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arabellavernierwrites · 10 months

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hiiii i love your work so far and you have such an easy to read and chill writing style i love itttt

idk how to do requests lol but ok:

would you do a super fluffy spencer reid x reader during season 5 when he’d been shot in the knee (or maybe he’s injured in another way i don’t mind) but he’s having trouble showering bc it hurts and it’s difficult and the reader basically washes his hair for him? and idk if you want to extend it maybe they could cuddle up and watch a movie or something? idk i thought it was cute hehe

nothing nsfw just a lil angst and mostly fluff

thank you so much !! :)

wash day. s.r.

summary : after being shot in the knee , spencer had been struggling to take a shower. in a moment of desperation , he lets you help him.

word count : 1669

warnings : mentions of injury , mentions of pain , mentions of fighting unconsciousness , descriptions of self-loathing , suggestions to nudity (bath)

a/n : hi guys ! thank you so much for sending in another request , it really brightens my day knowing you guys want to read my writing , and like it enough to want to send requests ! so thank you for being so good to me and offering so much kindness. i want to thank @c-m-stuff for being supportive of literally everything i post , so go celebrate maya’s 100 followers for mood boards , promoting your own fics , and headcannons (ends july 10) ! and thank you so much to @kaitlynpcallmebeepme for sending me such sweet and encouraging words the other day , she has so much amazing works that you have to check out. i cannot thank you all enough for being so wonderful to me. my requests are still open , so please send more ! and thank you to all that send requests in ! hope you have an amazing incredible wonderful day. love you guys !

you returned from work to a fairly quiet household. not much of your usual setting was disrupted, aside from a few of spencer’s things lying around.

a few weeks ago, he had been shot in the knee, causing him to hang around at home a lot more than he typically would. partially because hotch told him off every time he spent even 5 minutes exerting more energy than he needed, and partially because he loved spending every second with you. even though it was something you were sure he wouldn’t ever admit, his heart swelled every time you looked after him.

aside from a few misplaced items, spencer was nowhere to be found. a cause for concern, you decided to check the bedroom to see if he had hit the hay early that day, only to be met with an empty bed.

you jumped as a loud clatter of metal rang out in the bathroom behind you, “spencer? are you alright, sweetheart?”

the shower timidly turned on, the water pattering off the tile below, muffling the sound of his voice, “i’m alright”.

spencer didn’t often lie, he didn’t have to. he knew that whatever fib he told wouldn’t stand a chance against his truthful tone. which is why you knew he wasn’t alright.

“can i come in?” you asked sweetly, placing your hand on the door knob.

“of course,” he muttered quietly, defeat evident in his voice.

you opened the bathroom door to spencer seated on the edge of the tub, his crutches fallen to the ground, his shirt drenched, and his hair partially wet. he looked up at you through his lashes, a hint of sadness and a plea for help swirled within his gaze.

“what happened?” you asked, sincerely, taking a seat next to him.

his lower lip threatened to quiver as his head turned to the floor, embarrassment not allowing him to meet your eyes, “i feel gross”.

you rubbed a hand up and down his back, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, “what do you mean?”

“my hair feels gross, my body feels gross,” he shook his head softly, “i just wanted to shower. but i can’t”.

“it’s difficult with the leg, isn’t it?” you questioned, he nodded his head.

“i tried earlier when you were at work, but this happened,” he pushed his hair off of his forehead, showing a small, red welt near his temple, “the movement is painful too”.

“my sweet thing,” you tutted, “did you clean it?”

he shook his head, the shame and frustration of not being able to care for himself returning. insecurity building with each day of failed attempts at getting clean. feeling uncomfortable, gross, and unattractive made his mind hazy with self-repulsion.

“it just hurts,” he whispered, “it’s too painful to do by myself”.

he thought back to the first time he tried to shower on his own. he bumped his knee while trying to take his clothes off. the pain was so excruciating he spent several minutes fighting unconsciousness, gripping the bathroom countertop to keep himself from collapsing on the floor, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he breathed deeply. he spent the rest of the day in bed, his head buried into the pillow, desperate to dull the ache that seemed to consume his entire body.

“well, i’ll help,” you stood, turning to face spencer, “let’s get you a nice bath”.

you reached out, assisting him in getting up from the bathtub to sit on the lid of the toilet seat.

“is it alright if i undress you?” you asked, holding onto the bottom of his sopping shirt. he nodded, allowing you to take full control.

you gently peeled his shirt over his head, tossing it into the laundry basket next to you. his shoulders were hunched over, clearly experiencing some discomfort with being shirtless when he felt so self-conscious about his current, un-showered state.

you knelt down in front of him, helping unclip and remove the mechanical brace that had been keeping his leg at a slight angle. it was placed on the bathroom counter as you took your time removing all of his remaining clothing, needing to maneuver a few times to rid him of his pants and undergarments.

despite being as careful as possible, he was full of whines, groans, and pained whimpers.

“i need a second,” he quietly panted, discomfort firing off throughout his body.

when he was ready, you braced each other’s arms, taking your time as he struggled with his balance getting into the bath. wobbling, nervous, and gripping you tightly, spencer had finally been able to get in there for the first time in days.

“look at you,” you cheered, celebrating his victory as he failed to hide a smile, “i’m gonna have your back face the faucet”.

he grimaced as you helped lower him to sit in the tub, his pain evident in the white-knuckled grip he had on your hands.

“i’ll be back in just a second, okay?” you hurried into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet, and a small towel from the hall closet.

you placed the cloth over his bandaged knee, being as cautious as you could to not touch it, “i don’t want this to get wet”.

spencer looked up at you with appreciation for your kind heart. his sweet brown eyes with his long lashes, you couldn’t help yourself from leaning in for a kiss.

“i love your hair,” you smiled, filling the cup with water from the running faucet behind spencer, “you have the softest boy hair ever”.

spencer chuckled, “what does that mean?”

you leaned him back slightly, pouring the contents of cup on his head, angling it to not get any water in his eyes, “i feel like guys always have really coarse hair. sure, it might be healthy, but it isn’t soft like girl hair”.

“you have much experience with guy hair?” he asked, humor evident in his tone.

“not necessarily,” you squeezed yourself a handful of shampoo, “girl hair on the other hand”.

spencer laughed, for the first time in days it wasn’t feigned or forced, “i know. you can’t keep your hands off penelope, emily, or jj when they visit”.

“part of girlhood, i guess,” you shrugged, “we spend our recesses in elementary school braiding each other’s hair, help each other curl our hair for middle school dances, and eventually completely fry it together in high school”.

“the only two people that touched my hair before you were my mom and that one guy at supercuts,” spencer closed his eyes as you emulsified the shampoo at his roots, massaging in the frothy suds.

“i kinda miss the elevated bowl cut,” you teased.

spencer groaned, trying hard not to roll his eyes, “i don’t”.

you rinsed his head clean of the soap.

“when you used to gel it back for work? super hot,” you reached for your pricey conditioner, an expense you liked treating yourself to every once in a while.

“when we watched all of those black and white films together,” he reminisced, “that was my homage to gregory peck. or at least my attempt at it”.

“it was cute,” you nodded, “i really liked the glasses with it too”.

you rubbed the conditioner together in your hands, fingering through his long locks to free them from any knots that may have tangled themselves together from the shampoo.

his body relaxed itself, no longer so tense from the awkwardness of trying to get into the bathtub.

you appreciated this moment of silence. just you and the man you love more than anything. something as simple as washing his hair being the highlight of your day, solely because it’s time spent with him. a simple conversation between the two of you enough to make your heart swell the way it did when you first met.

“we’re almost done,” you rinsed the remaining conditioner from his ends.

as the last cup of water rid his hair of any product, you prepared yourself to help him up.

“we did it!” you cheered squeezing out any excess water from his dripping hair.

the thought of getting him back on the floor safely was daunting. it was difficult before, but now everything was sopping too.

you were slow and careful, assisting him in getting back on his feet. you gripped him harder than necessary, worried he was gonna come crashing to the ground and split his knee back open. your brows furrowed in concentration, both of his feet coming to rest on the bath mat.

you grabbed a towel from the rack as he caught his breath, unable to hide the pain from his face.

gently, you dried him off, wrapping the cloth around his waist as you ordered him to sit back down on the lid of the toilet seat. he panted in victory, his first shower in nearly a week had been completed successfully, all thanks to you.

“you did a great job,” you grabbed the other towel, draping it over his head.

placing both hands down, you rubbed in circles. drying his hair fairly quickly, you tossed the towel off to this side, landing in a crumpled bunch at the bottom of the laundry basket.

spencer smiled up at you through the hair that hung in front of his face, “thank you”.

“of course,” you swept it out of his eyes, “let’s get you into some comfy clothes”.

as spencer sat on the edge of the bed in his plaid pants, you were planted cross-legged behind him, hair brush in hand. you took your time, tender strokes through his nearly shoulder-length hair. brushing and brushing again, he progressively slumped over, tiredness trying to take over.

“how about we call it a night?” you asked, turning him to lay down next to you.

“okay,” he answered quietly, pulling you into his arms as you turned off the bedside lamp, “thank you for your help today”.

you grinned, giving him a quick kiss, “anything for you”.

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artsybi · 10 months

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y'know despite the murder, i am jealous of the criminal minds universe, in which young cane users are not questioned, stared at, invalidated, or even overly acknowledged

like i understand that it was just an extension of the fact that the actor was ACTUALLY injured and ACTUALLY using a cane and probably would not have enjoyed added acted scrutiny because he probably dealt enough with it in his personal life (based on personal experience he probably dealt with a fair bit bc people irl are garbage about young cane users existing) but still, the fact that not a SINGLE PERSON ever questions spencer, ever questions the legitimacy of his need for an aid, ever questions why he's using it, god i'm so jealous

no one ever raises an eyebrow when he enters a room, no local detective ever makes a mean joke, no medical examiner ever stares at him for just a second too long, even when he does interviews, no family member or event planner EVER gives him a second look, they all just seamless accept that this member of the fbi is using a cane and never treat him any differently for it

no one mocks him! no one makes any snide remarks, no one side-eyes him when he enters a room, no one ever presses into his space and offers (read: demands) they do something for him since he's "not capable", no one questions his credentials, or his ability to do his job. everyone just accepts it as normal and continues as such. the literal ONLY DIFFERENCE in ANYONE'S treatment of him is that he doesn't go with the team when they head to the final location to grab the unsub with their guns out, which is a perfectly reasonable accommodation! and no one mocks him for that either! no one ever implies he's "missing out" and everyone keeps him in the loop during the investigation when they're doing things of that nature, so he can help put the last pieces together

just, as a young cane user myself, not only is spencer the literal first time i've ever seen someone on tv using a cane correctly (not an exaggeration, actors seem incapable of using canes correctly), and thus the first person i've ever TRULY seen that part of me in, but i just LOVE the way the show and narrative treat him in general, mostly because the way they treat him straight up DOESN'T CHANGE!! dude i fucking WISH that was my reality!!! i WISH people straight up DIDN'T CHANGE the way they treated me after i started using a cane, i fucking WISH everyone just accepted at face value the fact that i use one and then moved on and didn't mention it again

#original #i ramble #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds season 5 #cane user #disability #and i do understand that the actor was legit injured btw. i know that. and i know that's why spencer uses his cane correctly #because his actor was legit using it. but like. i fucking love that and wish more tv shows would hire disabled actors for disabled roles #feels like there's some stuff that could be learned from this ngl. season 5 spencer means SO MUCH to me #and i see myself so clearly in him #just. yeah. cane user spencer reid lives in my mind rent free #i dont care if this is coherent i dont care if my thoughts make sense im just fucking jealous

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snailsandpuppy-dogtails · 9 months

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Oops

A year ago, Oops was posted to Ao3. It's my only 4+1 things. 5,932 words of Garvez, humor, feelings denial, the whole cast, all while accidentally injuring Kevin Lynch, it's easy to see why this was a much enjoyed fic.

ONE

"I’m sorry, he did what? He said what? After she was shot by a date he broke into her apartment, shut off the breaker, lurked in the dark, and then told her she was overreacting?! And you all didn’t murder him? Morgan didn’t break his face pushing him down the stairs?”

Luke's feeling on Battle's fate was undeniable when told, but hearing what she was made to put up with after, from someone who purported to love her, awashed him with new bitterness.

“She didn’t tell us until a lot later. I think she knew some of us would have come close to losing our jobs.”

Throw.

Catch.

Throw.

Catch.

“...the way she’s THEE soundbite for work-place sexual harassment.”

Luke laughed, ducking his head. Catch. Throw.

“It cooled off after you left, and I was definitely never a recipient.”

Catch. Morgan’s eyebrows raised. “Huh.” Throw.

They were in the empty gym tossing a baseball back and forth. Morgan was in town doing some consulting work for the FBI. They had started the game up in the BAU office, but were quickly pushed down to “a more appropriate place” as Prentiss put it. One close call too many and “other people trying to work”. The two men had some familiarity before Morgan left and Luke joined, but grew closer through the group chat Garcia resistantly added Luke to and refused to take Morgan from.

“She slipped up once though, and started to” a lopsided smile appearing at the memory.

Catch.

“then caught herself and told me: That sounded like flirting. I don’t do that with you. It’s in my mission statement.”

Throw.

Catch. Morgan shook his head. “Baby Giiiiirl”

Throw.

They were moving back and forth, throws alternating from hard to soft. Conversation had gone from family life, to the job, to reminiscing. It was an easy flow of comparison, no pissing contest, neither needing to prove anything to the other. They respected each other, liked one another, understood the stresses of the job they each faced, loved the same people...

“I told her to try being a little more friendly with you.”

Catch.

“Yeah, maybe remind her. Daily.” More laughing.

Throw.

Morgan caught the ball with one hand and twisted his wrist looking at his watch. “It’s Friday night and almost quitting’ time. You think those pencil pushers are gone yet?”

Throw.

“Only one way to find out.” Luke grinned, "Head up?”

They hadn’t bothered to stop the game, toss, catch, toss, catch. Through the hall and up the elevator, seeing the room all clear they continued in throwing.

“Eaaay, Pretty Boy, wanna join in? Jayge?” Rossi and Prentiss watched from the catwalk as the team spread out across the room, ball flying and fumbling.

“So we all goin’ out tonight? Or is it just me and my girl?”

Penelope appeared, all packed up, from around the corner joining Rossi and Emily in watching. “Aww, Sugar, it’s your last night. I thought we were gonna stay in bed and watch a movie.” she simpered.

Throw.

Catch. The game continued around the room.

“Woman, you can’t keep me there all the time. And anyway, I hear you still need bonding practice with my boy here.”

Throw.

Penelope looked from Derek to Luke, Luke making a mocking “told you so” face in return. Catch.

Her eyes narrowed, “We just went out. Fine. Are you all done? Let’s go!” and swept her hand for emphasis, everyone else making for the door.

Spencer had the ball, so took the opportunity for one last toss. He threw it hard, but off center. Luke lunged sideways to catch it, not noticing the scrunched and wide-eyed faces ranging from shock to amusement, only hearing the words “oh shit” and “oh no” too late, his body colliding forcefully into another as he leapt diagonally tackling something large, and soft, and meaty. Another person. They tumbled to the ground Luke on top of Kevin, hand with ball having clocked him directly on the side of his head. Luke looked down hand still gripping ball. “Oooh.” Sorry?”

“That’s why I said GYM!” Emily threw her hands up, vindicated.

What was Kevin doing here so late?

Kevin huffed a laugh, “Can you get off me, Alvez?”

“Right, yeah.” Luke pushed up, stifled laughter and coughs falling around them.

Instinctually, he grabbed the other man and pulled him to his feet, steadying him. He may not like him, but it was a genuine accident and he felt bad.

Alvez, that pretty boy neanderthal from Fugitives Task Force. Kevin didn't like him on principal, hated him now that he'd punched him and then righted him like some child. Completely embarrassing.

Fucking asshole

Everyone liked him, his smug face, his need to be better than everyone else, prove how much stronger and smarter he was. His constant doubting of the information Kevin had given him. It wasn’t his fault a fugitive moved, that’s what they do, that’s why they’re fugitives! He never had a steady girlfriend, he was definitely one of those guys who used a new girl every weekend. And now he was here working with Penelope. His Penelope. He could only imagine what that was like. He knew how she was with Morgan, he could see how easy it would be for her to slip right into that pattern with this one.

Morgan moved closer, arms folded tight across his chest. “Kevin.”

Morgan never did like Kevin for Penelope, found it unbelievable how quickly he moved in on her, felt he was taking advantage of someone who had just experienced serious trauma. Emotions run high during times like that and people form weird bonds. It was the only explanation he could come up with for why Penelope Garcia, brilliant goddess, would forgive him and put up with his bullshit time and time again. But now that they’d been through for a while, years, he wasn’t about to let him slip back in.

“Hey, Morgan.” the man shied away, but straightened up.

“Kevin,” Penelope rushed, “ we were all just leaving. Whatever it is it’ll have to wait until Monday.”

Rossi stepped off the catwalk, tagging team members as he walked, “You heard the Kitten, team. My house for Morgan’s last night.”

Kevin was left standing alone.

TWO

Luke had run into Kevin in the previous divisions he worked in before settling in with BAU. And though he generally liked everyone, he hated Kevin Lynch. Growing up he was aware that his athletic build could be imposing and that his looks could be alienating, so he really did try to be as friendly and open with everyone as possible, let them know he wasn’t an asshole. But not with Kevin Lynch. The stories just added to his dislike, one more piece of evidence tipping the scale out of Kevin’s favor. One more thing that highlighted how self-centered, manipulative, and incompassionate he really was. But he was a professional, so until Kevin showed up on a list somewhere, he wasn’t going to do anything. Kevin wasn’t really his problem, he just tried to stay clear of him as much as possible. Weirdly, that wasn't working out lately.

He rolled over looking at the clock. Fuck. 10 am. He was in so much shit. He had to go. He was late. Why hadn’t his alarm gone off?! Where was Roxie?! Oh, yeah, still at the sitters. Thank god. Luke tore off the blanket, jumped in the ice cold shower, quickly washing down like he’d learned in the military and hopped out. He grabbed a clean gray shirt and jeans, ripped a navy button-up off the hanger, pulled on his boots, and brushed his teeth at the kitchen sink while a cup of instant coffee heated in the microwave. In 5 minutes he was out the door and attempting to avoid mid-morning traffic and collisions.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Thankfully, Emily was pretty understanding, but he really needed to finish up those reports and get them turned in. Like he had planned on doing this morning.

His phone rang while he was driving. He answered, hands-free. “Alvez? Where are you?” came the clipped voice on the other end.

“Sorry, Prentiss, I’m on the highway now… unexpected late start. I’ll be there in 20.”

“As soon as you can. We’re briefing. New case.”

She sounded pissed.

A sick anxiety flooded him. Of course this would happen the one time he woke up late. The one time his alarm didn’t go off or he hadn’t heard it…No time to inspect what really happened there. And now he had to try and fight his way though this traffic and get to work and he couldn’t finish up his paperwork and he would end up getting even more because of the new case. God damn it. He couldn’t catch a break. He swooped into the FBI parking structure, tires squealing as he took turns around poles and pulled into a spot at the far end of the lot. He grabbed his bag and rushed towards the elevator.

Pushing the button, he bounced on his toes.

Come on, come on, come on. Hurry up.

That’s when he noticed the note, the lack of light at the top. Elevator was down for maintenance. He had to take the stairs and use the lobby entrance. As he darted up the stairs taking steps three at a time he couldn’t help but laugh thinking about Garcia in her platform heels climbing these same stairs this morning, coffee and computer in hand. Struggling. Fussing. If he had been on time he might have been able to offer her help in carrying something. Walked up with her. But here he was darting up the dirty cement blocks alone and late. And holding everyone else up.

Light shone through the walls, ground level. He’d made it. Just a few more steps. Luke burst through the stairwell doors, running across the front of the building, reminding himself to walk when he got to the main lobby entrance. Didn’t want to set off alarm bells. Though he was sure they had lots of irritated agents passing through, frustrated at having been inconvenienced.

Luke opened the large glass door, cool air-conditioning hitting him instantly. “Luke Alvez?”

Shit.

His access badge. “Morning, Gina…I..”

She threw her hands up knowing exactly what he was going to say. “Downed elevator’s bringing in all the old faces this morning. Go through the scanners and come see me.” The elevator was adding more time already, he really didn’t have time for pleasantries, but it would take longer to run back down the stairs and then back up again. And it might offend Gina. He quickly offloaded his weapons into the tray and walked through the scanners. All clear. One thing going his way this morning. He collected his stuff and was putting it all back in place while walking over to the older lady.

“I could see you were in a bit of a rush, BAU now huh?” she handed him something to sign. “I cleared you. Sign it and go. But make sure to bring me a coffee some time, yeah?”

Luke beamed at the woman. “Thank you. “

“Oh, hey, Alvez, elevator inside’s down for the next hour too. Gotta take the stairs.” she gave him a tight lipped frown pointing off to the side.

“Fffffuh-“ he sighed, and took long strides towards the stairs, rubber soles of boots gripping and propelling him along the slick tile floor. Shortly he found himself racing up another set of steps, and another, and another until he’d hit the BAU’s level. At this point he gave up all pretense and ran. God, they were going to give him so much crap. He wouldn’t blame them if they had briefed without him and just made him catch up on the jet. There was the door! Luke grabbed it, but something bright and blonde racing along the catwalk on the other side caught his eye and his breath as he was opening it.

He thrust the door inward watching her disappear around the corner, the door meeting a heavy resistance, a loud thunk, and an even louder “OW! What the FUCK!? Alvez?! ”

And there he was.

Kevin Lynch. Gaslighting asshole.

Laying on the floor of the BAU office.

And there she was, head popping back around the corner to investigate.

Luke leaned over, extending a hand as everyone in the office watched in dead silence. “Oh, Lynch. Sorry about that, I didn’t see you...” He was kind of embarrassed, if he hadn’t been watching Penelope he’d have definitely seen Lynch. And though he had new reasons to leave this monster on the floor and walk over him, he was in a governemnt building with lots of on-lookers. Best to make nice and move on.

Kevin ignored the proffered hand getting up on his own, hands going from forehead to nose rubbing, feeling, checking for the blood that was definitely oozing. “The doors are glass, Alvez." he spat “Clear. How could you not?”

Luke bounced from the injured man to Penelope, still peaking out from the corner covering her mouth, eyes squinted … was she laughing? He made sure that her eyes were on his when he made his apology, “Sorry. Distracted.” and brushed past Kevin.

What was he doing up here any way?

Fuck Lynch.

He had a rainbow to catch.

THREE

Luke wasn’t normally accident prone, so she found it pretty suspicious that he kept accidentally injuring Kevin. After JJ recounted the lows in her relationship to him over drinks one night. She thought he sounded a little jealous, looked a little hostile… like she’d been told Derek had when Kevin announced to the whole team they were dating while stepping up to Rossi…after she told him not to. Whatever. But, she shook it off, no reason Luke should be jealous, they were teammates, nothing more.

"You know, if you had a system of organization, you would be less likely to lose things.”

"Spencer, I love you like a brother, but I will hurt you.”

Luke was franticly shuffling manilla files, gray folders, stacking, restacking, unstacking. Desk. Chair. Floor. Open desk drawer, slam it closed.

“What he means is, if you didn’t keep your desk looking like the under side of your teenage bed, you’d know where you put it.”

Luke ran his fingers through his hair pulling, “TARA- Not. Helping.” he gritted out and broke into a strained laugh thinking about the very neat room he kept as a kid, continuing to grab at files, read and toss, read and toss.

“Even now, you’re mixing up stacks! Do you know what you’ve looked at and what you haven’t at this point?” Spencer continued safely from the other side of the cubicle.

Luke broke down collapsing into the chair, head falling into his hands, reports slipping onto the floor, more stressed laughter floating around them. “No. Guys, help me. Or don’t, but I need to find this file, I have to be in court tomorrow.” He wasn’t normally messy, his house was spotless, everything in it’s place. Efficiency. But work had gotten away from him, case after case, file after file, paperwork mounting and more frequent trips away for longer…Things had gotten a bit out of hand at his station. Normally he liked to have everything cleaned up, finished and put away before he left, but they’d been busy so much lately…and now it was missing. And it should have been near the top, if not on the top. He was JUST looking at it yesterday. In this very building.

Tara frowned sipping her coffee, “Alright, just calm down. Relax, close your eyes. Let’s walk through it. Go back to what you last read.”

"You wanna do a cognitive?" he asked, looking at her incredulously.

“Just, go with it. Think about what it said. What you were thinking about. Notice the feel of it in your hands, the object under you. Where are you?”

Luke leaned back in the chair, trying to focus as much as possible, eyes closed, going back. “I’m in the BAU. I know that. Tara, I had it with me yesterday, here. But now it’s not.” He threw his head back frustrated.

“Ok.” Spencer removed his bag, storing it under his desk, “How about we each take a stack. We’ll go through things together. But after, you really need to figure out a system. In box and out box or something.” he suggested.

Tara took a stack of gray files, Spencer took a stack of manilla, and after he’d read and confirmed each was not the right one, he put all of his in chronological order, earliest to latest. And then the ones Tara had gone through, and then the ones Luke was going through. By the end all of Luke’s reports were tidily together, organized and in a manageable order. But that file was still missing. He slumped into the black leather, defeated. “I don’t understand. It should be here. Fuck.”

Tara leaned against the desk, thinking about possible scenarios. They worked in a secure building, it’s not like someone would come take it off his desk. “-Hey…Alvez, did you, maybe, take it home last night?”

“I-.” He didn’t think so, but anything was possible. “I’ll be back, if anyone asks.” and out he raced down the elevator, into the parking lot, and out to his truck.

“So… is he going home?" asked Spencer. Tara clapped him on the back, “Don’t worry about it.”

He rummaged through the center console, felt around and peeked under all his seats, shoved his hands between the cushions, and checked in the seat pockets. Nothing. Of course. Locking the vehicle, he sighed heading back in.

Where could he have left it?

Backpack. If he did bring it home, maybe it was in his bag.

Nervous energy mounted as the elevator slowly climbed higher. He dodged under his desk frantically grabbing at his backpack. His last hope, it had to be there whether he remembered packing it or not.

Please be there Please be there Please be there

Feeling the weight, he knew the answer before ever unzipping it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight willing it by some magic to Mary Poppins itself into life. He thrust his hand in, dug around the familiar textures and shapes. Opened them, pulled it wide and tossed it to the floor.

“FUUU-“ A loud, warbling yell boomed behind him, he turned to see hands grasping wildly at his desk as a large body fell forward, feet tangled in straps. Lynch. Shit. First he punches him, then he plows him down with a glass door, now he trips him with a backpack.

Why was he up here anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be on level 2?

“Newbie! What are you doing? I mean besides setting up tripping hazards for other employees?” A high, anxious, familiar nagging.

Luke turned his head from the man on the floor to the woman standing feet away, shock and guilt evident on his face. And he couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. It was a little funny, it was kind of like karma. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking I didn’t mean to….I was just… I’m trying to find a file!” He wiped the smile off his face turning back to the man, “Lynch, I’m sorry. Here, let me.” He may hate him, but he could be nice for Garcia’s sake. Just because he didn’t like the guy didn’t mean he couldn’t be civil. He reached for Kevin, now on all fours scowling.

“Don’t touch me. Just be more careful.” He reached stinging hands up to the desk pulling himself upright facing Luke.

Penelope cut in, newly annoyed, “You mean the one you LEFT in my cave yesterday?! Here.” She gave him a pointed look and slammed the report to his chest, walking briskly past the two men into the kitchenette.

They both watched her go, Luke wondering what he’d done to make her so mad all of a sudden, then faced one another again. Luke’s unoccupied hand came out in apology, “Really, Lynch, it was an accident”, a peace-offering shake extended between them. Kevin's jaw flexed looking Luke up and down. “Don’t worry about it.” he grumbled, and walked off.

Penelope’s office. That’s right. He was holding it when he came to say good night.

FOUR

He wasn’t jealous. Really. There was no reason to be jealous. If anything, Kevin should be jealous. After all, he got to work with her every day, have her talk to him, on the rare occasion when she slipped up, flirt with him. He got to hug her, and touch her, and hear her laughter, hangout with her and see her at parties, cook dinner at Rossi's. Kevin would never have that again, had he ever. No, he wasn’t jealous Kevin Lynch, that awful no-bounderies slimy tech analyst he had history with had been with Penelope. Their Penelope. They were accidents…mostly. Really.

It had been a long, bad case. They all needed to decompress before heading to their homes, to their families, to the people around them who simply would never understand. They would not wish for them to understand. Even Matt, who found the greatest comfort in being with his kids and Kristy, couldn’t muster the courage to face them just yet. And Penelope needed her people. Needed to be around them, hear them, see them, feel them, know they were real and ok and uninjured. That they were all safe and home. And so tonight, though they were all exhausted, they were going out after work, going to the bar, going to drink shitty well drinks (not Tara or Rossi) and listen to music on a buzzing sound system. Play pool, play darts, inhale the stale smoke that permeated the plaster walls and booth leather decades ago, and know they had all survived and would continue to.

After a few drinks everyone split off into little groups around the space. Spencer was talking with Emily at the table, JJ and Matt were playing pool, Tara inserted herself into a conversation about the legitimacy of Shelby mod kits (not legitimate, obviously), and Rossi was at the bar keeping tabs on everyone around him.

“You wanna play?” Luke nodded to the vacant dartboard.

“Oh, no, i’m terrible.” Penelope laughed, “JJ, though she’s great, used to hustle guys out of money all the time.”

“JJ’s busy at the pool table. I thought those fingers were magic. Come on Garcia, show me what ya got. Maybe I can give you some pointers…” he grinned.

Luke stood up, leading a smiling, protesting Penelope by the hands to the game space. They were laughing and joking, Penelope fully enjoying herself. Luke showed her where to stand, and stood behind her, hand on hand guiding her movements but quickly found she must have been snowing him. Penelope Garcia was a ringer at darts. She shrugged all coy, “Maybe JJ rubbed off on me…”

Something about tonight, right now, felt different between them. She was opening up, being silly and playful, just the two of them. Maybe it was how awful this case had been that had pushed her towards him, maybe she was just finally accepting him. It was Luke’s turn and Penelope's arm slid around his back trying to tickle him, fingers coming to ribs as he raised his hand to throw.

“Penelope, STOP, you're cheating!” He laughed, resisting the convulsions his body wanted to make at her touch. Her face was pure joy watching his until she glanced past him, stilling.

“-Kevin” It was breathless, and quiet and filled with frustration and if she hadn’t been right next to him he was sure he wouldn't have heard it. But he did…just as his fingers let go and his arm had flown, his body jerked away from her instinctively because of the tickling, and well…

"AHHH!” Kevin Lynch was standing off to the side, dart plunged neatly into the soft, front round of his shoulder joint, staring in disbelief clutching at the top of his chest.

“Luke!” Penelope immediately reprimanded brows knit and mouth dropped open in a wide “O” She let go of his flannel, hands flying to her mouth.

“I didn’t- It was an accident!” He wasn’t really concerned with Kevin, it was superficial, he’d live. Dart tips were like, what? An inch? He was, however, concerned Penelope might start thinking this was intentional…

Penelope found her legs, scurrying over. “Kevin, what are you doing here?!” Her hand hovered back and forth over the injury, unsure of touching it. Tara grabbed a couple of napkins from a table near by and passed them off. Penelope plucked the dart out and replaced it with the napkins “Here, hold it, apply pressure. Hold it!” She shrilly commanded, letting go and stepping back. Her body language said everything, arms folded, high shoulders, hunching forward, foot turned out, and she was tapping. Luke looked to Rossi across the room, to JJ near by, and Emily talking with Spenser who gave a slight shake of her head “no”. Luke stepped back to JJ and Matt at the pool table.

“So what is this, he stalking her now?” he whispered.

“He couldn’t be so stupid. He has to know we’re here…” JJ answered back.

It was at that point Kevin’s pain turned to rage, “I’m gonna fucking kill him!” he lunged forward, snarling face pointed towards where Luke, JJ, and Matt stood, but he found he wasn’t moving. “AHHHH! he yelled again in pain, noticing the finely manicured hands of Tara and Rossi holding him back, Tara’s placed just so, directly over the wound digging in as he pushed away from them.

Penelope didn’t move, didn’t flinch, “Why are you here, Kevin?” she demanded again.

He glanced from her friends back to her, glaring at Luke “… I heard it was a bad case… I tried to catch you at work,” he looked down hissing in pain and jerked, shaking off the hands restraining him. “I wanted to check on you, to see if you…wanted some company. But they said you’d gone, so I don’t know. It was stupid, I just wanted to come see you, that’s all.” he finished, looking back up softly at Penelope, then coldly at Luke, “I know how these things affect you.”

“That’s nice, but you can see i’m with the team, i’m in good hands, and we’re all fine. You’re free to go, have a good night.” She turned away heading to JJ and Matt.

“Penelope, wait.” And there he was again not willing to listen, serving his own needs. She didn’t even bother to face him.

“Kevin, please leave. I want to be with my team tonight.” JJ and Matt wrapped her in a hug. Everyone else stood watching him, daring him to make a move beyond what she’d just requested. He didn’t and walked back out.

Leave it to Kevin Lynch to ruin the night.

FIVE

Luke remembered hearing Kevin whine to various co-workers about his girlfriend turning down his proposal before. He’d say her job was too stressful and he told her she should just quit and move out to the country, relax. Luke didn’t feel especially bad for the guy, something about Kevin always rubbed him the wrong way. Why would you be spreading gossip about your own girlfriend all over the building you both worked in if you supposedly loved her? The big thing Luke remembered though, why he really didn’t like Kevin, was Lynch puffed up around the office one day going on about how his girlfriend asked him not to talk to her boss about them, but he was "gonna show her how much of a man he was, he wasn’t scared of David Rossi” whoever that was...Why would you go against the explicit wishes of your girlfriend and jeopardize her position? Kevin was a dick. You don’t respect someone’s wishes, you don’t respect them. And now knowing Penelope was that girlfriend, he hated him. Knowing that he hurt Penelope, intentionally brought another woman to JJ’s wedding, knowing that he manipulated her and complained about her all over the office, how on and off they were, he wanted to wipe the floor with Kevin Lynch.

Since that night out, she really had been nicer, friendlier towards him. He would bring her coffee from Lunacorn most mornings, and she’d pretend to be surprised, small hand coming up to push at his chest, “For moi?”, or “Luke Alvez, stop making me like you!” grinning and walking away. He wanted to chase after her in those moments. They had turned a corner, and he loved every minute of it, he couldn’t get enough of her. Dancing with her at parties, standing next to her at Rossi’s cooking nights, hip bumping into his, her greetings becoming more flirtatious over the phone, but still just a little bit mean, a tart sweetness. She would never be completely nice to him and truthfully he liked it that way. He didn’t need someone to stroke his ego, he needed someone to keep him on his toes. He needed Penelope Garcia.

And so it was her he was thinking about on this very slow work day. Thankful for the chance to finally finish filling out his reports and get them turned in, but wishing for a technicolor-tech distraction. Prentiss had been very understanding about the paperwork, but the bureau was less so. They were breathing down her neck, so she had passed along the note. The paperwork was always the hardest part for him, recounting events, writing it all down, making sure nothing got left out, that everything was objective and nothing was bias, just the facts and their profile. It was very analytical, monotonous, and tedious work. And under the fluorescent lights it was awful. He sat up stretching, taking in the pile of to-do he’d gotten through and felt he earned himself a coffee break. Plus a walk around the office was good for you, kept your joints lubricated, blood flowing, your mind sharp, and it stopped his ass from going numb. And maybe, if he was lucky, he’d bump into his favorite display of hue. He knew where to find her, but he didn’t want to bother her if she was working on something. He made a lap around the bullpen, and then a lap around the catwalk, crossing near her office, door closed. His smile faltering the slightest bit. Emily’s head popped out of her office.

“Alvez, you need something?”

“Huh, uh, no. Just stretch break.” he pointed to the stack of files his desk, “Almost done. I’ll have um all for you by tonight.”

She gave a tight smile, “Ok” and disappeared again.

Deciding to get back on it, he walked to the break room to make a quick cup of coffee before diving back in. No Penelope distraction, it would seem. He was head deep in the cupboard looking for a clean mug when he felt a familiar soft hip check his.

“Tea, for me Newbie? You shouldn’t have...” she purred.

He closed the door, pulling out the last remaining clean mug and smiled wide, “In your dreams, Chica, there’s only one cup left.”

Penelope pouted, invading his personal space, “I thought you worshiped me”, her fingers closing around the cup.

His cheeks flushed, she was so close, so very close. “Even dutiful servants need their energy. Go get me one of the five I know are in that cave of wonders, and I’ll show you how devoted I am.”

She smirked, turning around, orange and vanilla smacking him in the face, “Come get it yourself.” and left him standing there. He looked from Penelope to his desk, he really did need to finish that stack of work before the day ended, couldn’t let feelings get in the way of work. He finished making the coffee and headed back to his desk, the light blue mug of daisy-cats mocking him and urging him to work faster from where it sat safely on the back of his desk.

He had two more reports left to do, small victories. Coffee drained from the cup, and unable to get her out of his mind, he got up, washed the mug, and brewed her favorite tea stashed in the back of the far drawer. It was only fair, she did a lot, she needed the boost too. Luke walked from the kitchenette, up the stairs across the cat walk and around the corner, head down ignoring the very pointed looks he could feel JJ, Matt, and Tara trading. He could do nice things for people. It didn’t mean anything.

"Kevin you can’t file a complaint. I won’t let you."

"He’s doing it on purpose!"

"No he isn't! What reason would he have? Luke is one of the sweetest people! He’s not some school yard bully!”

Luke stopped short, they were fighting. About him. Kevin wanted to file a complaint? Nice. So much for interoffice relations. Baby.

“Penelope, it’s not up to you, I came here out of courtesy, nothing more.”

“AND I TOLD YOU I won’t let you. I will delete it Kevin. Like it never even existed. I’ll write code that deletes it every time you file just to save me time if i have to. I don’t care.”

"Ooooh! Oh, I see.”

"What does that mean? What do you “see” ?!”

"That face. It was the same with Morgan! Some big, strong, handsome, fatheaded asshole walks in the door and you can’t help but fall all over yourself for them. He’s playing you! He’s using you.”

She was quite. He knew what that meant, there was either a furious Penelope on the other side or a broken one. He worried his lip, unsure what to do. How could he convince her it wasn’t true?

When she spoke again her voice was like steel. “You don’t talk about Derek. You are the only person here who ever thought I was being used.” Furious. Good.

Just because he was awful, didn’t mean everyone else was too. He was sick of this, tired of this guy showing up, tired of hearing him tear her down, hearing about how he belittled her, and tried to make her be less than she was. She deserved so much, so so much. Right now all he had was tea, but he could try for more. Luke took a deep breath, and moved forward, he knocked briefly and opened the door, not waiting for a response. He put on his brightest smile, because truthfully, he couldn’t not when she looked at him, and stepped into the room cup extended.

“Oh, great it’s you.” Was the first sound he was met with,"Get out, Alvez. Or have you come to spill that boiling bog water on me?” Luke kept his eyes on Penelope, but his smile flickered at the thought.

No, Lynch, I have something better in mind.

Luke ignored the man, speaking to her, voice low and soft, filling the space as only he could. "Hey, Garcia. Penelope…. I brought you that tea, but…” He glanced to the deep brown liquid and back to the same brown in her eyes, his head falling to the side, "I’d like to take you out. Can I take you to dinner?”

He could hear Kevin sputter as he watched Penelope’s eyes light up, rapidly nodding her head.

Fuck Kevin lynch, he hoped that hurt.

#garvez #criminal minds #luke alvez #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jj #spencer reid #matt simmons #tara lewis #david rossi #kevin lynch #4+1 fic #wump fic?#accidents happen #snails tales #ao3 #fan fiction #kevin lynch is repeatedly injured by luke alvez

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internetaddict104 · 1 year

Text

Y’all the season 5 premiere was so stressful I completely forgot that was the episode Reid gets shot to cover MGG’s actual injury so I wasn’t expecting so much anxiety between Reid’s story and Hotch’s 😂

#ant blogs #I love that he actually got injured partying with the cast of 500 days of summer 😂#criminal minds #spencer reid

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luveline · 2 months

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hi!!! i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's injured during a case and reader show up at the hospital because she's his emergency contact but the team is really confused wondering who's this stranger fussing over spencer. hope you like it, love you!

thank you for requesting honey!! love you<3 fem!reader

“Close your eyes,” you command, voice all blown up and grand, already smiling. “Close your eyes, Spencer.”

“No.” He squints groggily. “What are you doing?”

“Close your eyes.”

“No, Y/N, what are you doing?” he asks.

You shake your spray bottle at him. He sighs a long-suffering sigh and finally admits defeat, his tired eyes shuttering closed all too easily. You rest your knee on the side of his bed and hear the metal squeaking at your added weight, your hand gentle as you cover his forehead. “You have greasy hair,” you say sympathetically. “This is gonna feel much nicer.”

You blast him with dry shampoo, his brown hair turning white with powder. You drop the can in his lap and set about rubbing the powder into his hair until the grease is soaked up, and his hair feels less miserably lank.

“When are they gonna let you shower again?” you ask quietly.

You’re still touching his hair. More for him than you, you hope he feels comforted, but mostly you just wanna affirm to yourself that he’s all in one bruised piece. Your heart still aches as much as it did when you got the phone call in the first place —Spencer Reid’s next of kin?

You suppose that’s you.

“I don’t know.”

You take his hair back into his current parting. “Well, let’s hope it’s soon. How are you liking the sponge baths? Are they awful?”

“Humiliating.”

Just outside of Spencer’s hospital room, Hotch and JJ stand together with a bag of essentials. They’d drawn to a sudden stop when they realised Spencer had company. “Who is that?” she asks.

Hotch, used to knowing everything, frowns very deeply. He doesn’t know who you are, but from the way you’re touching Spencer’s hair and face, he should.

JJ sounds a little put out. “She doesn’t work here.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hotch says. His frown lightens as you laugh and scratch Spencer’s hair back behind his ears.

“Is it unkind of me to think he didn’t have any friends?” JJ asks.

Hotch knows Spencer has friends. He’s summoned Spencer from chess games and fan clubs, picking him up occasionally on the way to the office on cafe sidewalks as he waved goodbye to a glasses-wearing bibliophile, often in coats too big for them or with hair in need of a trim. Spencer attracts the unconventional because he, as anybody in this line of work tends to be, is inordinary. So JJ probably is being unkind, but Hotch knows what she means.

You look completely regular. You settle on one thigh on his bed while the other keeps you up and put your hand on his chest, chatting breezy words they can’t hear through the glass.

Spencer curls into you slowly.

“You’ll be home soon,” you say, rubbing his shoulder, “don’t worry.”

Hotch’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. He and JJ excuse themselves for coffee before they’re spotted, and when they return, you’re gone. “Spence, who was that girl?” JJ asks. Hotch notes the slightest line of jealousy tugging under her curiosity.

He sounds as though he could use some more pain medication, and a good night's sleep, but he’s proud as he says, “That’s my roommate. I told you about her.”

“Ah, your roommate,” Hotch says.

“What’s that mean?” Spencer asks.

“Nothing, Spencer,” Hotch says, using the young man’s first name in a rare show of affection. “That’s just an irregular word for it. I haven’t heard it in a while.”

JJ laughs. Spencer hides his face with both hands, a smudge of lip balm on his hand shining under the stark hospital fluorescents. “I’m too tired,” he complains.

Hotch hadn’t seen you kiss him, but he can imagine how it might have happened, how you’d leaned in for a kiss on the cheek goodbye and Spencer overwhelmed himself thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just an innocuous smudge. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

“We live together,” Spencer mumbles. “I couldn’t afford to live by myself at first, it’s D.C.”

“And now?” Hotch asks. He knows Spencer is on good enough money to afford an apartment by himself these days, a big one. He has no dependents.

“Didn’t seem fair… She’s nice. She’s, like, my best friend.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” JJ laughs.

Hotch isn’t sure she gets it, but he does. “Well, you can ask her to come back. We have work to do.”

Spencer pretends he’s hesitant to pick up the phone. Your reply is an immediate beep. Hotch knows a good friend when he sees one.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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reidsdaisies · 11 days

Text

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

༉‧´ˎ˗ paring; spencer reid x gn!reader ༉‧´ˎ˗ summary; spencer just looks too irresistible in those damned short-shorts. ༉‧´ˎ˗ content warnings; horrific ‘banter’ (reader is just a tease), sub!spencer, handjob. ༉‧´ˎ˗ wc; 0.8k

cm masterlist ; main masterlist ; request guidelines ; inbox

“Dork,” you snort.

“What!” Spencer practically squeaks, spinning back around to look at himself in the full length mirror.

“Nothing’s wrong with it.. you just look like a dork.” You laugh again, using your elbows to sit yourself up against your pillow. “Where’d you go to get that outfit anyway?”

“Well, Morgan suggested a place that sells workout clothes, and so I kind of may have bought an outfit from the first mannequin I saw. But I think I picked well. I read that wearing a sweatshirt while working out can help with warming up, lead to an increase in blood flow, and can reduce my risk of injury.” He rambles off, working on fitting a sweatband around his forehead.

“You think you’re going to get injured?”

“Well, I have been trying to be more purposeful with working out, but by the end I always feel lightheaded, though that’s to be expected. And, you never know, I may trip and fall on my face. It happens even when I’m not working out. The sweatshirt could cushion me.” He shrugs, turning back around to face you. “Less dorky or more dorky with the sweatband?”

“Definitely more dorky.. but also adorable. It’s very much adorkable, and very much what you’d wear when working out.” You giggle, moving over to the edge of the bed.

Spencer finds himself moving closer towards you, standing right infront of where you sit criss-crossed on the comforter.

“One day that’s going to get old, (y/n).”

“No, one day you’re going to get old and you’ll still be an adorable little dork.” He just huffs, rolling his eyes, but you catch the little smirk before it’s too late. The playful glint in your eye shimmers, and if you were a cartoon character, there would be a giant bright lightbulb over your head. Your hands naturally found their way to his hips, resting against the blue material of his shorts. “..these really are short, aren’t they?”

He gulped, watching with intent as you slide your hands a few inches down from his hips, reaching his bare thighs in less than a second.

“What are you doing, (y/n)?” He breathes out, almost sounding like he’s panting.

“Helping you with your pre-workout stretch..” you mutter, slipping a hand past the waistband of his shorts.

“You’re supposed to stretch your legs before a workout not—“ he chokes on his words, getting them caught in his throat as soon as your hand cups his length, giving it a tug. “that.” He shakily squeaks his last word. You chuckle.

“Are you always this hard before your workouts, Dr. Reid?” You taunt him, hand moving up and down his erection, thumb swiping across his already leaking tip.

“N-no you, y-you, um,” he tries to speak but he can’t get the words right, stumbling over them. You stroke him leisurely, making a show out of sighing and rolling your eyes to the side, not even looking at him as you stay sitting on your knees on the bed before him, getting him off with just your hand. “(Y-y/n),” he stutters in an attempt to get your attention back on his face. He lets out an unabashed moan, sounding downright sinful.

“God,” he groans as your pace picks up the slightest bit. His droopy gaze follows yours, landing on the wall clock.

“What time did you say she was picking you up?”

“Te— oh fuck, ten thirty!” He exclaims, hips bucking forward into your hand as you touch him just right, paying good attention to the man’s balls.

“Hmm,” you hum, thinking carefully about the next step in your plan to absolutely destroy this man. You turn your head back towards him, using your free hand that was squishing and digging into his thigh to push his shorts and underwear down, letting them drop on their own and pool around his ankles. “How many times do you think you can cum in 20 minutes?”

“No, no (y/n).” He protests, shaking his head, but his dick betrays him, twitching in your hold. His hand moves down his body, resting over yours, being moved up and down along with yours with each hasty stroke you deal to his cock.

With warning, a warm, white liquid spurts from his tip, an angry shade of red. His cum drips down your hand as well as his own, making a complete mess of them. He grunts and whimpers through the whole process, the bucking movement of his hips accelerating before slowing down to a stop.

You grin up at him mischievously and in return he just lets out a huff, his mouth hanging open and eyes continuing to droop low. His face looks exhausted, but his cock still looks like it has some kick left in it.

“You want me to do it again—“ he cuts you off, nodding furiously. “Y-yeah, again, please, we have the time,” he whimpers, sounding like a mix of excitement and defeatment.

“Adorkable,” you laugh, speaking in a sing-songy manner.

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 5 months

Text

Secretly Mine

Summary: Spencer and Reader have been seeing each other for a while without the team's knowledge

Category: Fluff

Couple: Spencer/BAU Fem!Reader

Content warnings: None

Word count: 1.5k

Eight months have passed since your arrival at the BAU. You’re an integral part of the team. Hotch has been sure to let you know. You’ve stood out with your eye for detail at certain crime scenes, outshining even some of the team’s more seasoned members. Luckily, the academy’s rumors about the Quantico team’s bond have rang true time and time again, so competition and jealousy never became an issue. It only made them respect you and even open up to you.

One person who has particularly opened up to you is the genius of the group, Spencer Reid. The secret you learned: he’s a gentle kisser. Almost childishly chaste, but nothing seemed more fitting for his personality. What was surprising was the setting of your first kiss.

New York City police invited the team to investigate the terrorist cell killing random people across the city. Their attacks grew more volatile by the time you all arrived, placing bombs on government vehicles. One of these bombs hurt Hotch, and SSA Joyner did not survive the same blast. The results could have been worse, considering.

Your team faced the problem of uncertainty regarding who (if anyone) had been injured at that moment. Spencer was with Rossi at the police station while the rest of you were on the ground. That damn terrorist organization interfered with signals and transmissions all the time, and this was no different. You, by your luck, were the most difficult to get in contact with, despite being safe at Federal Plaza. You met with the team when it was safe to do so and all targeted areas were cleared. Most of you sighed in relief. Garcia even held your face, as if to make sure you were real, alive and, breathing.

Spencer held your face too, but not in the same way. You both took refuge by the water cooler, surprisingly where no one was present in a once-crowded New York City police station. You talked about what happened, Hotch’s current condition, and how long to expect these nerves to last. Your nerves didn’t settle, though, when Spencer’s knuckles brushed your cheek as he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You didn’t blame these nerves, though, when you leaned into the touch, looking up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Spencer was cute, obviously, but workplace relationships are highly unprofessional and even a liability, if the case they just survived wasn’t enough proof of that. You’d think (well, you knew actually) Spencer of all people would know this. He knows everything. When you had a case in Baltimore involving the Ravens, he told you their name came from Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous poem. Then he explained the detailed theories surrounding his untimely death. Spencer believes it has something to do with cooping, whatever that means, you dared not to ask. There’s nothing he doesn’t consider.

So, Spencer must have considered all the odds of professional behavior in that moment by the water cooler since his lips delicately brushed yours. It was barely a kiss at first, until he leaned in for another, to where you could feel the warmth of his mouth and felt that he could do with some lip exfoliant. The last part you didn’t care about because it was practically over before it began. Neither of you said anything about it. Instead, you stayed there for a while, not touching or talking. Then Morgan told the team to pack up and get ready to go home.

Throughout the past month, you and Spencer have shared many kissing sessions. Not at work, though, because you both still have some sense. Kissing Spencer, though, tends to not leave you with much sense. His gentleness is not a front. His touches are tender and he’s never pushed you beyond your limits. It’s a good thing then that he’s a gentleman, so he earned kisses through dinners, movies, and day trips. It was something to look forward to in between grueling cases.

And it wasn’t even off work when Spencer would bring joy to you. There was a case recently in North Carolina that shook you more than you cared to admit. You didn’t want to mention what specifically, as it’s something you haven’t spoken about in a long time, but the team picked up on it quickly. They checked on you and even asked if you needed to sit out. You powered through and came to a satisfactory (for lack of a better word) conclusion. Afterward, Spencer invited you to ice cream. It was a welcoming change of scenery, despite the ice cream place being called Jack the Dipper. It was hilariously fitting, so it really wasn’t an issue. Spencer didn’t ask about what happened or what made you feel so disturbed. Throughout the night, he just made sure to ask if you were okay.

You haven’t been okay for a while. Not because of that case, but because it’s been three months now and you are still running around with Spencer without the team’s knowledge. The team might feel cheated (and Hotch might be pissed) because they are not aware of this information, but the uneasiness of all this was starting to settle in. The fear, the worry that this might just be all for nothing. Outside of the office, he shows that he cares. He knows things about you that you haven't revealed in some time. And apparently he has done the same. Bruises from harsh kisses around your bodies linger under work clothes from a weekend in, and the team has been none the wiser. And you’re not sure if you’re as okay with it as you thought you were.

The team went out to the bar on a Thursday, celebrating a government holiday the night before (i.e. a three-day weekend). The team took shots, bet money, threw darts, and Emily ended up with the most by closing. You would’ve coughed up more cash throughout the night if you were confident in your bets.

Spencer barely looked at you. Didn’t brush your hand or even stand near you for too long, like you had the plague or whatever Poe died from. It didn’t help the feeling in your core, and neither did the walk home. Morgan drove Garcia home, Hotch with Rossi, and J.J. with Emily. And of course, Spencer with you. When J.J. drove away after boasting about avoiding a ticket on an expired meter, Spencer didn’t hesitate to reach for your hand. It was nice, and as the weather grew colder, it was a welcomed warmth. But how could it not feel at least a little sour?

His apartment wasn’t far from here, so you walked. Your hands were laced the entire time, but he didn’t breathe a word and you couldn’t tell if that should make you feel better or worse.

It wasn’t until you climbed the steps to his door that he asked, “Are you staying the night?”

You swallowed. Unlike Emily, Garcia, and Rossi, you were on the side of tipsy rather than in dire need of a toilet to bury your head into. “Sure.” You said. “If you want me to.”

“Yeah,” He said, fiddling with his key and lock. “Of course I want you to.”

He finally opens the door and turns on the living room light. You barely had time to put your purse down before his lips were on yours. They were still chapped like the first time, except you could forgive that because of the growing cold outside. His hands hold your waist, they creep to your back. You couldn’t help but lean in, away from the door he pressed you into. It was when Spencer moaned in your mouth that you broke away. Catching your breath, you try putting together a sentence. But breathing is difficult right now for both of you. Spencer’s eyes are lazy and his breath still lingers with a scent of the mint gum he spit out when he showed up to the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you think it’s the start to an actual apology. “I was trying to stay patient.” He kisses you again, softly. And you kiss him back still. He moans again. “I want you.”

You swallow again. Your throat is so dry. “Spencer, I—”

“I want to tell them.” He interrupts.

You blink, it quickens as you take in the words. “What?”

His hands cup your face. He brushes the messy bangs from your forehead. “I want to tell them. About this. About us. I just…” He trails off. That is not something you’re used to seeing. “I want more time with you.”

As Spencer’s words sank in, you felt a mix of apprehension and longing, wondering just what could go wrong. A lot, in fact. But you have to believe he’s being honest. Why wouldn’t he be?

And with a soft smile, you reached for his hand and met his gaze. “I want that too,” you said, feeling the weight of it finally being lifted off your chest. “I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about it earlier. I was being selfish.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But I would. Because it’s true. But that changes now.” The look on his face, the fully sober look on his face. He’s all in. “I will tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

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kiss-inthekitchen · 2 months

Text

bonus! i said i wasn't posting anything new til this weekend but i just got up to s5 e2 and spencer reid with that lollipop has made me insane, here's a drabble i just wrote in like 30 mins. barely edited, hot off the presses, hope u like

sucker

~500 words

Who the hell let this man have a lollipop in the workplace?

You could kill Garcia.

You’re trying to act normal– trying so hard– but he looks so good. His hair is longer than it's ever been, so beautifully curly at the ends and you just know it’s soft. You need to test the theory but you can’t and it kills you on even a regular day.

But today is a thousand times worse. There’s something about Spencer since he got shot, he just seems to give less of a shit. It definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

It doesn’t help that you’d come in to tell him that you all had to be on the jet in thirty, and then he and Garcia had started asking questions, so Spencer’s been looking up at you from his chair for the past few minutes and something about it is getting to you.

So yeah, you’re trying not to get so immediately caught for staring at Spencer as he wraps his lips around the lollipop again, but you’re also not about to miss a single second of it. You’re not about to do yourself that disservice.

You clear your throat as the news broadcast about your unsub ends. “Right. So we’re going to Louisville.”

Spencer moves to get up, finally. Popping the candy in his mouth, he waves one– large, long-fingered– hand at Garcia and reaches for his crutches.

What is wrong with you?? You need to get it together before you’re stuck on the jet with pretty boy and all of the most astute people-readers in the Western hemisphere.

God, you hate your life. If the universe was kind and loving it wouldn’t have had you meet Spencer in the behavioral analysis unit. If the universe was kind and loving, Spencer would be yours already.

This was some kind of cosmic joke.

“You good?” he asks. He took the lollipop out of his mouth to speak to you, his eyebrows raised in the most annoyingly attractive way.

“Yeah?” you scoff, as if he’s the one being weird.

“Okay. Cause you told me we have to leave and now somehow you can’t keep up with the guy on crutches,” he muses from the doorway, while you haven’t moved an inch.

This man. If he wasn’t injured you would hurt him. You might just do it anyway.

You shoot him a sarcastic smile. “I was being polite.”

“How chivalrous of you,” he says, putting the candy back in his mouth and crutching his way down the hall without a second glance.

You look at Garcia, and it’s a mistake. You can read her like a book. “Don’t,” you warn, pointing at her, and she presses her lips together but is clearly smiling behind them. “And I am so mad at you for that,” you add, gesturing after him.

“Wh– he just took one, it’s not like I–”

“Save it!” you call, already halfway out the room. You hear her laugh behind you, and shake your head. You love that girl, but she was not doing you any favors.

Fuck it.

You breeze past Spencer in the hallway. “Keep up, pretty boy.”

You hear his indignant, playful scoff behind you, and you can’t help the smirk that creeps onto your face.

#im so sorry like i cant be normal about this LOOK AT HIM #good god #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #my fics

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reiding-writing · 4 months

Note

since you are a person of angst, i was thinking about spencer x reader where in the heat of an argument, spencer says he will only forgive her when she dies.

so in one of the cases the reader is shot by spencer and sighs "now you can finally forgive me"

happy or sad ending, whatever you want

muah 💘

forgiven [ s.r ]

Summary:

You lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR IAN DOYLE ARC, harsh arguments, death wishes, gun mentions, major character injury, details of gun related injury

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST with a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

masterlist!!

a/n: left the ending up to majority vote and majority vote said happy ending, you guys are so boring /j

happy ending or not this is still nice and jam packed with angst for all my angst enjoyers <3

Emily Prentiss had been buried for seven months.

So how on earth was she stood five feet away from Spencer with a half guilty expression on her face like she’d put salt in his coffee rather than the fact that she’d been in Paris, fully alive and well whilst he mourned her ‘death’ for months.

But he couldn’t be mad at her. Of course he couldn’t.

Instead his gaze turned towards the way Hotch, JJ, and you were stood at the head of the table, completely unfazed whilst the rest of the team stood in shock at the fact that the friend that they’d buried was still alive.

He couldn’t help that small feeling of loathing mixing with the shock when Emily pulled him into a hug, his arms loosely rested around her back as his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction.

He’d let you see him at his absolute worst, an emotional, crying, pathetic mess of a person who was desperately mourning over the loss of one of his closest friends.

And you’d let him. Whilst knowing that Emily was still alive.

His emotional state had gotten so bad over the last few months that you’d even temporarily moved him in with you to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself.

He’d spiralled into a state where he couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. And you’d let him.

He didn’t speak to you during your drive home that night, and you knew why.

You knew he was going to be angry at you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to immediately start unrooting himself from your apartment; Clearing out drawers and stuffing his clothes in the suitcase hidden in one of the cupboards.

“Spencer what are you doing-” You barely manage to step out of the way before Spencer walked right into you with an armful of books in his hands as he pulled them from the bookshelf in your living room.

He stacks them neatly in the corner of the open case laid on top of his bed as you stand in the doorway of your guest room turned Spencer’s bedroom, clear concern written all over your face.

“I’m going home.” Spencer’s reply is blunt, flat, with the tiniest amount of hurt lacing his tone if you were to listen closely enough.

“Spence-” You block his exit from the room with your body as he attempts to make a second trip to clear your shelves of his books. “Can we just take a second to talk about this?”

“About what? The fact that you lied to me for seven months?” He takes a step back from you as you block the doorway, looking you directly in the eyes to make sure that you could read every semblance of hurt, loathing, and betrayal that swam in his irises.

“The fact that I trusted you to the point where I let you see me at my lowest and you knew everything I was grieving over was a lie?” Spencer had given up trying to leave the room, clearing out anything left in the bedroom instead and zipping the suitcase shut.

“The fact that you let me spiral to the point where I was considering relapsing and couldn’t be trusted to live on my own?”

“Spencer-”

“I confided in you. I told you everything. All those nights I spent sobbing in your arms talking about how I just wanted the pain to stop and you left me in the dark.” He was borderline shouting at you by now, his eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and a lump in his throat that rended his composure shattered.

“I wish I could’ve told you Spencer but I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t?” Spencer cuts you off before you have the time to try and explain yourself. “Or you wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t- Spence I wanted to tell you I really did but Emily’s life was in danger-” You try to explain yourself whilst he’s giving you the time to do so, words falling out of your mouth as fast as your brain will let them form. “I couldn’t say anything without risking breaking her cover and sending her right back into Doyle’s grasp..”

“What about my life?” Spencer’s voice cracked slightly as he looked at you, a light flush covering his face from his frustration. “I spent ten weeks under 24/7 supervision because my mental state was so bad-”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t have said anything. And you let me ruin my own mental state anyway.” The end of his negation of your explanation is marked by the suitcases wheels hitting the wooden flooring.

“Look i’m sorry okay? I didn’t-”

“What? didn’t mean to let it go so far? Didn’t mean to let me consider relapsing and washing any progress i’d made over the last four years down the drain?” He pushes past you with considerable force to make his way towards the front door of your apartment with his suitcase in hand. “Well it’s too late for that isn’t it?”

“Spencer wait-” You grasp at his wrist in a moment of desperation, silently begging for him not to leave. “I’m sorry,”

“I’m so, so sorry and you have every right to be angry at me and I know that keeping it from you was wrong-” Your desperation shows through your voice, through the stray tear that rolls down your left cheek and pools under your chin. “Just- let’s talk about this, please,”

“We just did.” Spencer’s voice is much harsher than you’re used to, although he removes your hand from his wrist with a whisper of his usual gentle nature that you wish would take over the rest of his personality as he pulls your door open to leave.

“I was just trying to protect her-” Your voice hitches at the end of your sentence, stray tears turning into a steady flow that dapples your white shirt in damp circles. “..please forgive me…”

Your voice is hardly a whisper by the time you’re finished, although Spencer’s expression does not match the softness in your tone.

Nor does his response.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re six feet under like she was.”

“Spencer-”

You barely have time to be shocked by his words before the front door of your apartment is closed harshly in your face, Spencer’s presence replaced by the ghost of his cologne and a sharp coldness that runs its way up your spine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been three weeks.

And aside from asking Morgan to keep an eye on him you hadn’t so much as mentioned Spencer once.

It was a little difficult considering his desk was directly opposite yours, but a mix of wanting to respect his personal space and still being hurt by his comment allows you to keep to yourself no matter how close he was.

You’re thankful that the team hasn’t said anything, but you’re sure they’ll only respect your privacy until it interferes with the case you’re working on.

Emily had tried to talk Spencer down from his underlying anger to no avail during the plane ride, and despite the countless times that Hotch had taken full responsibility for keeping Emily’s living status a secret, it didn’t stop Spencer from sending you half-glares across the station or refuting any suggestion you gave with an overcomplicated explanation of why you were wrong.

By the fourth day you were on the verge of snapping at him, the Texas heat melding with his snark and making you want to tear all of your skin from your face.

You definitely weren’t in the right mental state to enter an active shooter situation, but as you followed Morgan into the building with your 9mm planted firmly between your hands, all you could think about is the conversation you were going to force Spencer into having with you once all of this was over.

You were so tired of being in this stalemate with him, you just wanted your Spencer back.

The one who would trap you on your couch so he could explain the Doctor Who lore in explicit detail with that bright starry look in his eyes the longer you let him ramble.

It was just radio silence. And you couldn’t bare it anymore.

Your mind was clouded by your own thoughts as you swept the building, and you suppose you only have yourself to blame for not hearing the unfamiliar footsteps behind you until it’s too late.

You turn on your heels towards the noise, expecting it to be Morgan or even Spencer, finished with sweeping the floor and ready to move on.

Instead you’re met by a sharp bang that rings through your ears and a pain in your throat that makes your breath catch and your legs fail underneath you.

Your left hand comes straight to your throat, immediately coated in the dark red liquid escaping from the new hole created in your body, and you manage to fire a shot in the direction of your assailant as he runs, although whether you actually hit him or not you’re not sure.

It takes less than ten seconds for your team members to arrive at your side, and you desperately point in the direction that the UnSub had ran off in as you try and refrain from coughing up blood and in turn flooding your lungs.

Morgan and Emily share a look before running off in your pointed direction. Spencer however, ignores your arm completely and rushes to kneel at your side, dropping his gun on the floor in the process and frantically holding the radio button on his watch to yell out his need for medical services.

“You’re going to be fine- Everything’s going to be fine-” You can practically feel the panic emanating from his body, his hands trembling as he tugged his bullet proof vest from his chest to tear at the hem of his shirt and use it to block the bullet hole in your throat as your hand compression weakened with your blood loss.

You can tell he was trying to reassure you, but it didn’t sound all that convincing, even to himself.

His right hand added a copious amount of pressure to the front of your throat as he aided you into the recovery position, checking the nape of your neck for an exit wound. Nothing.

A soft “two minutes” echoes back through the radio speaker in his watch and though he tries to mutter it under his breath to not freak you out any further, you can hear his uncertain “that’s too long,” even through the tinnitus plaguing your ears.

You cough up the clotted chunks of oxidised blood stuck in your oesophagus onto the floor beneath you, and Spencer makes an effort to protect your head from the floor by elevating it on his thigh.

“You’re going to be fine-” Spencer sounds more panicked than you as his eyes blink with tears, unable to be wiped as they fall down his cheeks from the red staining against his fingers and the ever present pressure he’s adding to your injury.

“Does this mean you’re going to forgive me now?” You choke out the words alongside what could barely be considered a laugh as it leaves you hacking up more blood through your mouth, your attempt at lightening the mood falling on deaf ears as it sends Spencer into a fit of tears.

“I’m so sorry-” Spencer’s tears run hot against his cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling onto the ripped fabric of his shirt he was using to try and stop your throat from bleeding. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you and barging out and just being awful to you I’m sorry-”

The distinct sounds of sirens sound over Spencer’s profuse apology and you can see the relief flood his face as he hears them. “You hear that? You’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna get you to a hospital and you’re gonna be fine,”

He nodded determinedly at you, more like he’s trying to convince himself than convince you.

He neglected to tell you about the fact that gunshot wounds to the neck held a 78% mortality rate, or how when they obstruct major airways that number jumps to 92%.

It was fine. You would be fine.

He can hear the pounding footsteps of the medical team as they breach the building, yelling out in their direction with as much composure as he can muster.

He helped the medical team carefully position you on a stretcher so they could rush you into the ambulance, and he runs alongside you, giving the EMTs as much information as he can.

“They were shot by a 7.5mm two minutes and forty seconds ago, it breached their trachea but there’s no exit wound so it’s likely lodged in the back of their oesophagus-” Spencer speaks through heaved breaths as his body fights to take in oxygen over his will to help the EMTs treat you as quickly as possible, following them into the back of the ambulance.

“They’ve been conscious the whole time this far but I think they’re going through pulmonary edema and-”

“Spence-” Your voice is barely audible through your struggle to breathe, joined by the pressure on your throat as well as under your diaphragm as one of the EMTs checks for signs of your lungs being flooded. “Don’t backseat doctor-”

The fact that you’re still conscious enough to lightly chastise him makes Spencer feel a little less panicked, although removing a pebble from a mountain doesn’t affect its height.

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re unconscious but not yet critical, and he almost follows you right into the OR until he’s blocked from the door by one of the nurses and escorted into the waiting area.

“Well let you know the second anything changes Dr Reid,”

He nods hastily as he sits down, fiddling with his fingers and tapping his feet against the linoleum floors.

You weren’t critical yet, but that didn’t mean that you’d pull through. You had flooded lungs and a bullet lodged somewhere in the back of your throat that they were going to surgically remove.

If something went wrong, that was it.

Spencer spends the first thirty minutes mentally beating himself up.

Why did he lash out at you? You were only doing what you thought was best to protect Emily.

Why did he say he’d only forgive you if you died? You didn’t mean to cause him any harm.

Why was he constantly managing to ruin anything positive that was happening between the two of you?

Maybe he was cursed.

Cursed to live a life of eternal suffering as the perpetual cost for the gift of his intelligence.

He would give up every IQ point he had if it meant that you would recover with no complications.

He would sacrifice his eidetic memory in an instant if it meant he got to make new ones with you.

He’d give up everything that he was prided on as long as you were okay. You needed to be okay.

The next forty-five minutes was spent in an anxious silence. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d secured the UnSub’s incarceration, only amplifying the tension in the waiting area.

As the nurse calls out your name to the room, the team immediately stands to rush over, everyone silently praying that you’re okay.

“We’re glad to say that the surgery was a success,”

Those words are enough for the anxiety to dwindle in the group, a wave of relief overtaking it.

“They’ve had to have a temporary tracheotomy, and due to the placement of the bullet lodged between their vertebrae, a spinal excision, but both procedures progressed with no issues, meaning they should recover perfectly fine,”

Morgan and Emily share a audible sigh of relief, overshadowed by Spencer’s voice, less anxious but still filled with adrenaline. “Can I see them?”

“They’re currently under supervised care to make sure they don’t destabilise, but if you leave your mobile number we will contact you when they wake,” The nurse passes Spencer a small post it note and a biro pen from her clip board and he doesn’t hesitate to scribble his name and number down before handing them back.

“They’re strong, most patients don’t remain conscious for more than a minute or two after an injury like that,” The nurse takes the pen and post it from Spencer with a small smile. “I have full faith that they’ll recover perfectly fine,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer extends his stay in Texas indefinitely.

The rest of the team had left for Quantico two days ago to file out all of the necessary paperwork for the case, with Spencer opting to remain in Texas until you were fit to fly home with him.

Home. He wonders if you’ll let him come home with you. To stay with you in your apartment again and live side by side with him once more.

Maybe he can convince you through your recovery; That patients recovering with spinal injuries need 24/7 attention just in case something happens.

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

Spencer’s plans for taking you home were interrupted by the shrill ring of his cellphone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

His heart rate increases as he picks the phone up from his hotel room’s coffee table, his hands trembling by the time he holds it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“McAllen County Hospital, am I speaking to Doctor Spencer Reid?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer is in his rental car almost before he hangs up the phone, driving the speed limit as he tries to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

He runs what he’s going to say when he sees you over and over again in his head on the way there, but by the time he reaches your hospital room his mind goes completely blank, and he just stands in the door staring at you.

“Hello to you too,” Your voice is very clearly strained and raspy, still recovering from the emergency tracheotomy you’d been given during surgery.

The sound of your voice, as dry and strained as it is, immediately sends Spencer into a fit of tears, and he rushes to take a seat on the plastic chair beside your bed with the most upset, regretful expression you think you’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,”

“Spence…” You reach out your hand out from the hospital bed, laying it against his lower thigh and squeezing it lightly.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you I know you were doing what’s right and I didn’t mean what I said I don’t want you to die I promise-” He takes in a sharp breath through his nose once he’s finished his ramble, and you wait a few seconds to make sure he’s actually finished before speaking yourself.

“You’re fine Spence…” Your hand trails up to grasp at his own, intertwining your fingers with his and giving them a small squeeze. “You had every right to be angry,”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly at you. “No, i’m sorry. What I said was wrong and you didn’t deserve that,”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, his voice wavering and his hands trembling against your own. “Can you forgive me..?”

You question whether to make a joke about whether he’s close to dying or not, but opt out of it considering his fragile emotional state.

“How about we both forgive each other and call it even?” You let out a small chuckle at the end of your question, turning into more of a cough as it dries out your throat, and Spencer grabs the glass of water left on your bedside table with his free hand.

He holds it up to let you drink from it rather than unlinking your hands to let you hold the cup yourself, placing the styrofoam back down once you’re finished.

You give him a mildly embarrassed smile that he returns with one of his own, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against yours.

If you weren’t recovering from a spinal surgery he would’ve had you in a bone crushing hug by now, but holding your hand and leaning his forehead to yours would suffice for now.

“Forgiven?” You allow your eyes to flutter closed at the soft contact, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“Forgiven…”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

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avis-writeshq · 2 months

Note

heyyy omg I love your writings so much! congrats on your latest milestone, it's DESERVED 👏 can I pls request track one with spencer reid where he gets an epiphany and decides that he wants to propose to his girlfriend? just superrrr cute and fluffy 😍 thanks a lot!!

glue song – spencer reid

summary: “but you’re here, and so i love you.” in which spencer realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. pairing: s5!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: spencer in a knee brace (tell me why that’s attractive. why does he look good at his worst. face card never declines), he’s genuinely obsessed with you, not proof read oops a/n: thank you so much anon !!!! i’m so sorry it took so long to post; i kept changing and editing it hahaha i hope you enjoy it !! wc: 1.05k

“Careful watch your– no, pivot a little, pivot–”

“I am pivoting! There’s nowhere to pivot to! Why is it so messy?”

You suppress a grimace as you manage to somehow squeeze your way through Spencer’s tiny doorway and into his apartment, the shoe rack on the side dangerously close to his damaged knee. You stumble a little as Spencer grips your shoulders tightly for support, his other hand holding onto a crutch.

“Maybe we should move into a bigger apartment,” you muse, helping him to the couch. Your gaze shifts to his injured knee, your face falling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it. Which is pretty much all the time,” Spencer says, wincing as he finally collapses against the cool leather cushions. “Thank you for doing this.”

You look almost offended at his words as you brush his hair out of his face and into a makeshift ponytail. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

He hums as he feels the way your fingers pull lightly at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. “Thought you’d get tired of me. After, you know, everything.”

“None of that was your fault,” you remind him swiftly. “This–” you gesture to his knee– “isn’t either.”

He softens, leaning his cheek on your shoulder. You’ve been there for him through everything and he knows what specifically it is you’re referring to. He could see it from the moment his doctors informed you that he wouldn’t take the vicodin they had prescribed to him to soothe his discomfort. His thought process makes sense; he didn’t want to risk it. Regardless, he was left with a growing pain in his leg that didn’t shake even after taking toradol.

“I’d never get tired of you,” you clarify, squeezing his hands. “You’re too pretty to get tired of.”

He lets out a proper laugh as he squeezes back. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!”

He laughs again, shaking his head adamantly. “Liar.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Spencer beams in your direction, pressing kisses against the soft of your jaw. “You’re right.”

A triumphant smile spreads across your face at his words. “Exactly.”

***

From his spot on the couch, Spencer watches guiltily as you hustle and bustle about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them to the brim with the food you ordered from the Chinese place he loves. He feels bad seeing you work so hard looking after him; especially when you have your own workload to take care of. He doesn’t even notice that you’ve already placed his portion of food in front of him until you whack him lightly on his head with some napkins.

“Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.” You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you snap open your chopsticks. “I want to do this. I truly don’t mind.”

“You’re already doing so much,” he insists, “I’m okay, angel, I swear.”

You are not easily convinced and you point to the list of things the doctor suggested you to do in order to ensure Spencer’s speedy recovery. “I have a responsibility, Walter. What will your team do without you?”

“They’ll live,” he assures, reaching a hand out to massage the muscles by your shoulders. “I think you’ve seen me naked more the past two weeks than you have our entire relationship.”

“Well it’s not my fault that you need to bathe,” you argue, stabbing at your noodles. “You love it really.”

His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the accusation. “I do not! It’s humiliating.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you soothe, smiling at him. “Besides, it’ll only be like this for a little while longer.”

“If you consider five months to be ‘a little while longer’,” he quips as he shovels food into his mouth.

You let out a laugh, not finding offence is his sarcastic blow. He thinks you’re a blessing and he figures that you definitely are. Who else can deal with the problems of him being, well, him aside from you? Spencer doesn’t know what he would do without you. How could he when you manage to push all the darkness and negativity away?

“I’m lucky to have you,” he says finally, his gaze on your face. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum in response, wiping your mouth and curling into his good side, draping an arm over his middle. “That’s true. You’re good to me, too.”

He brings his hand over your waist and kisses the side of your face in an act of reciprocation. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears at the sudden compliment and you can’t help the silly bashful smile that pulls at your lips. Your mouth opens and closes, deciding on what to respond with before you settle with a simple, “Thank you.”

It’s the honest truth. There’s a look about you that tells him that you don’t believe it, but he doesn’t say anything more to try and convince you. He tells it to you everyday; he’s sure that you’ll end up accepting the compliments more readily. Your being beautiful might have been what had drawn him to you in the first place. Although he isn’t entirely sure. He recalls a certain folktale about invisible stings and how it was tying him to you. There’s something pretty about that thought, the mere idea that you were made for him and he was lucky enough to actually hold you in his arms.

You’ve turned the television on now, a romance movie playing on the screen with familiar actors. It’s supposed to be a comedy, at least that was what the description on the DVD said, about the main male lead reminiscing about his year that he spent with some manic pixie dream girl. Spencer doesn’t understand how that could be comedic but you seem to enjoy it.

Spencer has tuned out the movie now, finding entertainment in the reactions you have. Your face morphs into different emotions with each dramatic scene and in that moment Spencer realises one very important thing.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“What was that?” you ask obliviously and you lift your eyes to look up at him.

“Nothing,” he dismisses, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Just keep watching the movie, angel.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

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ebullientheart · 9 months

Text

roomies. spencer reid x reader

content — fem!bau!reader. injured!reader. fluff. anonymous request. brief injury description. reader uses conditioner. making out.

when you no longer need your live-in doctor, you find you desperately want him to stay.

you were absolutely fuming when the unsub shot you. just one, clean through the shoulder, that caused you to fall in a twist down the stairs, spraining your ankle. the chances of both of those events occurring had to be low, and spencer assured you of the statistics to back that theory up. just bad luck. fuming.

unfortunately, it also meant your life was substantially difficult to navigate while healing. you could barely shower, cook food, unlock doors, get changed. in fact it wasn’t ‘barely’, you just couldn’t. so the natural solution was to have your best friend move in with you while you were out of action entirely.

“it’s no big deal.” he shrugged. your best friend that you harboured secret feelings for, shrugged. no big deal.

there were some challenges.

“spencer,” you huffed for the tenth time that morning, “i am not swallowing those gross fish vitamins.”

he tutted at you, “they’re cod, and they’re going to help your sprain recover. valid studies have shown-”

awkwardly, you stood and used your uninjured arm to jab him in the chest, “i don’t care if they would grow me a whole new bone, they’re gross.”

it was weeks like that, when he wasn’t on cases. harmless bickering as he fussed over you like a newborn. but despite your teasing, you were not looking forward to the day he’d be moving back into his own apartment. it was nice, having someone to come home to. it took the sting out of the loneliness you felt, and you weren’t delusional for thinking he felt that way too. as your casts and slings were eased off, the both of you looked rather dejected, confusing the nurse tending to you greatly.

spencer nudged your good shoulder, “now you can help me box up my things.”

you’d gotten used to his things, though. his aftershave in the bathroom, his chess set by the couch. even his supposedly mobile library he’d moved into your apartment. you knew how empty it was going to feel.

in fear of that emptiness, you blurted it out on the car ride home from the hospital, “maybe you should stay a bit longer.”

“yeah?” he briefly took his eyes off the road to raise a brow at you, “you think you still need help?”

“i don’t need it.” you mumbled, picking the skin around your cuticles nervously. spencer noticed, and flicked your hands apart as a silent way of telling you not to do that. still taking care of you.

he didn’t push your declaration, just nodding, “okay. how long were you thinking?”

somewhere between a bated breath and a rush of words, you pushed out, “like, forever?”

this time, both his brows jumped and he had to clear his throat to stop his voice from cracking, “really? like roommates?”

no, like lovers, “yes, like roomies. nevermind, it was a stupid idea.”

“i don’t think so. i’d love to be… roomies.” the word sounded strange, too informal, coming from him, and it made you laugh. which made him smile.

after that very spencer-esque conversation, he moved the rest of his material belongings in, and put his flat up on listings. it sold fast, and you had to wonder why he’d agreed so rapidly, considering his place was notably nicer than yours. you had to wonder why he agreed at all, though it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone else that you hadn’t been able to separate. and the rest unfolded like one of the rom-coms you forced him to watch.

you no longer needed him to wash your hair over the side of the bath, which had at first been annoying because he did not wash the conditioner out properly. but now you missed it; it had become almost a bonding experience. that became true of a lot of things you’d adjusted to in the past months. him helping you into bed, you playing the wounded card to make him watch your shows on tv.

one thing that hadn’t changed was the sheer amount of card games you two played. you knew spencer was always going to win, but you tortured yourself with it anyway. one night, you were splitting the deck as you announced, “i’ve got a new game. it’s called rummy version two.”

before he could explain all the deviations rummy had from its origin over the years, making your game not a second version but at least an eighth, you rushed on to outline the rules. you were completely making it up as you went along, and continued adding to it as you played. it was impossible for you to lose, and spencer quickly figured out that you were bullshitting. for a profiler, you had a terrible poker face.

“you’re making this up.” he stated, putting his cards down.

you leant over the table, now able to rest pressure on your arm, and challenged, “prove it.”

there was a thick tension that had arisen suddenly between the pair of you, though the more you thought, the less sudden it seemed. maybe it had been building for a while. like the blush steadily rising to his cheeks as you got slightly closer to his face.

he smirked, “you’re winning.”

“rude. that doesn’t mean i’m-”

what it didn’t mean, spencer never got to hear, because it was at that moment he surged forward to close the remaining distance between your lips. you almost fell when you two collided, but his grip had attached to your upper arm to steady you. his kiss did not relent, demanding and speaking of all the impatience he’d felt recently. you responded likewise, threading your hands into his curls as soon as you got your balance, barely breaking for breath.

spencer’s skin on yours was something you had thought about more than you cared to admit, and with the fervour he was kissing you with, you thought he might’ve experienced the same. he was almost desperate against you, hands trailing to smooth over any section of exposure he could find, before one rested on the side of your face, and the other on your thigh.

“spencer,” you gasped, pulling away to catch air in your lungs, “need to breathe.”

he nodded as though he’d forgotten that, mimicking your heavy breaths, but not taking his hands off you. you rested your forehead against his and blinked. it was starting to sink in, the line you’d just crossed together.

“do we have to tell hotch about this?” you suddenly asked.

spencer frowned, “why are you thinking about hotch right now?”

you laughed and kissed him again, quickly this time, “you’re right, let’s just…”

“yeah.”

thank god he agreed to be roomies.

#🤍ebullientheart #spencer reid #criminal minds #bau!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x injured!reader #injured!reader #fem!reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #humour #fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #tw injury

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reiderwriter · 5 months

Text

Unhappy Holidays

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).

Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).

Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆

Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.

Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.

If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.

It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.

Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.

A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.

He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.

Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.

The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.

“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”

“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”

“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”

You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.

He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.

Your resentment still burned though.

Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.

You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.

The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.

After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.

You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.

In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.

The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.

Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.

“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.

“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.

“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”

“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”

He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.

The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.

Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.

Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.

Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.

It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.

You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.

“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.

Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.

A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.

As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.

Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.

You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.

By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.

Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.

The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.

Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.

“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.

So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.

With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.

“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.

“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”

“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.

But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.

“You're sure he won't be there?”

“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”

“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”

“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

–X–

Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.

You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.

“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.

“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.

“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.

“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.

“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”

You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.

“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”

“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.

“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.

“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”

You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.

“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.

Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.

“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.

“I was invited.”

“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”

“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.

You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.

“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.

“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.

“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.

Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.

“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”

“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.

“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”

“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.

“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.

“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”

“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”

“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”

He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.

“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.

“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.

You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.

His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.

He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.

He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.

“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”

“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”

“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.

“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.

“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”

Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.

He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.

“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.

“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.

“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.

It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.

He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.

“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”

“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.

He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Liar.”

His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.

“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.

There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.

You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.

It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.

“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.

“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.

“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”

You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.

You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.

Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.

You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.

You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.

It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.

“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.

“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.

Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.

“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.

“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.

“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.

He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.

“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”

He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.

The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.

His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.

The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.

“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.

“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”

“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”

“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”

He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.

“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”

“Fuck. Why?”

“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”

You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.

He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.

“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”

“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”

“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.

“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.

“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”

“You just know how to piss them off?”

“Morgan says it comes naturally.”

“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”

A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.

“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.

“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”

“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.

“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.

“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”

He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.

“Oh my god you're an idiot.”

“When you're around, yes.”

“And that means I'm equally stupid.”

“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.

“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”

“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”

He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds smut #cm writing challenge

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Text

White Lies

summary: when you come back to work soon after getting injured on a case, all you can think about is keeping the public safe from your latest unsub; Spencer's thinking about keeping you safe

cw: case involves kidnapped and murdered women, but no details are given

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 981 words

You’re aching from sitting up straight in your chair, but you do your best to ignore it. You keep your eyes firmly on the screen as JJ presents an overview of your new case, doing your best to look engaged and attentive. A consequence of your job is extraordinarily perceptive coworkers, which means that when you have something you want to keep to yourself, you often have to go to inconvenient lengths to avoid notice. You’d hustled like never before when you’d gotten the call to come in, getting yourself situated in the briefing room a good ten minutes before anyone else arrived. That meant no one had been around to see you limping into the building, taking your time to sit down in your chair, or downing two extra-strength pain relievers with your coffee.

Emily had expressed some surprise at seeing you back at work so soon after you were injured in the field and you’d gotten an odd look from Spencer, but neither of them had time to question you further before Hotch entered and began asking for details about the case. This one’s got to do with women being kidnapped and subsequently dumped in rural Texas, and not to be dramatic, but no physical pain can be worse than the torment of not being able to help catch the guy who’s doing this to them. All you have to do now is avoid giving anyone on your team reason to question your capability.

“News networks have already published some details of the case, so we’ve got some damage control to do,” JJ finishes, “but the local law enforcement is very eager for our help and it seems like they’re going to be open to what we have to say.”

“Good. Y/N.” Hotch isn’t even looking up from the case, but you snap to attention. “You’re cleared to travel?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He snaps the binder shut. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone else stands, and you stall, waiting until all backs are turned before pushing yourself up out of your chair with a grimace. Spencer turns around at the door, stepping aside for Garcia to pass through, and then you’re alone.

“You’re cleared to travel?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you repeat yourself.

Spencer crosses his arms, standing just barely in front of the door. You could push past him if you really wanted to leave, but he knows you won’t. You and Spencer haven’t been together for long, but he’s always had a way of reading you when even the other members of your team can’t. You keep your face carefully blank. “You’ve barely had any time to heal,” he says. “Who would clear you?”

“A doctor.”

“What doctor?”

You sigh, crossing your arms to match him. “My friend Maggie.”

Spencer’s eyebrows knit together. “Doesn’t your friend Maggie live in Chicago?”

“She does,” you admit.

“So how did she determine that you were safe for travel?”

He’s frowning like he already knows. You think about not answering (what’s he going to do, whine to Hotch about it? They need everyone they can get for a time-sensitive case like this, and you know Spencer is just as aware of that as you are), but then you catch the flicker of worry in his gaze. It’s hard to be angry at him when he’s clearly doing what he thinks will help you most. “We talked on the phone,” you say, softly but still firm enough that you hope he won’t argue further. “I told her I feel fine, and she cleared me.”

The sigh that leaves Spencer is so long and heavy you’re surprised his ghost doesn’t come out at the end of it. “Sweetheart,” he says, coming forward to wrap his hands around your arms. His thumbs rub synchronized paths, up and down on the skin above your elbows. “You know that’s not the same as having a doctor actually check you over. We both know you’re not fragile—” he gives you a small smile, and you feel a tug on the corners of your lips in response “—but your body is vulnerable right now. The last thing you need is to make it worse by getting hurt again in the field.”

You can’t look him in the eyes. You can handle a verbal lashing, but it’s softness like this that wears you down, and Spencer knows it. You fix your gaze on his chin, trying to think past the sproutling of guilt he’s sneakily planted in your gut.

Spencer gives your arms a light squeeze. “Let me just talk to Hotch,” he says, pushing his advantage. “I’ll tell him about the mixup with your clearance, and then he can decide if you should still come along on this one or not. I’m sure Garcia could use the help if you stay back.”

You look at him, feeling like a kid chastened for being outside after dark. “Garcia’s a one-woman army, she doesn’t need me. You guys need all the manpower you can get for this case.”

“I know.” Spencer’s tone is consoling, and that only makes it worse. He drops a kiss on the top of your head. “But I need you to be safe even more than that. Hotch might still decide to let you come, okay? Just…you have to be honest about these things, sweetheart.” He gives you a disappointed look, and you have to look away from his eyes, well-meaning as they are. “Your health is a serious thing. We need you for years, not just for today.” He ducks, catching your gaze. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly, and Spencer gives you a smile, kissing your cheek.

“Okay, just give me a minute,” he says, and if he weren’t on the way to foil all your plans, you’d say he looks downright merry as he starts towards Hotch’s office. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

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junipers-archive · 10 months

Note

hey idk how your requests for fics/oneshots work but i thought of this idea! could you do a reader who gets injured a lot(bruises, scratches, burns) and doesnt seem to notice why shes in pain and spencer is always super worried, or points them out and asks if their ok and they are just genuinely like "huh??" like no clue they were actually hurt. i love protective spence. (this is totally self indulgent i spent 3 hours reading in the sun and didnt realize i was burnt until someone noticed ngl)

"Ow!" Suprisingly its not you who screeches, but Spencer who has been watching you like a hawk the entire case.

He had just witnessed you trying to retrace the steps of the serial killer you were tracking and cut yourself on the nearby wire fencing. Walking over to you, you notice his expression, eyebrows scrunched and mouth downturned.

"How does that not hurt?! It hurts me just to look at it!"

You're about to ask what he's talking about but you notice his pointed stare and follow his gaze to the slash down your upper right forearm. Its bleeding, which you would've realized if you hadn't been busy staring at him.

He looks over to hotch and gets a nod of understanding. And you realize you've done it again.

"oh. oops." Its all you can say, all you can come up with because it doesn't hurt, and also he's standing really close to you, too close, you can smell his cologne, which is clean but sweet and perfect and-

"How-how does this even happen to you?" He snaps you out of your daze, now guiding you to the car, popping the trunk to get the med kit out. He supposedly started it 'for the safety of the team members should something happen'.

Though everyone knows the only team member who needed it was you. You're 99% sure the only reason Hotch agreed to the carry on was because he was tired of having to ask for band aids at every police station you had to cooporate with.

Once you take a seat in the trunk he begins cleaning you up, which to your embarrassment, happens almost every case. But it was hardly ever your fault, your body just rarely experienced the sensation of pain.

Even when it meant you walked around with paper cuts on your fingers all day and only noticed the blood while doing paperwork.

"Sorry..." You mumble, lips twisting into a grimace at your childishness, you can't even take care of yourself, your coworker has to keep an eye on you. "You should be focused on the case, not worried about if I'll break my arm and not feel it.."

You cringe at his slight smile, expecting to be made fun of. "I-Its fine, Y/n I like taking care of you."

Rolling your eyes at his sweetness you tilt your head, "You really like having to keep your eyes on me 24/7, making sure I haven't gone and cut off a finger or fell and broken a bone, you want to keep your eyes on me?"

"Yes, I quite like it actually." And he's grinning Spencer Reid is grinning up at you like he's won the lottery, like looking after you is some prize he's won.

"What-Whatdoyoumean-" you begin quickly but he interrupts you,

"All done!" And he's walking away, he's really just walking away like he just didn't do what he just did.

"Spence! Spencer you come back here right now!" And now you have everyone looking at you like a lunatic. But by god you will find out exactly what he meant.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #junipers archive

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eideticallys · 1 year

Text

I Don't Mind If It's You

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: maybe styling spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

genre: fluff

word count: 1081

author's notes: i missed spencer's long hair so i decided to write a self-indulging fic about playing with his hair. also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

SPENCER HAS ALWAYS FOREGONE STYLING HIS HAIR IN THE MORNINGS. He always thought as long as he could just flick the strands of hair behind his ear, he was good to go. And besides, he had a hair tie with him. He could just simply tie it back—no more pesky hair in his line of sight.

He has always foregone styling his hair in the mornings until he met you. While he was big on practicality & “Hairstyling is a waste of time”!” You were the exact opposite.

It’s quite a funny thing to think about. Spencer, a certified germaphobe, was uncaring about how his hair looked, whether it was kept well today or it looked like a bird’s nest the next. And then, there’s you. You’re not a germaphobe though you pride yourself as a chic woman. Not a law enforcement job could stop you from looking like you came straight out of a magazine.

You always found the time to make sure your hair looked pretty and presentable before heading to work. In your free time—quite rare for FBI agents—you liked to read magazines for trendy new styles to try or watch videos online for tutorials.

And today was definitely your lucky day. No case. Everyone is off for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that’s where your luck ended.

You got injured during your last case. Your arm is in a cast, unable to move it around like you wanted it to. Fortunately, your hand was still good & thankfully, uninjured, unlike the rest of your arm. So, although you were free to lounge around your home, you couldn’t try that one hairstyle you found in one of those Cosmopolitan articles.

Until a genius idea came to you like a light bulb turning on.

“Hey, Spence?”

You asked your boyfriend, who was busy skimming through what seemed like his third or fourth book of the day.

He’s so cute when he’s all focused like this, you thought.

He hummed in response, still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pages.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This made Spencer look up from what he was reading, staring at you questioningly. You were the type of person who never asked for help or favors—unless needed. You often disagreed with him because he would prefer it if you told him whatever problem you had. Although he was a genius and could help with you, he knew lending an ear to someone was already a big help.

"You know I can't move my arm around, right?" You asked him, to which he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, is it itchy?” He asked, about to go off on one of his notable tangents. “It takes around six to eight weeks for broken bones in casts to heal. Also, around that time, the injured area starts to itch.”

You nodded fondly at the man, not minding a little bit that he went off-topic. You love listening to his mini-lectures—not only do you learn something new, but you’d also hear the soft tone of his voice. One thing about Spencer is he had a pretty voice. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“There are five main reasons why your casts itch—nerves, trapped moisture, immune response, dead skin cells, and body hair.” Spencer continued tattling. “Nerves cause itchiness because the nerve endings in the skin may fire as the cast begins to harden and dry, sending itch-inducing signals to the brain. As for the itchiness being an immune response, it ensues when the body perceives the plaster of Paris or fiberglass as an outside invader. Histamines may be released. Itching, redness, and swelling can be brought on by released histamine.”

With his excitement to share facts about how broken bones heal, you couldn’t help but laugh at how dorky but adorable your boyfriend was, which made him scrunch his nose.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t mind. I like it.”

At this, Spencer’s ears started turning pink, making you chuckle some more. He scratched the back of his neck in shyness as you took it as a clue to tell him what you needed from him.

“My arm isn’t itchy, babe,” you began, “What I need from you is your hair.”

“My what?”

“Your hair.”

It was your turn to get shy. You knew Spencer wasn’t a big fan of having his hair messed with. It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t like messing with it that much—minus the occasional flicking behind his ear and simply tying it back when it gets irritating.

“I—um,” you explained further, trying to fight against the embarrassment you were feeling. This was your boyfriend you’re talking to! “I saw this cute new hairstyle online and I wanted to try it but you know, with the broken arm and all…” You trailed off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You chuckled humorlessly, beyond embarrassed at this point.

This was such a bad idea. Why did you even bring it up? You were about to start berating yourself, ready to hop onto the next train and create a new identity for yourself, when you noticed Spencer shuffling towards you, sitting on the floor between your legs.

“You want me to style your hair?” You asked incredulously, still can’t believe Spencer would let you play with his hair.

“Of course.” He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world

Like it was an everyday thing for anyone—you—to do his hair.

“I don’t mind my hair being played with if it’s you.”

At that, you blushed as you started combing through his soft curls with your fingers. Spencer merely smiled softly at the gesture and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yeah?” You asked back as you started braiding his hair. “What is it, Spence?”

“I love you.” He muttered. “I may not like it when people touch my hair out of nowhere. But if it’s you, I don’t mind having you do it for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at his sudden confession and were about to say those three words back when you felt it.

Spencer planted a kiss on your injured arm and pulled your other one down, so he could be face-to-face with you. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Maybe styling Spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

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