinked in surprise at the last title. “Vonnegut fan?” Spencer shyly bowed his head.

“Actually, I haven’t read too much of his work. You’d think I would have by now but even I have my limits; I suppose.” Spencer lightly joked. Luke pulled his leg up, resting his arm on his knee.

“What encouraged you to start reading his work?” Luke prodded. Spencer absentmindedly flipped through the book, slim fingers deftly brushing across the pages. It was hypnotic, in a strange way. Luke snapped his gaze back up to his face.

“Honestly, Agent Morgan was a big fan of Vonnegut. He liked to project this big macho persona but secretly he was far more intelligent and capable than most people,” Spencer explained, a wistful look in his eyes. Luke hummed in understanding.

“You miss him.”

“Yeah, I do. I mean…” Spencer searched for the right words. “I still see him sometimes. But he’s at home with a newborn and that kind of cuts into any socializing he does now.”

“I knew I had big shoes to fill,” Luke commented.

“You’re doing just fine.”

Luke smiled at the compliment; Spencer returned it easily. Maybe the next few hours wouldn’t be so bad. Spencer pulled his leg up toward his chin, mirroring Luke’s own pose. If Luke were to peer into the genius’s mind, ever the self-aware one, he might have picked up on the psychology of mirroring others. On what it secretly meant. But Luke couldn’t read minds, and Spencer wouldn’t acknowledge his own feelings any further, instead opting for a simple change in conversation topics.

“So,” he dragged out the syllable, subtly acknowledging the strange feeling in the air before changing the subject, “any fun holiday plans?”

Luke chuckled knowingly. They weren’t getting out of here any time soon. “Not this year with the case, unfortunately. Normally, I spend Christmas with my folks. My ma sure can cook and I do try to help her but I’m just…I’m terrible, man,” he laughs; Spencer chuckles along with him. “She always kicks me out of the kitchen. We have a big dinner and then we watch Titanic. Out of the stellar collection of Christmas movies we have, we always go for Titanic. Don’t ask me how that got started, but it is now firmly a Christmas movie in my mind. It’s tradition.”

Spencer shrugged, trying to ignore the ache in his bones. He’d never had Christmas traditions with his family like that. “If you watch it on Christmas, it’s a Christmas movie.”

“Exactly!” Luke agreed, a beaming smile that warmed Spencer’s insides. “What about you? Any holiday plans?” Spencer looked down.

“Not really. Christmas was never that big of a thing at home.” Luke nodded in understanding, allowing the moment to lapse into silence. Spencer tugged at the lace on his sneakers before speaking again. “I remember…I brought home a Christmas tree one year, because my mom usually forgot. I must have been a sight. Some nine-year-old kid dragging this tiny little tree down the sidewalks of Nevada,” Spencer smiled, before he got this look in his eyes. “My mom, uh…she wouldn’t let me keep it. Said that bringing it in was essentially letting the government spy on us. It, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat. “wasn’t my favorite holiday, to say the least. And now, my mom…” Spencer trailed off. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Luke knew. More than he probably wanted him to. “I love her so much, but I don’t think I ever grew out of wanting a normal Christmas,” he revealed. Spencer looked back up, concern evident across his face. “Is it selfish? For me to not want to visit her during Christmas?”

In that moment, Spencer wasn’t the confident genius who’d gotten a coveted position at the FBI before most were even qualified. He wasn’t the expert negotiator, talking down UnSubs and solving cases flawlessly. No, at this moment, he looked small. Luke had the urge to wrap him up, keep him safe from the harsh reality of this world, even if that meant protecting him from his own negative beliefs. The care he felt toward Spencer in that moment shocked him, prompting him to hesitate, just for a second before responding. He opened and closed his mouth, took a breath, and then said what was on his mind.

“No, you’re not selfish, Reid. You’re doing what’s best for you, and that’s all anyone can do. You’ve done so much for your mom, and I know she loves you. She really does.” The sincerity of the words stilled Spencer’s fidgeting fingers. Sprouted a look of gratitude and understanding. Luke didn’t wait for a response, instead prodding further.

“How have you been recently? During the holiday season and post-prison and…” Luke gestured. Spencer felt a sharp twist of anxiety in his chest. He shrugged.

“Fine, I guess.” Luke narrowed his eyes. Spencer looked away from the intensity of the gaze, the rawness of the moment.

“Well, I’m here to talk if you want,” Luke suggested, carefully formulating the words so as not to scare him off. He got the feeling that Spencer was shoving everything down and that couldn’t be healthy. Luke knew that firsthand. Spencer didn’t budge as he replied.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quickly, fiddling with his shoelaces some more. Avoiding eye contact. Hiding. Spencer didn’t want to revisit these things. These painful reminders of all the tragedy in his life. Sympathy bubbled up in Luke’s chest at the sight. He tried again.

“It might help if you—"

“Sorry if I don’t feel up to talking about my PTSD right now, Luke,” Spencer snapped as the terrible feeling burst in his chest at the thought, the conversation now suddenly equipped with a hostile bite. Luke gingerly showed the palms of his hands in a sign of surrender. The gesture immediately softened Spencer, a regretful look in his eyes as he ran a hand down his face. He sighed. Breathed in, out, before speaking. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just…” Spencer vaguely gestured as he tried to search for the right words. He couldn’t find them. “…hard.” Luke nodded at the sentiment before huffing a dry laugh.

“The infamous Dr. Spencer Reid finally rendered speechless,” Luke joked, testing the waters. Spencer cracked a sad smile in return. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Spencer wished he could find the words. It seemed these were the only times he couldn’t.

A quiet settled over the elevator after that. Luke’s fingers itched to take his phone back out just to have something to do but for some reason it felt…wrong. Like the action would ruin what was happening. Whatever was happening. Luke stared at the wall, their legs stretched out on opposite sides of the carriage. Feet just barely not touching. It was a few minutes before Spencer spoke again.

“I’ve gone through it before,” he said, a newfound wary confidence in his voice. Like he needed to get this out, even if it was uncomfortable. The sting of cleaning a wound so it could heal once and for all.

“Prison?” Luke asked incredulously, a furrow in his brow.

“When I was 25, I was kidnapped by an UnSub with dissociative identity disorder. Tobias Hankel. He kept me for days, torturing me.”

“Reid, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Spencer stopped him. Determination set in his features. A reflection of the look Luke had while staring up the elevator not too long ago. A stubborn will to go set things right. “It’s okay. Let me do this. I’ve never really talked about it here.” The thought of Spencer keeping this bottled up worried Luke, so he nodded for Spencer to continue, hoping he didn’t push too far. Spencer took another breath.

“The UnSub had three distinct personalities: his abusive father, the archangel Raphael, and himself. I really felt for him. He seemed so scared. The other personalities were keener on inflicting pain. But when Tobias was there, he… he wanted to help me in the only way he knew how.” Spencer tugged at his laces, grounded himself in the feeling of the braided thread. He was safe here. He risked a glance at Luke and felt the knot in his chest ease up at the concern evident on his face. Spencer swallowed thickly before continuing. “He drugged me. With dilaudid. I tried to refuse it at first but after the first few times…I was begging for more.” Luke remained silent, so Spencer continued.

“When it was all over—when the team got there, I shot Hankel, it was all…over—I stole vials of dilaudid off his dead body.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, blinking back the vulnerable emotions buried deep, threatening to spill forth into the suddenly cold, confined space. “God, you must think I’m pathetic.”

“No, Spencer. I think you’re brave.” Luke leaned forward. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. No one deserves that.” Spencer shrugged.

“It made me stronger.”

“It shouldn’t have had to.” Spencer let his hair fall into his eyes as he kept pulling the laces on his shoes.

“I just feel like that was the beginning of the end. Like I’m…stained now. Everything I’ve been through. My mom, prison, everything. I’m reminded of what went down back in that barn every time I feel a craving. I’ll always be a drug addict. It’s who I am.”

“It’s not who you are,” Luke offered. Spencer gave him a look. “Okay, it’s a part of you, but that’s not what makes you you.” Spencer scoffed at Luke’s justification.

“I’m serious, Spencer,” Luke continued. “You’re incredibly intelligent, and not just in a child genius way; you’ve acquired more and more knowledge over the years and have been able to form new connections that anyone else would struggle with. You’re kind, so kind. Even after all you’ve been through you still have that humanity in you. That empathy for the UnSubs. For the victims. It’s a real superpower, man. One that I need to work on myself sometimes. Emotion gets the best of all of us on these cases. Our desire for revenge or justice but you. You see all sides. I’ve never told you how much I respect that.”

“Not always,” Spencer mumbled.

“Hmm?” Luke looked at Spencer, a questioning look in his eyes. Spencer curled into himself under the stare, like a brittle leaf curling in the strong heat of the sun.

“I wanted to kill him. After everything all of us have gone through, I…”

“Scratch?” Spencer nodded. Luke studied the look on his face, the bitten lips, furrowed brow. Quiet, terrible, contemplation.

“You feel conflicted about it.” Spencer shrugged at the statement.

“I don’t like feeling that way. Like I have that in me. I could’ve killed Scratch and I would’ve slept well. Even now that he is gone, I’m not torn up about it. At all.” Spencer felt brittle, but Luke understood.

“Spencer, that’s human. I can guarantee you that no one on the team is torn up about it. But the fact that you care, the fact that you feel so conflicted about feeling this way…that’s the empathy. It never went away. You experience things differently now, but it’s still there.” Luke kicked his leg out, stretching as he spoke. “I’m not particularly torn up about it either, you know.”

“I think the section chief would lose their mind if they knew we were practically lining up for the honor,” Spencer chuckled dryly. Luke shook his head as he joined in.

“See, you’re also funny. Sarcastic in the best way. I don’t care what anyone else has to say, I love conversations with you.”

Spencer grinned a tight-lipped smile. “I appreciate that.” Luke nodded, propelling Spencer forward. “I know we haven’t really been close. Not like with the others…” Luke gave a slight nod. Spencer had a point to that. “But I do admire you. Even beyond your capabilities in regard to the BAU—which are impressive in their own right. I, uh…I like talking with you, too.”

“Man, we should get trapped in elevators more often, man.” Spencer let out a laugh and Luke felt something warm in his chest at the sound. Like the sun peeking out on a hopelessly cloudy day, kissing the skin, radiating heat. He felt the sudden urge to stretch out and bask in the feeling forever. But something was bothering him. An itch he couldn’t quite reach. This new imbalance in their relationship hung heavy.

“I feel like I need to level the playing field now,” Luke suddenly spoke, putting an end to the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

“Luke, no, you don’t have to.”

“Reid…Spencer.” Spencer looked up at the use of his first name. It made Luke’s stomach do something funny. “I want to,” Luke reaffirmed. “Besides, you probably understand that talking about this kind of stuff strengthens a bond; it’ll be good. We’re getting to know each other better. Just on a deep, very-much-not surface level.”

Spencer nodded at the sentiment, scooted ever so slightly closer to the other man, ready to listen. Luke heaved a great sigh as he went into his mind and pulled at his wounds, unraveling the threads of his past. He stared just past Spencer when he finally found the words.

“Catholic school.” Spencer hummed before cracking a smile, nudging Luke’s foot with his own.

“Altar boy?” Luke chuckled at this playful side of Spencer, grateful for how he lightened the mood, just a bit. Made Luke feel safer.

“Shut up,” he laughed. Luke sat in the feeling for a moment longer, letting it fuel him, before sharing.

“It’s just…hard realizing that you’re an abomination to God, you know? And don’t…” He gave Spencer a stern look, exhaustion laced in its stare. “I know I’m not an abomination. I know that. But I was 12 years old when I realized I was gay, man. And I’d gone to Catholic school for all my life, where it was ingrained in me – being gay is sin, don’t be gay. It messed me up for a while.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were gay.” He couldn’t pinpoint why this new information affected him so.

“I don’t exactly go parading my sexuality around the FBI,” Luke responded. After a beat, he added, “I’m not ashamed, though. Not anymore. Those first years, the realization? That was the hard part.”

Spencer nodded in understanding. They’d led very different lives, had such different childhoods, but Spencer could more than relate to that realization. That you’re not like everyone else. In more ways than one. He blinked up at Luke, urging him to continue. “How’d you get through it?” Luke sighed, dropped his head back against the wall. A dull, staccato sound.

“My parents, mostly. I came out to them when I was 18 and they accepted me. Of course, they did. They’re good people. But when you’re a scared kid you don’t know what to expect, you know?” Spencer gave him a tight-lipped smile. He knew.

“Also, this one kid, Carter.” Luke continued, “He and I…were seeing each other. During high school. God, he could make me laugh. Even in the midst of all the teenage angst and Catholic guilt, he made me happy. We were happy when we were together. And I think my parents knew. Well, I know my parents knew. Looking back on it, it’s clear as day. But back then we were so concerned with sneaking around.” He smiled, a far-off look in his eyes. Spencer couldn’t quite decipher it. “It didn’t last, though. I mean, it was high school. We drifted apart in the end. But that whole middle part? It really helped me be the person I am today. Taught me loads.” Luke grimaced. “Sorry, that was a lot.” Spencer waved a hand to let Luke know it was fine. He knew all about rambling. Spencer threaded his hands together before leaning on them, elbows in his lap.

“Do you still think about him?” Spencer asked. Luke smiled, sad.

“I think he ended up marrying a girl from our school. Settled down, had a few kids. Really makes you think.” Spencer hummed.

He didn’t share this with many people. This large, incalculable thing that brought him to the edge of panic and back again. Coping had been hard. He thought about Roxy laying on him, the heavy weight of her calming him down, in her own clumsy-pawed way. Usually, talking about this hurt in a way that he couldn’t even describe. But he had Spencer. Here, in this elevator, sharing the deepest parts of themselves, it somehow felt safe. Luke hadn’t felt that way with another person in a long time. Like he didn’t have to carry this weight alone. And if he were to ask Spencer, he’d learn the feeling was mutual.

Luke nudged Spencer’s foot with his own, observing the domino effect of the playful touch on the other man as Spencer’s features morphed into a small smirk, reflecting Luke’s same expression. There were no words coming from the genius’s smile, no filler facts and statistics in the face of the great expansive silence before them. Because it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled easily in the small elevator carriage, as though its presence was inevitable. As though every quiet confession, every shared glance and touch, had led to this.

“It’s nice…” Spencer started, struggling with the phrasing, “Well, not nice, but it’s interesting to hear about your past. See where Luke Alvez truly came from. I only wish you didn’t have to suffer for it to happen.”

“The most formative experiences are often the most painful,” Luke commented.

“I just wish they didn’t have to be,” Spencer sniffed, ran a hand through his hair. “Like I get they help us become who we are but…I don’t like everything about who I am now.” Luke remained quiet as Spencer spoke. “Like…prison was a formative experience but I could’ve gone without it, you know?”

“I know,” Luke affirmed. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, a nervous tic. He took a breath.

“I thought I was going to die in there.”

Those words knocked the air out of Luke’s lungs for a second. He wasn’t that close with Spencer when everything went down—prison, Mexico, Cat Adams—but he would’ve been devastated had anything terrible happened. That ache drove him to great lengths to protect the other man last year, a desire he couldn’t quite make sense of then. But he was starting to. Luke tried to reassure him now despite the shakiness evident in his voice.

“You went through a trauma.” Spencer nodded at Luke’s words, then shook his head.

“I feel like I should really be over it by now,” Spencer replied. He quickly tried to explain himself before Luke could say anything in return. “—which I know is objectively ridiculous because there’s no set time in which a person is expected to feel and then heal from a traumatic experience. There are too many variables involved to expect anything aside from affected function and some common symptoms, but I guess I just thought—” Spencer sighed. Luke didn’t offer any words this time; simply waited for him to sort them out himself. Letting the silence of the moment unravel him. It seemed to be what Spencer needed. The space to talk. The feeling of being listened to. “I don’t know. I’ve always been ‘above average’. I think some part of me thought I’d be able to heal faster from this. Faster than normal. Even though I should know better.” Spencer cleared his throat, leaned forward as he launched even further into his explanation.

“There’s this Einstein quote: ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.’ Well, that quote was actually not from Einstein but comes from a mystery novelist from the 19th century, but either way. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. I mean, multiple traumatic experiences, over and over again. I know firsthand how I coped or didn’t cope. I know how long it took me to get through those things or to not get through them. I still live with most of them every day. But for some reason, I still think that I’ll get through it faster this time. Get over it quicker. As if that’s something I can just do. As if that’s the inevitable conclusion to this horrible chapter. So, clearly, I must be insane, because I keep expecting impossible things to happen. Repeatedly.”

Luke got up at that, strode over toward Spencer. The other man was a sight, all elbows and knees and shoulders curved in. As though he was shouldering his own protective shield, all angles, holding himself together. Luke gently sat down next to him, careful not to startle the infamously touch-averse man. He took a moment to consider the risk he was about to take. And then, Luke reached out, his fingers outstretched toward the other man. Lowered his hand down gently, a leaf floating through the crisp winter air, giving plenty of time for Spencer to reject his advances.

He didn’t.

Instead, something in the air changed. Imperceptible to anyone else who would’ve seen. But suddenly, Spencer was holding Luke’s hand. No, not holding. Gripping his hand. Gripping as though Luke was the very life raft holding him afloat. It reminded him of Rose holding onto the door in Titanic, white-knuckled grip on its edges. Spencer had that same desperation hidden behind his features, carefully guarded beneath a hastily constructed mask. Luke studied his features, sensed Spencer’s shame in taking the help so easily, as though reaching out for the other man would drag Luke down with him. But that’s where Titanic got it wrong. There was always room for two people on that damn door.

Luke squeezed Spencer’s hand in reassurance as the two of them sat on the hard elevator floor, each grateful for the softness of the moment. Spencer focused on the grounding sensation of Luke’s hand in his, the warmth of his palms, the slight sweat that had begun to break out on his hand. He didn’t dare let go, though. Didn’t dare think about the staggering number of pathogens being exchanged right now. And especially didn’t think about the way his heart stuttered the moment Luke sat down next to him, initiating the touch. Instead, Spencer tried to let his mind calm as he allowed the weight of the other man’s hand to put him at ease. As he did so, he went over everything they had been discussing, of the life waiting for him outside the elevator doors. He had the startling realization that letting go of Luke’s hand and walking back out there when the time came was absolutely terrifying.

“I just want to be in a phase of my life where everything feels okay again,” Spencer sighed, wistfully under his breath.

Luke chuckled and Spencer gave him a strange look. He shook his head before addressing the anxious agent. “You’re a hermit crab, man.” Spencer looked bewildered at Luke’s statement; not entirely sure what crustaceans had to do with his moment of vulnerability. Luke pushed forward, ready to explain the simile that was decidedly not a universal thing.

“It’s something my abuela used to say. Basically, you’re in a transitionary period right now. You’re between shells. Out in the vulnerable wild like the hermit crab. But that’s not a bad thing, because you’ll get a new shell. One that’s different, yes, but one that fits better, no matter the change. And you can’t rush the process; you just take it one step at a time.” Spencer leaned his head back against the silver walls of the elevator as he pondered this, ran it over in his mind, savoring the foreign taste it left in his mouth. Like golden beaches.

“I used to have a pet hermit crab when I was a kid.” Spencer spoke. “My mom always liked the idea of having a pet, but we weren’t exactly well-suited to a dog or anything.” Sadness tinged his words, even with a smile on his face. Luke gave his hand a squeeze.

“Well, if you ever need to hug a dog or something, I happen to know this beautiful Belgian Malinois,” Luke grinned. Spencer laughed at the sentiment, grateful. He leaned his head ever so slightly toward the other man.

“Thanks,” he whispered. Luke hummed in return as he ran his thumb across the back of Spencer’s knuckles, feeling the other man start to relax. If only they could stay like this outside of the confines of these elevator walls.

“My mom would like you,” Luke suddenly spoke, warranting an eyebrow raise from Spencer at the sudden change in subject.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s always asking me questions I never know the answer to,” he laughed. Spencer lit up as he matched Luke’s laughter. “She knows about you already; I talk to her all the time so she kind of knows everyone on the team. But when I call her tomorrow, I’ll get to tell her that I spent Christmas stuck in an elevator with the genius of the FBI,” Spencer grinned, his insides lit up as though the Rockefeller tree itself lived inside of him. The thought of Luke telling his mom about him…Spencer couldn’t even describe it. He turned towards the other man.

“If it’s worth anything, my mom would like you, too.”

“Oh, she does.” Spencer looked up at that, a quizzical look in his eyes. Luke continued. “When you were away, JJ looked after your mom, but I went over a few times as well. A lot of us kind of took turns,” he explained. Luke smirked as he recalled his conversation with Diana. “She told me she always liked the name Luke.” Spencer hummed at that.

“I’m sure she did,” Spencer said. “She has great taste.” He barely whispered that last part, opting to study the other man instead.

Luke looked at him then, really looked at him. Honey brown irises eclipsed by dark undereye circles. Sharp cheekbones that somehow didn’t take away from the inherent softness of his features. Pink lips turned a maddeningly vibrant shade with all the biting Spencer does to them. Luke suddenly understood the funny feeling he got in his stomach whenever he caught a look from the other man. Whenever Spencer passionately spewed facts and statistics to him, excitement exuding from every part of him. Luke had the heart-stopping realization that he liked Spencer Reid. Like, really liked him. All these months with charged encounters, an invisible magnetism, the immense care he felt for the other man…it made sense. And now, that realization only electrified the air even further, Luke’s breath hitching as he realized Spencer hadn’t broken eye contact either.

See, Spencer had the same realization moments prior.

And before Luke knew what was happening, soft lips were on his, prompting him to respond, newfound realization spurring him forward. Eagerly.

Luke cupped his jaw as Spencer enthusiastically initiated kiss after kiss after kiss. It was electrifying, like waves of static coursing through his veins. When Spencer slipped in a bit of tongue, Luke thought he was going to melt into the ground. He settled for a hand on the other man’s hip instead. The two remained this way, all thoughts out the door as they fell into each other, reveling in the warmth of the moment. That familiar comfort lending itself to something new, something exciting. Luke summoned every ounce of willpower he had before pulling away, almost emitting a groan at the sight of Spencer. Lips kiss-bitten and sweater just slightly askew. It was sinful. Luke cleared his throat before speaking.

“I didn’t think you had that in you.”.

“Well, you’ll just have to get to know me better, then,” Spencer cheekily replied, his responding smirk only slightly betrayed by the flush running down his neck. Luke grinned as Spencer leaned his forehead against his.

“Dinner?” Luke prompted.

“Yes. Definitely. I mean, I’m kind of starving anyway.” Spencer licked his lips and Luke followed the motion intently, prompting Spencer to chuckle at the sight. He tore his eyes away, leaning his head back against the wall. A questioning look flashed across Luke’s face.

“Oh, yeah. How long have we been in here?” Spencer checked his watch.

“Roughly three hours.”

Luke smiled, a smug look on his face. “I know you know the exact number of minutes, Spencer. How long have we really been in here?”

“Since we got onto the elevator?” Spencer looked up as he calculated in his head. “Three hours, twenty-one minutes, and forty-six seconds.”

“Well, I have an idea of how to pass the remainder of the time…” Luke drawled, a suggestive air in his tone. Spencer laughed before leaning back in. Giving into the magnetic draw he’d felt for so long.

* * *

Spencer was only mildly embarrassed about his debauched state when the crew arrived and broke them out of the small metal cage. It was funny, being trapped for that long. Because in those four hours they’d spent together, a room not even six by six feet, neither had ever felt so free.

The two had gotten back to talking when the elevator repairman showed up. A series of texts from Emily had reminded them of the matter that got them stuck in the FBI elevator in the first place. Everything outside of their little metal world had worked out. The victim was safely recovered and the UnSub was arrested. Discussions of casework dispelled the heated air that had filled the elevator only minutes prior. It wasn’t unwelcome, though. They were glad to hear everything had gone well. It was as good a day as any for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. In sitting in the resolute feeling that a case gone well had left behind, the pair lapsed into captivating, pointless, beautiful conversation. See, Luke and Spencer would both agree that, while keeping their hands off each other wasn’t exactly a priority anymore, they wanted to know everything about the other person. Deep stuff, surface level, checkered pasts, pizza topping preferences, and all. They were so different, and yet somehow complemented each other perfectly, like Titanic and Christmas.

One crew of elevator repairmen and several attempts to pry the door open later soon resulted in Luke and Spencer tumbling out of the carriage, opting to take the stairs to the garage this time. Spencer ached to reach out and grab hold of Luke’s hand once more as they headed out of the building.

“There’s a DVD place down the block from my apartment that’s open really late,” Spencer said as they entered the parking garage following a comfortably silent descent down the remaining flights of stairs, hands brushing together. Now, a hopeful kind of vulnerability was painted across his features. The vulnerable bubble of being trapped together had popped. Did that mean whatever had happened was over? Luke interrupted his spiraling train of thoughts as he grabbed his hand, firm. Spencer broke out into a smile, every cell in his body lighting up as though it were a grand Christmas display.

“An offer like that? How could I say no?” Luke replied, nudging Spencer’s shoulder with own as he unlocked his car, separating hands only for a moment before once again gripping tight across the console as they both got settled. The two pulled out of the Quantico garage, a newfound fondness for the fragile nature of elevator mechanics. Spencer would have to update the statistics on elevator-related incidents in his head. Maybe with a decidedly-biased and positive spin.

See, claustrophobia was never the problem for either of them. It was always meant to happen like this. Invisible forces pushing Luke and Spencer together, even in the face of all the obstacles that came with being seasoned FBI agents with intense histories. And the two would spend the remainder of their Christmas together, forming new traditions all their own. Traditions involving a strapping young Leonardo DiCaprio and plenty of elevator jokes that both Luke and Spencer would follow for years to come. Because deep elevator conversations, renting Titanic on DVD, and getting takeout at the only place still open this late on a holiday?

Well, now that was the most Christmas thing either of them could think of.

taglist: @honeyreid @ropoto @moderatelydelusional @reidactually

masterlist | taglist

#rj!#i don't think you have an emoji bestie #lmk if you want one!#nat's1klibrary #nat's 1k writing celebration

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

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2020 Creator Wrap: Favourite Works

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread love and link each other to awesome works!

@criminalmindsvibez thank you sm for tagging me in this!! <3

🍯 turns out that I need you now: this one had to make the list as it’s the first CM fic I wrote and it catapulted me into the fandom. It definitely has a special place in my heart and hotchreid angst hits so good.

🎷 Vivaldi on Full Volume: not gonna lie, I fucking love this fic. I’m so proud of the way it turned out and I just love the fluffy love confessions and the getting together trope.

💛 Night In/Night Out: I mean... this one’s a favourite of mine purely because I got to pretend I was dating Emily Prentiss the whole time and seriously, is there anything better than that?

🍋 when I fall asleep: clingy spencer!! fluffy moreid!! Is there anything more to say? I loved writing this one and I’m proud of the way it turned out.

🌕 Trees and Seas Have Flown Away: I adore the ‘fight leading to a love confession’ trope so I obviously had to write it and I love the way it turned out, especially the ending. Plus I got to explore Spencer’s past a little bit!

🌻 && a cheeky extra: What Spring Does With Cherry Trees is my 30k Johnlock fic from earlier this year which I’m going to include just because I absolutely adore it, it was super self-indulgent, and it holds a really special place in my heart. If any of you also like Sherlock/Johnlock, there you go!

tagging: @degrassi-fanatic, @goobzoop, @kermitsaysgayrights, @ssaemxlyprentxss, @girlanda-pen, @pretty-b0yy no pressure! but you’re all amazing and should appreciate your art <3

#tagging games #my writing #mutuals #emily tag🦋

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cyn-00 · 5 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 10 - "right now"

Season 11, episode 11 "Entropy" aka hands down one of the most beautiful episodes of the whole show Imho. (Idk I feel like this is such an iconic episode that you guys don't need me to remind you the plot but here we go: it's the one where Reid goes to dinner with Cat Adams, the most dangerous of the 4 hitmen targeting Garcia, pretending to be a husband who wants to get his wife killed. She figures that out and the team has to somewhat wing it. Specifically, she makes him confess that the reason he'd taken some time off work was because his mom was showing signs of Alzheimer's, and nobody on the team knew that. In the end Cat holds Reid at gunpoint so him and Morgan have to lie telling her that her father is right outside, in order to make her surrender)

SMUT! (= you can't read it here you have to follow the AO3 link. I know there's nothing wrong with posting nsfw stuff on Tumblr but still)

I really wanted to write some proper Moreid smut, I wanted it to be 1) hot, but also 2) loving, but also - most of all - 3) I ABSOLUTELY wanted to avoid it sounding like crappy cheap porn (I'm not saying I'm the best smut-writer out here!! Please! I'm acknowledging that writing sex scenes is very difficult). Note: the first dialogue between Reid and Cat isn't true to the show, if not for a couple of lines (cause it didn't make sense how it was in the show ? lmao)

I really hope you enjoy and confirm that I managed to fulfill these 3 goals, just remember it's my first smutty fic 👉👈... (I think I kinda did though?? *pat pat*) Update: I cheated. I basically re-wrote this months later so...if you still find it crappy, then I guess I have no excuse left :D

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

"Wait! Wait" Cat yelped, breathing nervously and sweating, to make Reid stop. He was walking her out of the restaurant in handcuffs, leading her into the van where her father was theoretically supposed to be; Morgan right behind them.

"Ok. I'm ready." she claimed. Reid started walking again, meeting Morgan's eyes, nodding at him with a slightly concerned expression.

Derek opened the back door of the van, clearly empty; the other silently helped her inside and made her sit, chaining her handcuffs to the bench before kneeling in front of her.

"You lied to me." she whispered, her face a few inches from Spencer's.

"But I didn't lie about looking for him." he said, as if feeling the need to justify himself.

"And you also didn't lie about your mom." she said, eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face. "I won." she added, with an emphasis that Spencer didn't quite understand.

"How so?" he frowned, afraid of the answer.

"Because I'll get out of here."

A mocking smile curved his lips. "Yeah. In 20 years, if you're lucky."

"And that's fine, you know why?" Cat waited a second, but didn't actually expect him to reply. "See, even if he has been a fucked up father, at least I will remember him, in 20 years. While you probably won't even remember your own mother." she concluded, staring straight into his eyes, a tear falling down her cheek.

Spencer didn't respond to that. His heart sank in his chest for a second, he gulped and quickly jumped off the van, striding away without even looking at the other man.

Derek hopped on the van and faced her, full of rage, clenching his jaw. Their noses 3 inches apart.

keep reading

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

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4. What’s your favorite trope?

5. Favorite fictional character?

6. Where do you typically get your inspiration from?

🎻

4. Unrequited!Love; oh man do I love an angsty pining story. I want it to hurt so bad my heartstrings are shredded. It’s actually my go to for Moreid and it hurts so good, but it also spans multiple fandoms. I guess I should ammend that by saying Unrequited!Love with a happy ending, because it’s not actually unrequited they’re just morons.

5. Oh that’s a tough one. I’ve had so many. I haven’t written for all of them, either, so I guess I’ll give you two answers. My favorite fictional character that I write for is probably always going to be Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead, just because I know his character inside and out and there’s so much I can do with him no matter the scenario or genre. He also is a hillbilly with a heart of gold and I love that. My favorite character that I’ve never written, though, will always be the Doctor -- because they give me hope and make me question the world around me and see it for the brilliant, sparkling thing it is.

6. So a lot of my plot inspiration comes to me while listening to music. I day dream stories all the time, but (usually when I’m driving) I’ll listen to my spotify and a song will hit it just right and I’ll get scenes played out that I end up building the whole fic around. The songs don’t always end up MATCHING the fic, per say, but in my head they play out like the soundtrack to a movie and that’s where the seeds begin to grow. What I start with is usually never fully what I end up with when it’s all said and done, but pretty much every fic I’ve ever written has started out as a song.

(1-3) (4-6) (7-8)

#I know I said I was going to wait and spread these out #but I'm procrastinating working on my chapter so I'm just going to finish the last two #I don't actively watch Doctor Who anymore really but I know even the site of 9 or 10 or 11 will always make my heart so warm and fond #and no I will not pick my favorite you can't make me choose I'm an adult I'm aloud to be in love with three versions of the same alien being #Also The Walking Dead was my OG fanfic roots (I don't count high school)#asks #asks from the sweetest people #writer questions #wtf autocorrect those aren't the right words #ask 🎻

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andyet-here-we-are · 5 years ago

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Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri find out Geralt has never had a birthday party so they go out of their way to have steamers and balloons and game night, all the while Geralt is just emotionally constipated because he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

(Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742986 )

"Keep him busy, and don't be here before the evening!" Jaskier says to Yennefer.

"How the hell am I supposed to keep him busy all day?!"

"You're a mage," the bard reasons and pushes her out of the door, "I'm sure you can find a way! Put a spell on him which will make him want to explore aaaall the pretty flowers and trees in nature till evening or something, I don't know! I know I'm the brain of this lovely team, and you all depend on me for every little thing, but even this extremely handsome and intelligent bard can't think of everything all the damn time!"

"... do you even hear yourself?" Yennefer rolls her eyes. "You're not the brain of this group. If anything, I'm not even sure if you have one."

"Rude. Oh wait a second, you didn't deny that I'm extremely-"

"Jaskier."

"Anyway! Less talk, more work. Out out out!"

***

Jaskier ends up making a birthday cake with Ciri. Okay okay, that's a lie, because it's more like Ciri just tells him to stay out of it, so he starts decorating the cottage while Ciri makes the cake –he nails it, thank you very much.- He gives her some ideas about the topping though, so he thinks he deserves some credit anyway.

Hours pass, and right when Jaskier thinks that Yennefer might have put his spell suggestion into practice–not that he is sure that it actually exists- they hear the sound of the key turning the lock, and he can’t help but swear. Because damn it, they were supposed to knock the door to give them some more time! But what they do instead? They step into the cottage like god damn savages.

Jaskier definitely doesn’t panic and nearly falls face-first on the ground while he runs to the basket which was filled with flowers, while Ciri manages to keep her chill.

“Happy birthday!” they cheer, and Geralt can’t fathom what is happening for a moment, even though it's pretty clear.

He is awestruck by the way the cottage is decorated: colorful streamers hanging everywhere, balloons covering the floor, various food dishes, and baked goods waiting for them on the table. Where did they even found streamers?

The Witcher doesn’t even know how to react.

It feels just so strange to him. All of it.

He is familiar with kikimoras, ghouls, basilisks and much more, he knows how to react when he sees one.

He knows what to do then.

But as he stands there while delicate flowers kept thrown over his head by the delicate hands of the most precious ones in his life, he just can’t react.

"What do you mean you never had a birthday party?!" he remembers Jaskier asking him nearly two months ago when he accidentally let it slip when his birthday was "...at all?" The bard’s face was coated in sadness.

"We don't have time for a birthday party. And it's irrelevant."

"Irrelevant, he says! YOU are irrelevant! We’re sooo gonna celebrate it!"

“Jaskier, no. We’re not going to do that.”

“Jaskier, yes! Just you wait, my dear Witcher.”

He had forgotten about it.

But apparently, Jaskier hadn’t.

Geralt isn’t the only one who is surprised. Because not only Jaskier and Ciri throw flowers over their heads while singing a Happy Birthday song, there is a banner that reads “Happy Birthday, Geralt and Yennefer!”

“It’s not even my birthday.” Yennefer states with a hard to read expression on her face. “I think I get it now.” She then looks at Ciri questioningly. “It was your idea, right?”

To her surprise, Ciri shakes her head and points the bard with her head.

“Let's just pretend it is!” Jaskier says. “I wasn't sure if you ever had a birthday party either, well, maybe you have, I don’t know. But!” he holds up his index finger, “ I’m sure it wasn’t anything as splendid as this since I wasn’t the one who-”

Ciri coughs, and Jaskier immediately corrects “We! I mean we, as in, me and my excellent, one and only dear assistant Ciri, weren’t the ones who organized that party. So I just thought... It seemed unfair that- not that I care or something, but-”

As much as is amusing to see the bard –who normally has his way with words- stumbling over his words- Yennefer prefers him to just shut his mouth at that moment.

So she does the only logical thing and gives him a very brief hug as a silent, but sincere thank you. She can swear that there’s the smallest hint of pink covering his cheeks afterward.

“I promise to you that your real, true-to-its- date birthday will be as good as this one. Happy birthday!” Jaskier says while Ciri is busy with giving Geralt a hug and wishing him a happy birthday.

As if he is saving hugging Geralt for later, Jaskier makes a beeline for his lute after telling them to have a seat. “Or don’t,” he adds “if you prefer to dance. Which I’m sure you will. So, I’ll start with the song I wrote for the confused mage over there.”

Jaskier’s song starts with “Once, lived a mage” which makes Yennefer frown.

"Once? Lived? I'm still here, you arsehole."

And includes lines such as:

"but don't make her upset!

Or else, you will, oooh, so regret

Yennefer of Vengerberg

is here with all the souls she has collected!"

“Only you could manage to warn people about not to make someone upset, and upset the said person the very next moment,” Yennefer rolls his eyes at the bard, who seems pretty proud of how his song turned out.

“What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.”

“Since when talking non-stop and giving people, hell, even monsters a headache count as a talent? For your information, I don't collect souls. What do you take me for? A demon?”

“Oh no honey, how can I? You’re worse than a demon. Demons are much easier to deal with. I’m sure that Geralt agrees with me. Right, Geralt?”

“I’d shut up if I were you, Jaskier.”

“Okay, maybe not so sure anymore. Yeah, of course you would shut up. That’s like, one of your personal traits. Not talking, as if someone made you take a vow of silence.”

“Hmm.”

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No song for me?” Geralt wonders.

"Well, I've written enough songs for you. I thought it was time for a little change."

"Hmm. Fair enough.”

Geralt nods like he was completely expecting that to happen, and even the idea of Geralt thinking Jaskier would stop writing songs about him eventually, breaks Jaskier's heart.

He set his lute aside, and walks behind his chair. "I could travel the whole world to find the gift you deserve, the perfect gift,” he says softly as he leans over the chair, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

“But what you deserve is the world we travel in, its better, flawless version where everything is beautiful, where minacious creatures that you have to deal with don't exist.”

Jaskier is almost sure that Geralt will tell him to shut up, but instead, what he does is putting one hand on his, and listening to him.

So he keeps talking: “A world where the sun always shines and warms upon your face every morning, where flowers never wilt, and moon always sings its sweet lullaby to you every night.

You say I am the crazy one, yet you must be crazy to think that I'd ever stop composing songs for you and sing them. Of course I wrote a song for you. But the thing is...”

The bard leans in even closer, and the rest is whispered in a tone oh so sweet that honey would be ashamed of letting people call it sweet.

“-it's only for your ears to hear. And my other, dare I say, gift is, only for your eyes to see. Anything you wish tonight, shall be yours. All yours. Happy birthday, my love."

Geralt can’t help but shiver ever so slightly.

“You know we can still hear you, right? There are children here.” Yennefer remarks a moment later –which Jaskier responds with: “Hush, jelly Witchy, you got your song!”

“I hope you're not referring to me. I'm not a child,” Ciri says with a little smirk. “Let my dads have their moment.”

“Yeah! Let her dads-”

Jaskier starts, but then almost chokes on his own spit in surprise once he realizes what Ciri had just said.

They all, even Geralt, laugh at his reaction.

Their evening goes absolutely perfectly; Jaskier plays his lute and sings the most lively, cheerful songs for them. Sometimes he sings them alone, sometimes Ciri sings along. And sometimes just Ciri sings as he strums his lute, making up notes and melodies on the spot.

They even play games, but then Jaskier gets on Yennefer’s nerves as usual while playing -she nearly starts a cake fight with him, fortunately, Ciri and Geralt prevent it- they eventually stop playing games.

Even though Geralt can’t say that he really understands why they care about his birthday that much –he just got one year older, so what? It’s not worth celebrating- he still appreciates everything they do.

***

“My sun already shines every morning. Actually... He even shines in the darkest nights.”

Geralt says after he covers Jaskier’s naked body with the blanket so he doesn’t get cold.

It has been a hot night, and also very sweet.

“And my little flower,” he whispers sweetly as he watches how Jaskier’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, running his fingers through his silky, and messy hair “he never wilts, no matter how harsh the winter is. No matter how mean and inconsiderate the stupid winter can be towards him sometimes.”

The peaceful expression on his bard’s face as he curls even closer into Geralt’s embrace makes the Witcher smile fondly.

“And my moon,” he buries his nose in his boyfriend’s hair, breathing in his very unique, familiar and heavenly scent “already sings sweet lullabies to me every day. ”

He then lets out a content sigh, and closes his eyes after brushing his lips against Jaskier’s sweet lips, stealing a soft kiss from them.

Not aware of the now blushing cheeks of his bard.

“Sleep tight, little hummingbird of mine. Thank you for everything."

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #my writing #the witcher fanfiction #stuff I tried to write #sorry for my super late reply again :(#and for my mistakes #since English is not my first language there are probably many of them #also that was supposed to be about mostly Geralt but I couldn't help myself and made them celebrate Yennefer's birthday as well #it just happened *.*

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