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#criminal minds
iwatchshit3343 · 9 minutes ago
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my friend said they hc garcia as trans (mtf) and i kinda really love it what are your thoughts
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triptuckers · 41 minutes ago
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700 followers! <3
um
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what?
thank you all so much for following me, reading my works, sending me requests, leaving replies on my fics, i truly am so grateful <3 you make me excited to share my work with you 🥰
because i’ve hit 700 followers, i’ll be opening up ships AND one word blurbs again!! here’s how it works:
FOR SHIPS:
send me an ask and tell me:
a little bit about yourself, could be anything! from appearance to hobbies to what you do for a living to anything else you want me to know about you!
specify if you want me to ship you with a male or a female character, or if you don’t have a gender preference
the fandom you want a ship for (list of participating fandoms below)
FOR ONE WORD BLURBS:
send me an ask and tell me:
a character
and one word (I will write a blurb based on the word you sent me)
here’s the list of participating fandoms:
grishaverse (shadow and bone)
criminal minds
9-1-1 
star wars
SHIPS AND ONE WORD BLURBS CLOSE ON MONDAY JUNE 29TH. any ship / one word blurb requests I get after the 29th, I won’t write. 
please read my house rules before you request anything, and take a look at my character list! thank you!
college is pretty time consuming at the moment, but I'll find time to write! and again, thank you all so much <3 I couldn’t be happier 
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doctcr-reid · 47 minutes ago
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from the ground up // s.r.
summary / you and spencer just moved into your brand new house, and you figure this is the perfect time to tell spencer the news that you're expecting. coincidentally, spencer already had a different surprise planned.
pairing / spencer reid x bau!fem!reader
warnings / pregnancy, mentions of food, cohabitation, engagement/proposal, brief mention of Spencer being autistic. other than that it's just really sticky sweet fluff. :)
author's note / i'm feeling really bummed today for no apparent reason, so i figured some dad!spencer fluff was in order.  the title is from the song "from the ground up" by dan & shay. ps: my tag list is open! please join my taglist using the link in my nav. <3
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You placed the final box onto the floor, looking over at Spencer with a happy smile gracing your features. He took the lapse in the labor of carrying in boxes to sit next to you on the floor. With his own grin, he pulled you into his side, planting a kiss on the top of your head.
"Sorry I'm sweaty and gross," you laughed, acknowledging how exhausting it had been to carry furniture and bulky belongings since early that morning.
Spencer chuckled, tossing his wavy, brunette hair out of his face. He looked at you for a moment like perhaps you had hung the moon. He did this often, simply taking in how beautiful you were and half-pinching himself that he was so lucky.
"Love, are we just not going to talk about the fact that I did most of the carrying? I damn near broke my back carrying that side table on my own."
You raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if this would be the right time to tell Spencer why exactly you had declined to carry anything heavy that day.
Your doctor had told you to be careful during the move. You were just through your first trimester, after all. It was still early enough that no one would know you were showing, and at this stage of pregnancy, things were still touch-and-go. You didn't want to risk losing the pregnancy, so you'd come up with the excuse of your ankle hurting to avoid doing any strenuous activity.
You took a deep breath before beginning to speak. The joy and hope in your voice were evident as you quipped back to Spencer with the news.
"Well, the doctor told me not to lift anything too heavy...because of the baby."
Spencer stopped for a moment, his mouth falling open akin to a fish. "The...what?"
You took Spencer's hands into your own, which were warm and slightly shaking. You pressed them to your abdomen. Spencer felt the vinyl lettering of your Federal Bureau of Investigations tee-shirt beneath his fingertips.
Spencer had fallen in love with you fast and innocently. It started when you'd helped him with his fitness test, and he helped you with the applications for your doctorate. You'd become a part of the BAU family in no time, but a part of you clung closest to the boy wonder himself.
As your relationship progressed, you realized you had more in common with Spencer than you had differences. You bonded over your love of Russian literature, Doctor Who, and sweets. You accepted him fully for who he was, so much as carrying fidgets in your go-bag, just in case Spencer needed them on the jet.
He felt the tears brimming his eyes as the realization hit him that you were carrying his child.
Spencer looked up and cupped your face in your hands. You giggled loudly as he pulled you into a deep kiss. You could feel his elated tears on your own cheeks, which caused you to tear up, too.
He pressed his forehead to yours. You reached up and cupped your hands around his large ones that were still holding your face affectionately.
"So you're happy Spencer? Really...truly happy?"
Spencer nodded, pulling you into another small set of peckish kisses. You laughed again, letting him pull away from you.
You watched as he rearranged himself, getting onto one knee. You looked stunned, trying to figure out what was happening. By the time your brain caught up, it had dawned on you that Spencer was pulling a small ring box from his pocket.
"We've both b-been keeping something a secret, I guess, y/n," He smiled, opening the box slowly.
"Spencer..."
The ring was absolutely stunning, sitting among the black velvet lining of the box. It was a simple - yet clearly expensive - diamond set upon white gold. It was timeless and felt like a beautiful representation of Spencer's love for you.
"I love you...more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. Will you...marry me, y/n?"
"Spencer...," the tears were falling down your faster than you could stop them. You took a shaky breath and stuck your hand out, nodding frantically.
"Of course, of course, I'll marry you!"
You both laughed with relief as Spencer slid the ring onto your finger. He pulled you by your hips into him, letting your lips crash together. You took a moment to relish in the kiss, feeling your lips move against Spencer's soft plush ones.
Just then the door swung open, revealing Rossi, who was carrying a large dish in his hands. Behind him stood the rest of the team, awkwardly illuminated in the light of the doorway.
You wiped your tears away as both you and Spencer stood up.
"Interrupting something? I brought my famous chicken parmesan," Rossi said, lifting the dish up to show you both.
"We wanted to come celebrate your new place!," Penelope gleamed, holding up two bottles of red wine.
"We both have news. But, come on in. It's a lot. I won't be able to have any of that wine, Penny," you grinned, walking over to take the dish from Dave.
Penelope's mouth fell agape as she watched you place a hand on your tummy. She let out an excited squeal, eliciting a loud laugh from Spencer.
"Come on, come on, we have the dining room set up already...," ___________________________
criminal minds taglist / @hufflepuffhaze @ssavanessa22 @omghufflepuff @txtdreamss @awritingtree​ @sweetandsunny​ 
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klauss-umbrella · 49 minutes ago
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emily prentiss did not go to Yale, learn seven languages, join an undercover task force specializing in terrorism, become unit chief of the behavioral analysis unit, and get offered the director of the fbi job for people to write her off as not intelligent. queen isn't dumb.
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idonotexiste · 50 minutes ago
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My thoughts on all the Criminal Minds characters part 22
Jordan Todd
No. Go away please. She’s pretty tho.
2/10
Masterlist for this series
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random-fandom-things-555 · 52 minutes ago
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Emily: This date is boring!
Tara: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store.
Emily: Then why did you invite me?
Tara: I didn't. I specifically said "don't come with me" then you said "fuck you, Tara. I'll do whatever I want!"
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yeoldespacebuns · 52 minutes ago
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I'M GONNA CLOSE MY EYES AND MOVE MY FINGER, AND WHEN YOU SAY "STOP," THE BOOK I'M POINTING TO, NO MATTER WHAT, WE'LL FIX WHAT'S ON THE COVER. SOUND GOOD?
SPECTATOR SLOWING [15x3]
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guccifloralsuits · an hour ago
hotch said reid is baby confirmed 😌💖
yes. I cannot stop thinking about how in season 1 hotch mentions he’s had a working relationship with Reid for 3 years…meaning he’s known Reid since he was nineteen years old……
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The Bad Influence’s Birthday (Spencer Reid x Masc!Reader)
Summary: After hearing some unsavoury rumours about his darling daughter, Spencer decides to do something about it.
AN: Happy Father’s Day tomorrow! This can be read as a continuation of Seahorse (SFW version) (NSFT version) or as a oneshot. The reader uses he/him pronouns.
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Masterlist
A wave of rapture swept through the children as Spencer began pulling out the handkerchiefs from behind Savannah’s ear. Savannah gasped dramatically and Hank in her lap flapped his hands to grab at the knotted fabric, managing to touch the last sunny yellow one. His face when Spencer handed it back to him, it was swiftly captured on Penelope’s phone as was Hank stuffing the handkerchief between his gums.
“Thank you for your participation!”
Katia was on her feet and clapping wildly as she trotted over to her dad. Her arms slipped under his cloak to hug his waist, her cheek creased with a grin pressed into his belly.
“Thank you Daddy! Thank you thank you thank you!” She squealed, trying to bounce whilst keeping her grip tight on Spencer.
“You’re welcome.”
More kids swarmed on him to say thanks, but just in time, his husband spoke up:
“Why don’t you kids grab a few more bounces on the castle while we prepare your lunch!”
A sudden stampede of trainers and once crisply ironed party outfits rushed past Y/N. His arms shot up perpendicular to his body, above the children’s rushing heads. Y/N sauntered over to Spencer, snatching off his pointy wizard hat and tousling his hair. His fingers stayed there a while longer. Just long enough for Y/N to get a grip on it and pull Spencer over for a kiss.
“Nice job, honey.”
Spencer beamed, adjusting his wizard’s cloak, “Glad you thought so.”
The couple sauntered over to their house’s edge, a table set up with jugs of juice for the children adjacent to the open French windows. That didn’t stop Spencer from taking one for himself.
He spared some glances at the other parents around. “Is she here?”
“Hmm?” Y/N raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide with confusion. Then his expression cleared, “Oh, yes. To your right.”
Not so subtle was his look in that direction as he took a sip from a disposable plastic cup. “There’s three of them.”
Y/N pretended to examine the rainbow stars around the rim of Spencer’s drink, “She’s the one in the navy-blue shirt.”
Ah yes. Melinda.
Before Y/N could intervene – or join him – Spencer strode across the lawn, his juice forgotten. He landed next to this woman without a smile.
“Hi, can I get you anything else to drink?”
“No, I’m fine thank you,” She replied, her folded arms constricting around her front. “It’s a wonderful party.”
Spencer’s tone was just as forced as hers, “Thank you. Pulling out the stops, she’s only going to turn seven once.”
His attention followed Melinda’s eyeline to the bouncy castle. Katia wasn’t hard to miss. Her bright turquoise and purple frock blurred as she threw herself herself back and forth between the walls and shrieked with laughter above all the other children.
“And Lukas is enjoying himself too, it seems,” Spencer indicated to Melinda’s child who was following by Katia’s example.
Just then, the man Melinda had arrived with rocked up beside him with a heavy clap on the shoulder. “Katie has quite a hold on our lad!”
Spencer’s shoulder rolled out of his grip, “They are best friends. Katia talks about him a lot; she was so excited when you confirmed yesterday. We’ll have to set up a play date-”
“Oh Lukas! Come off of there, sweetie!” Melinda looked despairingly at Spencer, “Can you get your husband to stop that?”
It was then that Spencer took in what Y/N was doing in the middle of the bouncy castle. Surrounded by children, he seat-dropped right beside them, launching them up into the air only to land on their backs. Cries of “again, again!” demanded to be satisfied and Y/N was working hard to keep them happy. Spencer smiled fondly at them.
“It’s alright, he knows what he’s doing. And we have crash mats.” He pointed to where all the shoes were scattered in haste of adrenaline. “It’s nearly time for the birthday banquet anyway.”
His pointy cap was donned once more as he headed off to attend to his birthday duties.
Y/N whipped off the star sprinkled sheet off the table and the children applauded at the sight of food, scrambling to get a seat near the birthday girl. The seats beside her throne (curtesy of Uncle Dave) were already promised Lucas and her other best friend Dominque.
While the kids were feasting, Spencer saw Derek taking the opportunity to bounce Hank on the very edge of the bouncy castle. The little man’s legs kicked and jerked above the inflated vinyl as he squealed in his dad’s safe grip.
Each plate was filled with only the finest of party foods. Sweets and treats were permitted before the sandwiches in this topsy turvy feast, with carrots dipped in hummus eaten between salted crisps. Katia’s mismatched socks sitting in odd sneakers swung back and forth as she crunched down. A few times, she forgot to swallow her food before shouting across the table to her guests. Ah well. It was her birthday. Spencer was too busy passing bowls to kids who couldn’t reach their favourite foods.
Y/N pinched Katia’s cheek and offered Lukas a napkin before grabbing one of the platters to offer to the parents. Coincidently Melinda declined while her partner took two.
“You were bouncing the kids on the castle deliberately, weren’t you?” Spencer whispered to Y/N as they topped up the drink jugs.
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
The smirk on their lips said otherwise.
Penelope was the one to bring out the cake, the frosting’s colours matching Katia’s dress – which was actually Penelope’s birthday gift. She leapt into song the second she stepped outside and demanded a reprise for more photos to be taken of her goddaughter blowing out the candles from Spencer’s lap. It took two big puffs and Spencer pretending to smash her face into it before the candles were simply smoking.
“Daddy, do you want some cake?” Katia held up a forkful to his nose.
“Yes please,” and Spencer opened his mouth wide, “Ahhh!”
Somehow, Katia still missed. Crumbs and icing smeared in the corners of his mouth and caught in his stubble. Spencer cringed a little at the mess, but it faded at the uproar of laughter from his baby.
“Thank you, Katia,” He said slowly, accepting the napkin she offered him as an apology.
Katia then shared a dab of icing with Hank, Savannah saying a delighted thank you on her son’s behalf while Hank himself beamed at the sugar rush. It was over this interaction that Spencer caught sight of Melinda and her man. They were acting as though they hadn’t been staring at him and his bad influence. Without a second thought to them, he kissed Katia on the cheek then he caught Y/N on the arm as they were handing out cake. He kissed his cheek too. Katia smeared some cake down Y/N’s sleeve with chocolate blocking out some of the teeth that weren’t already missing.
God only knows how he was going to top Katia’s next birthday party.
-----
Spencer Reid Tag List: @averyhotchner​ and @spenxerslut​
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guccifloralsuits · an hour ago
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Hotch’s Reid favoritism is so funny like he straight up lies to Hotch abt being cleared to fly after his knee injury & faces no consequence for it; he gets no formal punishment for the Owen Savage situation, Reid’s the first person Hotch opens up to about his divorce…Hotch knows Reid’s showing up to work high after revelations and doesn’t report it (although that might his guilt for sending Reid to Hankle’s house in the 1st place). In zugzwang he comes IMMEDIATELY when Reid asks even though they don’t take stalking cases, on a whim in s4 Reid’s like “can we stay in Vegas for an extra night” & no questions asked Hotch reschedules the whole team’s flight. Then afterwards he approves last minute time off AND allows 2 other team members to use FBI resources for a random cold case just bc Reid’s been torn up over it. this twink’s got hotch so wrapped around his finger and for what
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all-tings-gubler · an hour ago
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His expression gives me the following thoughts
1. You called him cute
2. You said you have a crush on him
3. He got caught staring at you
4. You guys are married however he's not used to pda, and you kiss him on the cheeks out of nowhere or give his weetle butt a squeeze
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olivinesea · an hour ago
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A Mixed Blessing
prologue: we’re better than this
a/n: A rather soft start. No warnings for this bit. Having a real weird day so I honestly can’t gauge this at all. Enjoy? ~1.3k
An unseen hand fumbled with the half dozen locks on the door, scraping the key uselessly against the metal, locking some that had already been unlocked. This had been going on for several minutes with minimal progress made. Hotch and Emily were sitting at the dining room table watching the struggle. He almost stood up to help, the sounds vibrating through him creating a hum of anxiety. Just as he had lost his patience, the door burst open. Jack stood there, one hand on the door frame, breathing hard as if he’d just battled a giant. In some respects he had, finally overpowering the beast of his father’s paranoia. It had been more than a decade since Foyet’s attacks but Hotch still engaged each lock religiously whenever he closed that door. He only left the chain off when he knew Jack would be coming home.
No one moved as father and son stared at each other, Jack’s eyes red and unfocused. The fact that Jack should have been home two hours ago was not lost on any of the room’s occupants. Hotch pressed his lips together, his mouth a grim barrier trying to hold back the many things he wanted to say. None of them would do any good and he knew it. They’d had this conversation over and over, the scolding and the threats. He was angry but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand. Still, this behavior scared him and he wished he could convince Jack that he just wanted him to be safe, wanted to spare him from the things he knew were waiting just along the edges of the life he was sinking into.
“You’re late,” was all he managed to get out.
Jack huffed in response, swinging the door closed with a little too much force. Emily winced at the noise, the crash ringing in the early morning hours. Hotch stood up, not sure what he meant to do but impelled to move. Jacks eyes darted from the chair that scraped along the floor with the movement back to his father’s face. He’d never had a reason to fear his father, the man had never even raised his voice at him. He couldn’t make out the emotion there through the chemical fog in his mind. For a brief moment, he was a child again, studying his father’s expression for hints to explain the sadness he perceived but was never vocalized. Something to help him understand the secrets he felt hanging heavy around them but held so tightly he rarely got a glimpse of what they contained.
“Did you hear me?” Hotch sounded stern. At a loss for how to proceed, he switched to his work voice.
This shook Jack from his meditation, snapping him back to the present and reminding him of just how irritating he found his father’s refusal to treat him as an adult, to treat him like he was capable of handling difficult truths. He’d been there too after all, hadn’t he? Who did his dad think he was protecting, pretending the ghosts haunting them didn’t exist?
“Whatever,” his only response, rolling his eyes as he stalked down the hallway. He slammed the door to his room as well, just for good measure.
Hotch sighed heavily, sinking back into the wooden chair. Emily frowned, she’d seen him tired, seen him injured, seen him in his worst moments and yet this, this defeat was hard to see. She wanted to lighten the mood. Surely it wasn’t so bad as he was making it out to be. The kid came home in one piece, certainly better than she had many times in her youth.
“C’mon, you remember being a kid,” Emily said playfully, trying to soothe him.
“I do,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. He pressed his fingertips against his temples, willing the looming migraine to pass him by this time.
Without being able to see his face she thought they’d moved past the tension. “A little partying never hurt anyone,” she teased.
He raised his head and gave her the look. His glare cut through her lightness, reminding her how scary he could be at times. He felt bad when he saw her shoulders slump. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know, it wasn’t like he’d ever been one to share. What Emily knew, what anyone knew, had only been picked up through the odd slip, a picture built completely on inference and conjecture. He hesitated, feeling like he needed to make up for his behavior. She was only here because she was his friend, because he’d asked.
There had been one too many of these late nights, anxiously waiting on his sullen child to return (or not) and in a weak moment he had called her. Had asked her to come over without explanation and she had, no questions asked, able to tell just from the way his clipped words stuttered out that he shouldn’t be alone. She didn’t mind, she’d do anything for the big idiot. Sometimes it was just hard to tell what he wanted, seeming to prefer space and silence—so that was what she gave him.
She could tell he was wrestling with his thoughts and reached out a hand, wrapping it around his fingers. “I’m sure it’s stressful. I—I can’t imagine being the parent of a teenager.”
He huffed out a little laugh. It wasn’t funny, neither one of them was amused.
“Emily…” he started but didn’t know if he should continue, if he could continue.
She looked at him carefully, still holding his hand. She’d wait as long as necessary, all night if needed, for him to finish his thought.
He shook his head and stood up, gently pulling his hand from hers. He was going to need a drink for this. He didn’t ask her if she wanted one too, returning with two glasses and the bottle she’d given him for his fiftieth birthday. She smiled upon seeing it and gave him a slight nod as he paused, the bottle hovering above her glass.
Drinks sorted, he sat back down and spun the glass slowly between his fingers. He’d always been a thinker, far more thoughts running through his mind than could ever make it into conversation. He tried to catch one, to find the right place to begin. Emily sipped her bourbon, keeping an eye on her friend. Eventually he looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers, needing confirmation that she was here for this. That she wouldn’t turn away from him when his heart was bleeding on the table. She felt a seed of fear sprout deep in her gut but she only smiled at him encouragingly. He took a shaky breath.
“There are some things about my past that I don’t like to share.”
She could laugh, thinking about all the gaps and the silences, the code of secrecy they were all unwittingly sworn to upon becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner. But she didn’t, she could feel how serious this was, how delicate. She was probably the only person who could do this dance with him well enough to get the story out. She waited.
“I know I shouldn’t be so worried about Jack, it’s just…I had some trouble when I was his age.” He paused to take a drink, more gulp than sip. A drowning man swallowing seawater.
“I’m afraid.”
The admission was barely more than a whisper. Hearing the way his voice cracked, she wasn’t sure she really was strong enough for this but her poker face remained steadily in place.
“I’m listening.”
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olivinesea · an hour ago
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A Mixed Blessing
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It is summer so I am going all out on this one. A deep, long, very dark look into Aaron Hotchner’s past, specifically centered around addiction. Inspired by @whump-town​ ‘s thoughts on the matter, it’s really gotten away from me. I’ve tried to give myself a little cushion by getting the first few parts done early, hopefully I can keep this rolling at a steady pace. I’ll put warnings on the different parts but just know it’s all dark as fuck. Prepare yourselves.
prologue: we’re better than this
chapter one: never watered down
chapter two: the faces are all the same
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
Sorry in advance. And if you see the chapter titles changing, mind your business, I’m insane.
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mggpleasedontlookhere · an hour ago
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to be true, to not be true pt. 2
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summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse--for spencer.
word count: 3,969                                                                                     reading time: 14 mins
warnings: angst, cheating allegations, mental illness
a/n: PLEASE READ!!!! the epilogue/finale for this will be uploaded on @goldentournesol later today! 
masterlist
part 1
What kind of life is lived when all you’re doing is waiting for the other shoe to drop? Waiting for the inevitability of cruelty? I stepped into a relationship with Spencer never expecting that I’d be waiting for the cord to snap. He led me into a cocoon of safety, one where I never doubted his motives. One I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Three little words can seemingly make or break a relationship, and the words Spencer had uttered confirmed that theory. However, unlike in most relationships--at least the fortunate ones, it wasn’t the three-word spectacle that symbolized the deep passion or confirmation of the shared sentiments. Instead, the dreadful trinity cut me deep, symbolizing the undoing of what we have--correction, had. 
“It’s a date.” 
I wish I could curse the air, scream into the sky, and stomp at the earth below me, but I couldn’t help but direct all malice to me. 
What did she have that I didn’t? It must’ve been my intelligence. Everyday, Spencer was surrounded by the brightest minds--him outshining the rest, although his humbled self would always discredit that matter. With a considerate heart, he would mind voicing his opinions of people out loud, keeping to himself. However, there’s a significant distinction between publicly expressing your judgement and having internal thoughts, though unshared, still exist. 
This baffled me, considering Spencer had always reassured me of this particular insecurity, suppressing the disquiet of my thoughts. Would he have lied? He seemingly excels at that, as of recent, among his other accolades. I would never admit it to him, but I would often find myself skimming through the books he loved--analyzing them so I’d better understand his mind or to offer a common topic. All the things I did for him to seem smarter in the past makes me look stupid now. The wasted effort should set every fiber of my being aflame and angered, however, all I can really feel is the doubt and self-resentment pricking at the walls of my chest. 
All I can show for it are the blotched texture of my cheeks from incessant wet streaks, the suffocating push and pull of my throat, and the tautness of my muscles from the inability to move. On top of that, a heavy heart that carried the haunting spirit of a failure. 
This disposition left me paralyzed on a Thursday night, alone in my apartment. The parallel left me with an incredulous expression. Just last week, I was on the precipice of my relationship without knowing it--senseless to the downward spiral that followed. What would I have changed, had I known this was going to happen? I tell myself this was all on him, but what if it isn’t? What if I led him to do this? To seek love and comfort in someone else.
Spencer’s been out of town for the last four days. I should have kept up with our nightly calls, but the truth is I couldn’t hear his voice without breaking down. His calls were left unanswered and I didn’t even know if that worried him or not. My insecurities had me by the throat and I just couldn’t shake them. Why was I dreading the day he returned? I’d seen his text messages, but hadn’t bothered to reply. I didn’t want him to know that I was festering in my own self-pity, so when I finally answered the call after he texted me to let me know that he was in town, I pretended I was someone else for it.
 But then I thought...maybe, just maybe, it was all in my head. Maybe he wasn’t calling her as much as he was calling me, I didn’t even know if it was a her. I still thought that I might be desperate enough for his attention. So much so that I was willing to be the second option.
The phone call was short and dry, but I did my best to pretend that I was fine. He said he would take me out on a date tomorrow. It would be Friday, not Thursday. He said he was busy today and I didn’t ask him what he was doing, I had a feeling the knowledge would only cleave our relationship further. As tempting as it felt to pull away from him even more, I must admit that I missed him. I missed the way his nose scrunched when he was listening to me talk, I missed the way he’d always chime in with his facts and stories. I missed what we had and who we were before things started to change.
I forced myself to get ready for our date the next day. I circled around my apartment like a vulture circling around its prey, as if I’d find any motivation lying around, but it felt redundant so I stopped. I sat on my couch and nervously tapped away my anxiety until the doorbell rang throughout my apartment. Taking a deep breath, I made my way over to the door and opened it to see him holding a large bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He’d never been one for grand gestures, and I’d never been one for flowers and chocolates, but from him, they were precious. I let myself accept them with a smile, even though the dread was eating me alive from the inside. Don’t cheaters and psychopaths buy gifts for their victims in a way to suppress their guilt? Did I just compare my boyfriend to a psychopath?
“What’s all this for?” I asked him after he greeted me with a kiss to my cheek. I put the flowers in a vase as he spoke, following me through the hallway and into my kitchen.
“Well, I felt bad for postponing our date and you sounded upset over the phone. I’m sorry I technically missed our date night.” Spencer said, tapping his fingers on my counter, waiting for my reaction. I surveyed him under my lashes. His remorse seemed genuine, but I was no profiler. I wouldn’t be able to catch his quirks as easily as he would. 
I merely nodded, “Thank you, I love them.” I said, but the words felt like they were spoken from behind me, from someone else’s mouth. His eyes raked over me like they were assessing me, just as mine had a few moments ago.
“What?” I asked, trying my best to convey curiosity instead of acidity.
“Nothing, you just seem a bit on edge.” He said, smoothing a hand over his cardigan. My eyes followed his hand instead of meeting with his. His gaze felt sharp, even though I know he didn’t mean it that way.
“I’ve just been having a hard time at work.” I dismissed the conversation and quickly changed the subject, “So, are we ready?” He nodded, dropping it and we left my apartment.
The slight chill passing between the backs of our hands felt foreign to the skin. I guess I was so accustomed to the warmth and comfort enveloping the appendage that it felt like a phantom limb. I even miss the claminess of his fingers and how my own fit perfectly between the dips in his hand. However, it was difficult to reminisce with the penetrating thoughts of resentment and self-scolding in the back of my mind. 
Every other step, Spencer would ask a shallow inquiry, in which I would reply with a mindless response. It’s like we reverted back to the naive touches and suppressed sentences in the beginning of our relationship. However this time, a tense air constricted the blood flow to our heads. 
“So, what’s been going on at work?” he hummed, tilting his head towards me. Without meeting his analytical gaze, I responded with a mere quirk in the lips, suggesting a less than satisfactory experience. He nodded, sensing the imminent disinterest of the conversation. 
While we walked on, I subconsciously laced my fingers togethers and observed the oscillating space between us. My feet staggered as I took a heavy interest in kicking stray pebbles and counting the cracks on the sidewalk. At this point, Spencer’s baffled yet indistinguishable expression had locked onto the side of my face. I would never mind his curiosity, but this time sent pins and needles shooting down my spine. 
Unable to handle the suffocating air, I pushed the words off of my tongue and took a leap, “What did you do yesterday?” I sputtered out, cringing out how desperate and invasive I sounded; huffing, I rephrased my question to be less encroaching. Although why would that matter at this point? We’ve hit our climax, and we’re frankly teetering on the precipice.
“I had to deal with some family business,” he admitted breathlessly, a stutter undetectable in his words. I peaked at him from my disengaged stature, noticing the slight hilt in his voice was gone--a tell of dishonesty that was usually easy to spot. I guess he really did get better at it; they say continued practice makes perfect, right? 
My head throbbed at the thought, and my nails dug into the surface of my fist. “Family business,” I nodded, not noticing the pure indignation evident in my tone. I hadn’t even realized that the phrase came out as a jesting scoff until Spencer had called my attention. 
“Is something wrong?” He stopped suddenly, straying a few steps behind me as he waited.  I could tell by the firmness of his voice that he was slightly annoyed by my reclusive behavior. Everyone had a limit, and Spencer wasn’t an exception to that. 
I shook it off, finding my composure once again. I fought the bubbling feeling of impulsivity, the wanting to throw the whole world at him for deceiving me. I suppressed the desire to scream and yell, leaving them hidden in my imagination. I detested the way his eyes would scan over me in a mixed expression of pity and displeasure, adding onto the blaze inside my stomach. 
“No.”
My delivery left me stunned, and hearing the tenacity and resolve in my voice was almost unheard of. Although it did set a culpable insecurity in mind, knowing that it sprang from a place of abhorrence and anger. The second the word fell breathlessly off my tongue, it rubbed Spencer the wrong way. We’ve had petty fights before, but as individuals we’ve always advocated for fighting the problem together rather than each other. I hate to admit it, but between the two of us, it wasn’t surprising that Spencer had a sound mind. At least, that’s what I knew of. 
He took a deep breath, as if he were resetting himself and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, “Let’s just eat something.” Instead of fighting, I heard him add, but of course he didn’t actually say it.
-
I wish I had the privilege of saying that dinner was intense or full of passive-aggressive bickering but instead it was a suffocating silence, only broken by conversing with our server. The room shrunk to the size of an elevator, and the extravagant decor transformed into four silver surrounding walls. Despite being only 3 feet away from each other, our presence felt miles away. At one point, I even contemplated fabricating a convoluted excuse to leave abruptly but it was my pride that prevented me from doing so. 
The walk back to my apartment was even more tense. Spencer’s breathing pattern was off. I couldn’t remember when I’d begun analyzing his breathing, but I could tell something was off. The second the door of my unit slammed shut, I knew I was trapped in a vulnerable position. Spencer leaned against the door, dissecting every movement I made. I felt scrutinized under his line of sight, my resolve shrinking into nonexistence while I bit my tongue. 
He scoffed under his breath, throwing his coat and phone onto the side table by the entrance. “So are we going to talk about what happened, or frankly, the lack of anything happening back there?” He held a pointed gaze, shifting his weight onto his hip. His tongue swiped the bottom of his lip, patiently waiting for an answer. 
A breath was caught in my throat, preventing me from getting any words out. I refused to face him, keeping myself busy by trying to find a place for my belongings. I knew I had to be wise with my next words, however, my impulsivity was, sooner than later, going to send me into a fit of combustion. I found myself teetering at the precipice once again, thinking back to the lies and excuses he shamelessly threw my way. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but confide in the sunlight of our past. With only a few more seconds of running oxygen, I sighed, mumbling a deflecting response, “There’s not really much to talk about.” 
The soft bang against the door caught me off guard. Shock ran through me as I turned around with an incredulous expression. My stature unconsciously shriveled into itself in fright as Spencer’s fist slide from the oak door. My mouth hung open, frozen in state, unable to form coherent sentences. Never once had I seen Spencer express himself by physical means, let alone operate on his own anger. Maybe it was the present naivety that lingered in our relationship, but judging by the discreet upset shown on his face, he too was stupefied.  
"What is going on with you lately?" I asked, looking at him with a certain level of incredulity. His mouth flew open as his brows rose to his hairline. The once tense hands dropped to his sides as he swiped a few hairs from his face. 
He gestured to the air with a nonchalant figure before deflecting the question at hand. “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N.” I could hear the slight stagger in his tone, like he was holding a part of himself back. It must’ve been the adrenaline pumping through his veins from whatever affair he participated in. Frankly it made me question the integrity of his fib; how long was he going to hold out on me? 
I couldn’t distinguish between the thoughts of Spencer possibly continuing this fib because of his cowardice or if Spencer truly thought I was too gullible. Both sent a blaze through me that attacked every piece of rationality I had left; it was as if shots of espresso were injected into my veins. Spencer’s elusive response hadn’t helped with the compelling sensation either, leaving me defenseless against my absurdity. 
Although, to think of it, is it really illogical to be vexed by Spencer’s vague behavior? 
“Me?! I’m not the one who’s being secretive.” I defended, my fists at my side.
“And how exactly am I being secretive, y/n?” Spencer raised his voice, an unfamiliar boom echoing throughout the room. “Please! Tell me ‘exactly,’ how I’m being secretive.” He responded like a petulant child, emphasizing simple words to enhance the condescension in his tone.  
“Oh, so you think I haven’t noticed the calls? The way you hide your phone from my view when you get a notification? Do you really think I’m that stupid, Spencer?” I said.
“And, how is that exactly being secretive, y/n? I have my own business to attend to,” he defended. “Frankly, I think you’re the one overstepping here!” Spencer avoided the question per usual, unconsciously switching the scope to me. I felt a bubble rise in my throat, similar to the tightness I felt whenever I cried, however this time, it was from a place of malice. 
“I am not overstepping because you are being secretive! I have no idea who you’re talking to! Where were you last week? Where were you yesterday?” I fought to keep my voice even.
“How is that even your business in the first place? You’re not my mother.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, almost undetectable to unknowing ears. He tried to brush it off, using intimidation to distract from the emotion crawling up his throat. Knowing Spencer, he did a rather exceptional job, although at this moment, I suspected a chink in his resolve. 
“I don’t have to be your mother to know that something is wrong! Stop deflecting!” I blurted in a fit of frustration. 
“You see, you keep trying to tell me that there’s something ‘wrong,’ with me! But there’s obviously some unresolved issue that you’re getting at here to be this upset!” He threw his hands into the air, shrugging his shoulders with an air of arrogance. 
“God, do not twist my words here, Spencer Reid! I did not say that there was anything wrong with you, I said there was something wrong. Unresolved issue?! What the hell does that even mean?” 
“You know for someone who’s claiming to be so perceptive of what’s ‘wrong,’ you’re really awful at being self-aware. I mean...the attitude, the distance, the--the closed off expression at dinner! I mean wh-what the hell was that!” He grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek as he finished his heated spiel. 
I couldn’t help but scoff at his words. Me not being self-aware! “Oh, please. Ladies and gentlemen, a world class behavioral analyst!” I gestured to him sarcastically, like a ringmaster would with his gags, hoping that Spencer could realize how ridiculous he sounded. “You tell me why I was acting so strange!” I was livid, the words that came out didn’t seem to make any sense. I just wanted him to feel what I felt. 
“Oh, I’m sorry! Let me play my part,” he pathetically bowed to me, exaggerating his movements. “Here, I’ll sit and do the things that you can’t, and practically feed into all your insecurity!” He mockingly laughed, “because that’s what this is all about right? You’re not getting enough attention?” 
I groaned in frustration, “You are so infuriating!” I could feel the anger ripping its way through my skull.
“And you’re so invasive! All I needed was time and space to figure a few personal things out. I’m sorry that we’re not at a point in our relationship where I’m expected to tell you every bit of my life.” He pointed to himself with such ferocity, although it was the pure indignation in his eyes that sent a harsh chill into me. “I’m not comfortable with you, and that’s that.”
I couldn’t ignore the way his words stabbed their way into my heart upon hearing them. They violently ripped open a cavern in my chest and settled there. My moment of hesitation must have caught him off guard and he reeled back slightly, as if aware of what he had said. The air in the room began to shift as the silence danced between us, taunting us.
Beyond my control, my lip quivered slightly as I stared at him, my eyes growing wetter by the second, “Is that...is that why you’re cheating on me?” I asked, my voice coming out shockingly small. I was never the best at showing my emotions and being vulnerable, but if he was going to break up with me, he had to do it now before the dam released.
His eyebrows cinched together, his mouth following suit. He turned his attention away from me, taking his head in the palm of his hands. The tips of his fingers rubbed at his temples while I stood there helplessly. It was as if my words were obsolete in his ears, getting lost in the thick air. His shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed; his eyes were also scrunched closed like he was tired of hearing my voice. “God, y/n,” he whispered, dropping his head, “can we not get into his right now?” 
A ball had expanded in my throat, and the gates that fortified every tear I suppressed crumbled. My chest compressed and expanded at the same time, leaving me in an aching loop. “Did… Are you just…” I bit my lip as it continued to tremble, stifling the sobs crawling up my esophagus. I leaned my head back, diverting my attention to the ceiling to save the last bit of my composure. 
Soon enough, the fire from before mixed with the saltiness of the fluid staining my cheeks. I had needed some part of me alive--I needed part of me to live for me. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the constriction of my muscles, contrasting with the exhaustion coursing through my head. At this point, I didn’t know if I was going to fall or peak. I didn’t know if I was on that precipice again or if I was soaring into a disposition much worse. 
It was poetic if you thought about it. The pain and exhaustion was my kerosene to an unforeseen ember. He sighed, reaching my prodding eyes once again, “I’m just… I’m getting a headache from all this.” 
“Spencer fucking Reid, ladies and gentlemen.” I brought my middle fingers under my eyes, wiping away the pain and grime. I shook my head, biting my bottom lip but not biting my tongue. Not this time. “All you can fucking say is that… you have a headache?” I scoffed. “Well you know what Dr. Reid-” 
“Y/N, we’re not getting into this.” He began to cower away, brushing past me to get to the kitchen. Gently pushing me aside, he dared not to look back at my provoked visage. 
“No, let me talk” I asserted. 
“You can talk however the hell you like, y/n.” Spencer turned around, shrugging his shoulders like an odd air of indifference. His head was still in his clutch, explaining his lack of eye contact. “But I sure as hell won’t be listening to you.” 
“Funny how I’m causing you a fucking headache cause your mouth is doing the same damn thing to-” 
“Y/N…” 
“GOD, can you let me speak!” I huffed, feeling an overpowering shock shoot through my resolve. Sparks fused with the blood in my veins and the adrenaline felt like battery acid. I guess I was soaring rather than falling. 
“Y/N, I really don’t want to get into this…” His voice went suspiciously soft, although I knew better than to let that hinder my determination. 
“Why don’t you see a doctor then?” I spat, unbeknownst to the animosity tied to my words. “You know what?! Why don’t you fuck them too, since you’re on a damn roll!” 
The air changed the second those words rolled off my tongue, however, I was unfortunately unconscious to the great shift. Spencer’s hand left his temple, and his head slowly raised to reach my eyeline. He held a blank expression, but by the indistinguishable twitch in his cheek, I knew his nonchalant demeanor dissipated. 
“You don’t know a damn thing,” he mumbled in intimacy, like he was reassuring himself. “Maybe I should see a doctor--MATTER of a fact, I am seeing one,” he nodded mockingly, his eyes lined in a penetrating glare.
My heart sank at his words; the ground below me decayed, seemingly unable to support the withered organ. However, if I had known that the world, my world, would collapse with an unsettling phrase that would follow, maybe I would’ve preferred falling off that peak after all.
“But I’m not fucking anyone, y/n. I never did.” The words left him breathless and gritted with every syllable, although that didn’t take away from the pure abhorrence towards me. 
“I’m sick… Are you satisfied now? My mind is slowly deteriorating, my mother’s illness is slowly killing me,” he cried, “an-and all you care about is yourself.” His face fell to the floor, hiding the blotchy redness invading his cheeks. “Frankly, with whatever lucidity I have remaining… I would rather spend it on anyone better, than you…”
-
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