#spencer reid sad

[radiant-reid]

Back To You

Summary: Spencer never thought she would love him the way he loves her, but he also never thought she would come back from the dead

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst/Fluff)

Content warning: description of reader being beaten up, similar to how Emily was in Lauren, lots of talk about death, mentions of blood, mentions of previous BAU related injuries

Word Count: 5.3k

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It was a slippery slope. One day, Y/n was fine, loving the work she did for the BAU, knowing who the bad guys were, and having a family she completely trusted. Then, her world was turned upside down with one simple phone call.

Suddenly, she wasn't cozy at the top of the mountain, she was skiing down it without poles or bindings. Nothing to keep her safe, no helmet or goggles. Nothing to keep her comfortable, no gloves, ski jacket, or pants.

It was just her, alone on her skis, terrified and alone.

Spencer noticed as soon as she rejected an offer to go out to her favorite restaurant after they got back from a case. Even when they were exhausted and had gone days without sleeping, neither of them declined the opportunity to spend time together. And when Spencer couldn't come up with something he'd done wrong, he realized there must be something wrong with her.

Then there were the suspicious phone calls, the darkening circles around her eyes, the paranoia she'd started displaying, the long lunches, the general pulling away from the team.

No one else noticed, and when he tried to raise it, it only resulted in JJ and Morgan teasing him about being in love with her, something he couldn't deny.

He'd stopped lying to himself about their friendship a long time ago. The line in the sand had been drawn the day they met and stepped over 39 seconds later when she smiled at him.

The problem was, he could never get the words out, and when she started pulling away, it felt even less likely that his feelings were reciprocated. Maybe, Penelope had babbled about his crush and she was trying to let him down gently rather than smash his heart.

Surely, he thought on those long nights he spent awake, she would tell him if something was wrong.

But she never did.

Not until it was too late.

He races into that cold, dark building with only one goal. He's going to be the hero she needs, get her out of the dire situation he now understood, and once she'd recovered, tell her everything.

Y/n mumbles out his name when she sees him. Laying on the concrete floor with what-are-sure-to-be bruises developing on her face, blood gushing out of her nose, and, worst of all, a massive stick sticking out of her abdomen.

Major abdominal wound, units of O negative blood on stand-by, potential organ penetration. His brain runs through the scientificness of it all, trying to stay objective and not fall apart as he watches the girl he loves in a life-threatening situation.

He's praying, to a God he doesn't believe exists, that the dizziness from all that blood loss is making the pain lessen.

"Y/n, hey, you're going to be okay." He comforts her first before calling out to Morgan and the other agents clearing the building. "She's in here!" His voice is just as desperate when he pleads for a medic into his comms.

"Spence, I'm sorry." She apologizes, barely there.

He knows just how bad it is, and he wishes he wasn't a genius with a Ph.D. in Mathematics because he can work out the probability of this situation ending well. It's low.

The pain is completely overwhelming, worse than anything she's felt before, but she's not crying out from it. All her strength is gone, and her eyes threaten to close. She's fighting it, repeating a motto to keep herself awake. If she's going to get a chance to tell Spencer how she feels, she's going to have to keep her consciousness.

"Hey, come on," Spencer says, trying to keep her awake while he holds his hands over her wound to stop some of the blood.

It's futile.

There's so much of the sticky warm liquid and the alarm bells that should be going off in a germaphobes head are quiet.

Her hands are shaking around his, cold too, and her face pales quickly, all the color and life draining from her in front of his eyes.

"Just stay with me." He pleads, hating every second of this. He knows what being close to death looks like, and this is it. "Focus on my voice, Y/n, and keep your eyes open." It's all she is focused on. The sounds and lights around them are drowned out in favor of looking into his eyes, listening to his voice, feeling his hands, and smelling his cologne. But each of those senses are fading, numb as the feeling in her body diminishes.

"For me." He adds the last bit as a final motivator.

"I'm sorry." She tries again, voice barely a whisper. The slippery slope is even worse this time, she realizes when her vision darkens. It's not gradual- with a threat she has a chance at beating- instead, and although it doesn't feel like it, this is quick, and no amount of profiling is going to help her beat blood loss. "It killed me to lie to you."

It truly did. Every day since Doyle escaped, she'd wanted to tell Spencer and the team, and ask them for help, but the loyalty she had to her former team took precedent. It was a decision she's regretting.

"It's okay, I promise, it's okay," Spencer tells her. "You're so brave for what you did. You're so fearless and kind and intelligent." The light of hope in him darkens when her eyes flutter shut and her breathing gets impossibly shallower. "And you've really got to stay awake for me."

"Just thinking." Y/n mumbles, her thoughts slowing down and she struggles to process any information.

Spencer nods rapidly in approval. "Good, keep thinking, think about whatever you want to keep that beautiful brain of yours going."

"I like to think... that in another world we had a chance to be happy." She confesses, and he sees tears fall down her cheek for the first time since he found her. "Together."

The tears in his eyes get choked back because he doesn't want to make it about him. There's nothing more he wants than that with her alive and well.

"We can have that." He encourages her, although he's not sure if he's trying to convince her of it or reassurance himself. All his attention is on her, not listening to Morgan shouting for a medic 10 feet away. "And when you're all better, we can go out. Wherever you want."

The tiredness starts to set in more than before, and it's worse than the 60 hours she stayed up on a case once. Everything inside her is trying to fight but she's all out of energy.

It's time.

Spencer watches it in front of him, helpless. She's too far gone when she can't fight anymore, drained... and dead. He can't check her pulse to know for sure but he's seen the life slip out of unsubs' bodies and it just happened to her.

He holds her just as tightly, pressing against her wound and clutching her body to his chest. "Just squeeze my hand, I need to know you're in there." He pleads. "We can have everything you want in the future. Kids, dogs, a big house, a little cottage, even a house by the beach. I really don't care where we live, honestly." He's not sure why he's so stuck on one detail for the fantasy. Maybe it's the domesticity that living together could bring. Waking up next to her every day was a dream that feels like it's slipping away. "I'll build you a house if I have to."

She's not there. The light inside her has been flicked off just like that. Not even a faint smile or the rising and falling of her chest. She's dead, and he knows it.

"Y/n, come on, stay with me!" He begs again, shooting Morgan a terrified glance. He's still frantically demanding a medic, but it doesn't seem like anyone can come fast enough. He needs to try it out once because he knows he's never going to get another chance. He'll never love anyone the way he loves her. It comes out in a broken whisper as he sobs for the first time. "I love you."

The medics come a few seconds later, and Spencer would later reflect on that moment, wondering why they hadn't driven faster.

Morgan practically has to pull Spencer off her, even though Spencer knows there's not a lot more he can do for her. He also knows there's not a lot they can do, but he's clinging to hope and praying for a miracle.

He stands there, frozen in shock, while they frantically work around Y/n and put her on a gurney. The look on his face is blank, so pale that Morgan's worried he's going to faint. Even when she's gone, he stays standing looking at where she laid.

"Spencer." Morgan places a hand on his friend's shoulder, grounding him so he doesn't have to catch him when he passes out. "She's with the people that can help her the most."

Spencer tries to suck in a deep breath of air but it doesn't feel like any oxygen is getting to his lungs. His hands are still covered in her blood and he can't seem to wipe it away on his shirt.

"She'll be okay." Morgan tries to assure him.

"No." Spencer shakes his head. "She was gone, Derek. Gone!" Just like that, he's at anger, running his hand through his hair roughly. It's an easier emotion to feel than sadness. "If we had just gotten here five minutes earlier, if the medic didn't take so fucking long, she might have a chance."

Morgan has never heard him swear before, and it sounds wrong coming out of Spencer's mouth. "We need to go to the hospital. She's going to want to see you when she wakes up."

The comforting words are something Spencer thinks about for weeks after that night. They barely registered when Morgan said them but he wonders those nights if they were genuine, if Morgan really thought she'd make it.

Spencer can't stop pacing in the hospital. He's cleaned up a little bit, changed into the shirt Penelope grabbed from his place, and washed her blood off his hands.

He could add up how far he has walked if his brain would work. Even facts are working for him. All he can think about is the memories he has with her and how the world wouldn't have a purpose without her.

The team has been shooting him sympathetic looks, but they're all suffering from the same daunting feeling. They're hoping and praying and sitting with emotionless faces. There's no talking between them just Penelope's sobs and the bustling noises of a busy hospital.

Spencer kind of wishes he could cry. He can't seem to actualize how he's feeling. Nothing helps.

It seems like hours of numbness before anything happens. Everyone else had moved seats, stood up or sat down, drunk coffee, or tried to brave food. Everyone except Spencer. The only moving he's done is the marathon he's walked.

Then JJ walks out. And the worst news she's ever brought him before then was that the bakery didn't have chocolate frosted with sprinkles donuts.

Until she locks eyes with him and just stares at him for a few seconds with blood-shocked eyes. No words are needed, but she confirms Spencer's worst nightmare verbally too. "She never made it off the table."

Instantly, the waiting room is filled with tears, like a chain reaction starting with Penelope and ending with Rossi. Everyone's crying, something none of them have ever seen before.

He had been hoping, even if he was simultaneously trying to convince himself there was no point.

Hope: a human instinct.

Survivor bias had overclouded his judgment. He had been held hostage and tortured for days while drugged, then poisoned with a lethal strain of Anthrax, Elle had been shot and then had the wound played with, Penelope had been shot in the chest, and Hotch had been stabbed and left for dead overnight. The BAU was immortal. They always pull through, or so he thought.

It's all far too overwhelming, and he attempts to rush out of the room to find a quiet place to sob, but JJ catches his arm.

"Spence." She says in the kind of sympathetic tone reserved for times one knows their words won't be of comfort.

"It's not fair." He mumbles, not ready to share Y/n's deeply personal last words and his subsequent confession.

There's another thing he doesn't say because he knows JJ knows it already: if he ever finds Ian Doyle, he'll break his oath.

She nods in understanding, wrapping her arms around him to console him. But she doesn't understand. "I'm so sorry." She tells him as she holds him tightly.

Spencer reciprocates the hug, but it doesn't help him at all. The love of his life is gone. There's no saving her that can be done. She's dead, and she's never coming back, and Spencer's never going to get to have all those special moments he wants to have with her.

In this universe, they'll never be together.

He's not sure how long he hugs JJ, but the whole time he can't get the picture of Y/n's dead body out of his head. It's so persistent that when they pull away, he rushes to press his palms into his eyes and massage it out.

Hotch looks like he's going to say something, remind him he'll be able to love again, but Spencer's going to know he's lying. So he just pulls Spencer in for a hug.

In the mental chaos, he loses track of JJ and Hotch and cries while he hugs Penelope. That night, all the team does is cry and hold each other.

If losing her is the worst day of his life, burying her comes in a close second. He keeps looking around for her, but he's been doing that since they left the hospital. He hasn't eaten or slept since then, only had the coffees with sugar JJ forced into him, and he's still trying to remember to talk about her in the past tense.

He's so dehydrated, and he's cried so many tears that he's not sure how he manages more for her funeral. It's warm outside, but he still feels as cold as he felt the night she died inside.

The seven of them stand around her coffin with roses, and if he had the words, he would tell them all about how little she liked roses, that she would have preferred tulips: the symbol of perfect love.

When it's his turn, he kisses his fingertips before touching them to the cold wood. Then, he places the flower down, knowing it, too, will die.

~

It didn't take seven whole months for Spencer to know he wasn't ever going to be able to stop thinking about her. He knew that the night she died, but what he couldn't imagine then was that it would get easier and that he would feel guilt because of that.

The hours of therapy helped- much more than the therapy he got when his dad left- and so did having the team.

At some point, he didn't spend every day in tears. He started getting out of bed and throwing himself into his work again, but he still had those little moments with her in his dreams or before he remembered reality when he woke up.

Then, another curveball came, and he's forced back into thinking about her when Morgan reveals all he had been working on regarding Declan Doyle's whereabouts.

There's an unspoken promise he makes to himself to make sure Y/n's sacrifice wasn't in vain. He's going to save that little boy, and it is transference because he couldn't save her.

Focused as ever, he goes into that house with Rossi, clearing each room silently as they search for the boy worth dying for.

He's grateful when he gets the call they have Ian Doyle in custody. Not only because it means Declan's got a better chance of being recovered alive and someone's going to pay for what happened to Y/n, but because he knows that if he were on the rooftop, he would have beat Doyle to death.

He can't even look at Doyle through the two-way mirror when they're back at the BAU, but he's so glad there are developing bruises on the murderer's face. After throwing up to the memory of Y/n's developing bruises, he splashes water on his face in the bathroom and does the breathing exercises he's been taught so as to not spiral.

But Doyle doesn't know where Declan is, and they're in a world of problems again. They need a Hail Mary, and Spencer knows the course of action with the highest probability of effective recovery of Declan.

But it's Hotch who's ready to play his trump card first.

"Everybody have a seat." He orders, and it's weird for Spencer to hear his voice after so long, but it's also comforting.

The team's back together again, but she's still missing, and he misses her more when they're working on a case she used to be on. He misses her in that way when he reads reports with her name.

But the atmosphere quickly shifts. In one breath, it's as serious as that night at the hospital. Spencer's heart starts racing like it did before they found Y/n bleeding out that night. There's a thumping in his chest so loud that his body is threatening to make him throw up again, that sick feeling extending exponentially.

Spencer only catches keywords as he hyperventilates. "A lot of blood," "stabilize," "airlifted," "Bethesda," "need-to-know," "reassigned," "several identities."

He puts it together before it really registers in his brain, but it doesn't hit him fully until Penelope asks, "She's alive?"

The logistics of it fly through his head and questions go off like alarm bells. Who knew? Where is she now? How? Where has she been? Is she okay? Why couldn't he know? Was all of it a lie?

He's glad when Morgan starts to lay into Hotch, knowing he can't speak right now, let alone tell Hotch how he really feels.

But everything stops again when Penelope's mouth drops open, his head whips around, and Y/n walks in.

~

The first person she asks for when she wakes up is Spencer. She wants Spencer at her bedside because seeing him will numb the immense pain in her abdomen.

Instead, it's JJ in the chair next to the hospital bed. "JJ." She mumbles, getting her friend's attention.

JJ hands her a glass of water and doesn't wait to give her a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Me too. Thank you. Can you get Spence?" Y/n asks, although she's not trying to make it seem like she's ungrateful JJ is there.

"Yeah, of course." JJ agrees, but when she walks out of the room, she doesn't come back with Spencer, she comes back with Hotch.

The unit chief sits down in the seat JJ was sitting in and Y/n's alarmed by it because he almost always stays standing. "You're not in Boston, you're in Bethesda." He tells her.

She assumes JJ's nervous face is a precursor for the trouble she's about to be ine. "Hotch, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should have as soon as Doyle was mentioned. Actually, I should have told you the entire history soon as I knew Doyle had escaped in Russia." She launches into an apology.

Hotch stops her with a hand on her shoulder. "Y/n, it's okay." He assures her.

It should comfort her but it only makes her worry more about what's making JJ so cagey. "What's wrong?"

"As long as Doyle's out there, you're not safe." He says, easing her worrying taking precedence over bedside manner. She nods in agreement. She's not in the hospital because Doyle's a good guy. "You can't come back to your old life."

"Witness protection?" She cuts him off, too anxious to find out what's happening to her.

"Reassignment overseas." He states her fate, and just like that, the pain in her stomach doubles as her mind spirals. She can't breathe deeply anyway, but it's even harder now. "You'll be in Paris with several identities even we don't know."

It hits her then that only Hotch and JJ are in the hospital room with her and that Spencer would be there if he knew. He would hold her hand through the tough news and say goodbye properly.

She would later scoff at the irony of it being Paris, the City of Love, since she's not allowed to talk to the person she loves. A person who thinks she's dead.

"They don't know." She realizes, a stream of silent tears starting down her cheeks.

"They can't," JJ tells her, stepping away from the door and closer to the bed to hold her hand.

Y/n shakes her head firmly, looking at Hotch with pleading eyes. "No, please, no." She knows it would break Spencer, but it's also breaking her.

"I'm sorry," Hotch says, and it looks like he genuinely means it. He knows better than anyone how hard it is to lose someone you're in love with, and now it has to happen to two members of his team. "I take full responsibility for the decision, but it has to be this way."

"What do they think happened?" She asks quietly, trying to wipe up some of the tears, and put on a brave face.

"That you died on the operating table," JJ tells her, only so Hotch doesn't have to. "It's need-to-know."

Y/n's eyes rapidly dart over to Hotch, who had already accepted blame. "No, Hotch, they're need-to-know. They have to be. Spencer, he-" She can't even get the last words out with her crying, and JJ pulls her into an awkward hug to console her.

"He'll be okay," Hotch assures her, but JJ's a much worse liar and the look on her face tells the concern she has for Spencer's broken heart.

The whole plane to Paris, Y/n cries. She's grateful it's a private jet and that she's alive, but there's a lot to be desired. Trying not to think about Spencer is challenging, and it's a different feeling than she had when she would try not to think about him while falling asleep at night.

JJ's comfort only goes so far, and details are missing from her story about the nights Spencer comes over to her place to cry.

When they separate, Y/n's only wish is for her to keep Spencer safe.

The call comes in to come back- that it's safe and Doyle's been caught- after 7 long months. Of course, there was work to do, and it's what she spent most of her time doing, but it's the loneliest she's ever been. She clings to the house Spencer told her about before she blacked out and the fantasy worlds she had created in her head.

She would take being home in DC over the bank accounts full of money she was given any day.

However, when she gets back to DC, there are about a million more places she'd rather be than about to see the team. She loves them so much, and it dawns on her as she gets in the elevator that they might not love her once they find out what she had to do.

The bullpen looks the same, aside from the fact her desk has been cleaned off. The stabbing pain in her heart is there again when she thinks about who had to clean it off.

It smells the same in that room; clean but also like coffee, paperwork, and, somehow, laughter. It's home. The memories in that room are so prominent in her mind. Birthdays, Halloweens, one Thanksgiving, late nights, early mornings, coffee drinking, cake eating, takeout Chinese.

Her legs are almost too shaky to get up the stairs, and her hands are too clammy to help by holding the railing. She can't even get a breath in or stop her heart from beating rapidly.

Hotch explains it all, holding their attention as their faces form shocked expressions. It feels so good to see them all again, alive and well, even though she knows what's about to happen. She takes a deep breath that does nothing and swallows thickly before stepping over the threshold.

Penelope notices her first, and everyone else's eyes are on her within seconds. There's shock, disbelief, and a glimmer of anger from each of them. Y/n never hated being under the spotlight, but right now, it feels like she's naked in front of an audience full of people: wholly exposed.

She looks at Spencer once she has confirmed everyone's safe, but he stares right through her like she's a ghost. Then there's a string of put-together sentences about how sorry she is and how much she missed them all and the series of warm hugs she's been longing for, each member of the team holding her tighter than usual to make sure she was really there.

Spencer's last to hug her, hesitant enough that she has to make the first move and wrap her arms around his shoulders. He tentatively hugs her back, touching her like she's made of glass.

She supposes she is shattered glass desperately being held together by glue. Hugging Spencer doesn't feel like it used to, not when he's so stiff.

~

They don't speak until after the trial, and it's on the advice given to him by Strauss- of all people

"Hi." She makes the first move like she's made the first move to get everyone back.

It's late, but she knows he's not going to be sleeping. She can't sleep either, not only because it's 7 am in Paris but also because of the adrenaline still pumping through her.

Still, coming to his place seems invasive.

"Come in." Spencer gestures, moving out of the way to let her in. He doesn't look happy about it, the same emotionless expression painfully on her face.

"Thanks." She accepts, stepping inside and taking off her shoes and coat.

It doesn't feel hostile but it's cold in his living room.

Y/n can't help but look around and play spot the difference. There are stacks of new books, and she knows he would have had to go to yard sales alone.

It's as tidy as it usually is, shoes neatly placed by the door, and his coat on the hook is new, unsurprising since he loves a good discount.

Morally, she shouldn't be as grateful as she is that there are no shoes or artifacts belonging to a woman.

There's a new planted pot of tulips in the corner, growing healthily, as well as a boquet of colorful tulips on the kitchen island. The other new thing is a framed map on the wall above his desk.

Still, it's so similar that she can't help but feel like she's walking into the past. This was the place she fantasized about being in most, lounging around with him on a Sunday morning or having take out on a Friday as more than friends

"They're for you." He says hoarsely, nodding towards her favorite flowers.

Y/n braves a look at him, and if his voice wasn't such a significant indicator of the fact he's been up crying, then his tear-stained cheeks, blood-shocked eyes, and dark circles are.

"Thank you." She replies but she didn't come to accept a gift.

"Do you want a drink?" He offers like they're not standing in a bubble of confrontational tension.

She shakes her head. "I just want to talk to you."

"So talk." His tone is harsh, stinging her. It breaks her heart a little, too. Clearly, it was selfish and idealistic to think she could come back and they could pick up where they left off, go back to flirting, and almost-confessions.

Her fingers drum against the countertop, and Spencer watches her awkwardness with an intense gaze.

"I'm sorry." She starts off emphasizes the apology she'd spoken to the whole team. This has to feel personal because she's so emotionally involved.

Even though it's been on her mind for so long and she's had time to imagine what she'd say, the words don't flow out the way she hoped.

"You've said that," Spencer says shortly when there aren't any more words that come out of her mouth.

"I mean it." She stresses. "I can't- I'm- I know it's so unfair, and I cannot imagine how painful it was for you and I'm so sorry for putting you through that." She rambles, failing at succinctness. Tears welled in her eyes, painfully stinging. Spencer just watches from a safe distance. "You don't have to forgive me, but I need you to know how much I wished I could tell you. I hate that I had to do that."

"I don't." Spencer's quiet voice stops her from continuing. He steps away from the other side of the kitchen island and closer to her. "I mean, I do, it was... nightmarish believing you were dead, but I'm grateful you're safe." He squeaks, as an afterthought, "I'm not mad."

She tilts her head back to avoid the tears, but it's too late. "You should be." She states, noticing the way he's still looking through her like she's not really there. "I just want you to feel something towards me again."

"I do." He assures her, reaching out to hold her hands in front of her. She's really there. Standing in front of him, it's just setting in that maybe his dreams aren't too far-fetched. "And please don't cry. I hate it when you cry."

"Sorry." She sniffles. "I really missed you, Spencer."

His hands drop hers in favor of wrapping around her waist and pulling her into his chest. "I missed you, too." He replies, breathing in the scent of her perfume and shampoo. It's the same one.

They hug right in the middle of his living room for a full minute in silence before she pulls away. "I need to know something."

"Mm?" He prompts, relishing in the feeling of having her so close again and memorizing each detail of her face.

"Before I...was out, did you say something... or did I just imagine that?" She wonders.

Spencer's worried about exactly how much she heard. Now knowing she wasn't dead, he knew there was a chance she remembered everything. "After you told me about us being together in a parallel universe, yeah."

"Were you just saying that because...?" She asks, trailing off because she really doesn't want to believe it was just for comfort.

"No." He answers, not giving her a minute to overthink it.

A little sigh of relief comes from her and then a smirk like she used to smirk at him. "I also remember the promise of a date."

He chuckles lightheartedly, but his head is deeply filled with love. "I promised I'd build you a house, Y/n."

"Maybe we'll start with a date." She suggests, snuggling into his chest again. He smelt like being at home, warmth and safety.

"Not tonight, though." He tells her. "We're going to get dressed up, go out somewhere fancy, and do this properly now that you're here and okay."

She nods in agreement, feeling like crying again at how happy she was feeling and how much she loves him. "I am okay." She agrees. "And, insider tip, you've already won me over."

That assurance was not going to stop Spencer from romancing her at every opportunity he got in the mysterious world where he managed to get her back.

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#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid sad #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds family #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #criminal minds oneshot

[literaila]

Would you be cool with writing a little blurby blurb about spencer reacting to reader being a blanket hog? If not thats totally okay, have a great day/night <3

come closer

spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, sleep deprevation, and fluff.

a/n: i am totally cool.

*

your skin is soft as spencer brushes it with his fingertips. smooth to the touch, wonderfully imperfect and impactful, and all the things spencer admires, even in the dark of the night. 

he feels the nerves in his fingers reacting to the mere idea of your skin. 

he feels the heat dripping from you--even though he shouldn't because you're peacefully asleep. because your skin should be colder than normal, rougher than usual. 

and spencer shouldn't really be awake. 

but he is. and you don't know this. 

you don't really know about the nights that he stays up, laying with you because you've refused to go to bed without him, listening to your calm breathing and feeling the goosebumps rise up your skin. 

you don't know about his staring, about how your face curves and concaves in the moonlight, and how you don't wake up if the bedside lamp is on. 

if spencer is reading because even for him, there are nights where your lullaby can't lull him to sleep. 

there are nights when he doesn't sleep at all. 

you don't know about any of this. 

spencer prefers it that way. he prefers to keep his eeriness a secret. 

he likes to watch you without the ridicule. 

and he enjoys laying next to you, even if there are inches apart. 

but now--on this particular night where spencer hasn't yet fallen asleep--it's more than just your delicacy that keeps him awake. or, correction. wakes him up. 

because you shouldn't be sweating in the middle of the night. 

the apartment is air-conditioned, and spencer is far too conditioned to the certainty that you'll get enough sleep. he's read all of the studies, knows all about the perfect environment for the necessary eight hours you need. 

and he turns the heat down right before you go to bed. 

so, when spencer wakes up--preferring to ignore his own frigidness for your comfort--sliding a hand over to reach out for you, as he does most mornings, his first thought is that you might be sick. 

his hand is gentle as he leans over you, pressing his palm to your forehead. 

and you're warm. you're always warm. but you don't have a fever. 

spencer leans up. really opens his eyes. 

you're still asleep. your face is perfectly calm, void of any emotion--besides, of course, the little furrow between your brows. but that's normal. 

spencer runs another hand down your arm. 

it takes maybe a moment to realize that you're not really all that warm. 

spencer's just cold. 

that makes sense then. 

he lays back down, taking another look at your face, a look at the clock, and deciding that he should go back to sleep. 

his eyes close. 

a moment passes. 

spencer sits up again, realizing, maybe just now--even though he should've about three minutes ago--that his side of the bed is completely bare. 

he looks over to you, again, with a frown. 

you've stolen all of the covers. 

you're snuggled up--peaceful smile, now, that maybe spencer's just imagining--in a cocoon of all the blankets. you're wrapped round and round, leg bending over to his side, having escaped the prison that you've made yourself. 

spencer is just a little bit bitter. 

first, he tries to pull the blankets from you. because there's at least five--at your insistence--and spencer deserves at least one. 

he doesn't want you to overheat, of course. 

but your hands wrap about the blankets--just like every other body part of yours--and spencer finds himself watching as you cuddle the blankets instead of him. 

he's on his side of the bed, freezing to death. 

so he pulls a little bit harder. 

still, you don't budge. it's a commonly known fact that you're strong than him. 

usually, it's not a problem. 

spencer blows a breath out, runs a hand through his hair. he considers trying to fall asleep without any blankets. considers climbing on top of you to share the warmth. 

he pulls again. 

you don't move at all. in fact, spencer is very sure that you look even more content, playing this game of tug-of-war with him. 

you might even be awake. 

spencer leans over to you again, watching every slight twitch of your face. "sweetheart," he coos, but his voice is rough. 

you don't move. 

you've still got that little smile, that little infraction of your brows. 

spencer kisses it. pretends that this is all normal. 

"sweetheart," he says, again, this time kissing your cheek. 

and he really wouldn't be doing this--not if he thought that you weren't awake. 

but spencer is sure that your breathing has changed in the last five minutes. 

he checks the clock again. 

it's 3:23. 

he cradles the side of your cheek, playing with the skin there. he waits for your lips to twitch. 

they don't. 

"i know you're awake," he says, even though he's not sure. "i can't believe you've managed to take all of our seven blankets. i didn't think that was mathematically possible." 

you don't move. 

"if you give me one you can go back to sleep..." he wagers, moving his head down so he can kiss your jaw. one peck, then two, and some more. 

you're almost completely still underneath him. 

spencer feels a bit dumbfounded. 

"do i have to go out and buy a new one?" 

finally, your nose scrunches. 

spencer pokes it. "i knew you were awake." 

"i'm sleeping." 

"that makes one of us." 

you smile, just a little. it's the minimal amount of movement that spencer loves most. "cute," you say, but your eyes are still closed. 

your voice is groggy. 

spencer watches your face go slack again. 

"hey," he says, kissing your eyelids now, then your nose, then your cheek. it's a manipulation tactic at best, a compulsion at worst. "can i have a blanket?" 

"what will you give me?" 

spencer blows a raspberry. "a decent amount of sleep?" 

"c'mon, spencer..." you mumble, half-dead to the world. 

spencer absolutely adores it. 

"how about a kiss?" 

"how about i go back to sleep? you're the one always complaining--" 

"y/n," he whines, falling into your neck. "i'm cold." 

"you're crushing me." 

spencer considers this, looks up, then down, at his body on top of yours. the lower part of his body is held up by his knee, the upper part by his arms. in other words, he's barely even touching you. 

"no, i'm not." 

"well you should be." 

spencer smiles. he pokes your cheek. "cute," he mimics.

"spencer," you whine back. "it's too early." 

"i just want a blanket." 

"you have a blanket." 

your eyes are open now. he gives you a dry stare. "you'd think so, wouldn't you?" 

"don't be smart right now." 

"can i have a blanket," he says, softly, kissing your chin again, "please?" 

you giggle. you're pushing yourself against him, and spencer isn't even sure if it's a conscious act. 

he doesn't mind. 

"why did you wake me up for a blanket?" you ask him, ignoring the question. 

"maybe i just wanted to talk to you." 

"oh, yeah," you laugh when he kisses your eyelids again. "i'm such a great conversationalist at three in the morning." 

"you are." 

"spencer..." you sigh again. "i don't think i can get you a blanket while you're on top of me." 

spencer looks at the covers wrapped around your legs, buried under your weight. 

he suddenly doesn't want to move. 

he hadn't considered that you were too far away from him. that without you, in his arms, wrapped around him, breathing in his skin and falling asleep against him--he might've missed it. you.

he's not very cold any more.

"okay," spencer says, so simply. 

you laugh. "will you get off?" you push at his chest. 

spencer leans his head down again, burying himself in your skin. in your warmth. in the smell of you and the way you feel in the middle of the night. 

he's almost confused, at how wonderful you feel, even now. 

"no," he whispers against your skin. "i'm okay." 

you mumble something against his head that he can't hear. 

it's a moment of breathing you in, of feeling your chest rise and fall and you go still again, before you ask, "are you sure?" 

"you're warm," spencer answers. 

"if you wanted to cuddle," you tell him, voice mostly tired, but a little bit teasing. "you just had to ask." 

*

my masterlist here.

taglist: @maltamurdock @goldentournesol @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @nadixq @alexxavicry @directioner5life @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat

#spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer reid au #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid sad #spencer reid smut #criminal minds insert #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reid #spencer reid imagine

[bucker3911]

#sad brown haired bisexual weirdos #basically #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #cm memes #mgg #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader

[ficmeoutofthisworld]

"i'm sad again don't tell my boyfriend" but ur boyfriend is a profiler and already knows u can hide nothing from them

#sad reader rn #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #ficme.txt

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Some angst for your morning <3 Love a little fight scene.

wc: 700 (ish)

"You're trying to distract me."

You hummed and shook your head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was very obvious that you were, in fact, trying to distract Spencer from his work. But you couldn't help yourself!

He had been ordered to take the weekend off, Hotch crediting 'burnout' as his reasoning. Spencer did not take likely to this, since it made him feel as though he was slipping, he wasn't good enough for the team.

You, however, were thrilled by the fact that Spencer was forced to take a long weekend.

"Yes. You are."

"Well maybe if you actually took the time off like you were suposed to instead of ignoring me all fucking weekend then we wouldn't have to make me feel like shit for asking for attention from you for one minute." You muttered under your breath, chucking the pillow down where you had been sitting, moving towards the kitchen and away from the living room.

What Spencer had failed to consider was just how happy you were to have him home for a weekend. He failed to recognize the assurance that came with him telling you his definitive whereabouts for three days. He failed to notice the tension leave your shoulders, the smile that edged it way onto your face. Spencer was too busy internalizing what Hotch had said about working to much to realize, that you were hoping to spend this time with him.

Not just sitting in the same room as him as he barely slept and did the exact opposite of what Hotch told him to do.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Came your voice from the other room, causing Spencer to frown, because he knew what you said, and he knew that you knew what he said---he could start to see the burnout when he realized how quickly he would spiral in his thoughts.

"Shit."

Placing the book down on the coffee table, he followed where you had gone to, stopping in the door frame.

"What do you want Spencer." Tone flat.

"I-I...You were hoping for more time together this weekend."

You snorted and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "Someone is finally back on their profiling game I see."

This caused Spencer's cheek to tinge red. He had failed to notice the basic signs of you being upset--Hotch was right. He did need time off.

"I'm sorry."

"That would mean more if it wasn't Monday night and you didn't have work tomorrow."

Spencer dragged a hand down his face. "I don't want to fight."

"I do." You said simply, looking at him expectantly. You were pissed, rightfully so. And up until now, you hadn't said anything. Admittedly, you should have said something to Spencer earlier. However, you were sure that Spencer wouldn't have actually given you his time or focus if you did.

"I--" He just looked at you. "I really don't know what to say to that."

"That's fine. You don't need to say anything. Maybe you should work on your listening skills instead."

"That's not--"

"Fair? I don't know, I think it is. Hotch told you to take the long weekend off to give your brain a break. And did you listen to him? No. I told you about plans I was hoping we would make for this weekend on Friday, that I know you didn't remember. And this whole weekend, you never actually listened to me, barely processing anything I said."

You took a breath, trying to calm yourself down in the moment, but not diminishing your thoughts, because you were right. And Spencer knew it to.

"What can I do to make it up to you."

You looked at him for a moment before shaking your head. "I really don't know Spence. I don't know." You brushed past him, headed towards the bedroom. It's not to say that you lost your fighting spirit, it's just that you were so severely let down by the man you loved that you didn't really know what to say anymore.

Spencer was unsure as to what to do. So he just stood there, watching as you walked away, not moving to stop you. Only flinching when the door to your shared bedroom slammed, and he was still on the other side of it.

#x reader #sorry guys #sad ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid masterlist #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #crimnal minds x reader #angst fanfic #Spencer Reid x reader death #x reader fanfiction #x reader angst #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x male reader

[spentfromspence]

JJ: Why are you sad?

Spencer: i don’t know.

JJ: So just for no reason?

Spencer: Oh no, there are plenty of reasons i’m just not sure which it is this time. 

#this could really work for any of the team members #criminal minds #criminal minds incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect criminal minds #reid #spencer reid #jj #jennifer jareau #jeid #not a jeid fan but this could be seen as jeid #cm #sad spencer reid #BAU needs a break #criminal minds fandom

[fuckingstrange]

——————————————————————————————————————

Quieting Down

——————————————————————————————————————

WARNINGS: Mean!Bau Team (apologies fr), Anxious & Upset Spencer, Brief mentions of insecurity, non-beta read

WORDS: 1,195

PAIRING: S.R. x gn!reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Spencer has been quite.. off, recently. He's been more reserved and quiet, and while the team has started seeming to almost praise him for it, you can't help but be concerned. Especially because you see things that they don't after the work day.

You see him at home. Where he remains reserved, unlike normal. He doesn't talk to you much, usually responding with a head nod or a light shake, sometimes with one word replies. When he does speak and use his voice it's with a tone so timid and the volume of a mouse. It's heartbreaking, really. You miss when he'd ramble, when he'd talk to you and constantly say how much he loves you. You know he still loves you, that much hasn't changed, but you miss his voice.

Right now, you each are walking into the door after a long day at work, the poor man exhausted. He silently slips off his shoes and sets his bag down on the couch before making his way to the kitchen, opening it up and glancing around at the contents. He decides on a simple glass of orange juice, grabbing out the jug and a cup, grabbing a second one and gesturing to you in a silent offer of some.

You give him a light smile and shake your head, walking up to him and resting a hand on his lower back as he pours himself a glass. You put the jug back away in the fridge for him as he goes and settles on the couch, curling up off to the side and watching whatever was on the TV.

You frown at the continued silence, deciding to try and get him to talk, you go over and sit beside him. You lean in, lips near his ear so you can whisper, “Mind if I hold you?”, and wait until he gives a light nod before pulling him to cuddle in with you. You end up holding him in your lap, propped up a bit with a pillow against the arm rest so that he lays at an angle on you.

Spencer’s arms instinctively move to wrap around you, and you don't miss how he seems to melt against you. Your hands move up to play with his hair, lightly stroking it back so you can see his relaxed, yet exhausted expression. After a few minutes of letting him adjust to the change of being home, feeling the slight anxiousness he seems to always hold while at the bureau finally going away, you guide his gaze to meet yours by gently turning his head.

Spencer’s eyes are truly captivating. You could lose yourself in how softly they stare into yours, the dark brown colour making him look so.. adorable. His eyelids almost seem weighed down by the dark eyebags, your free hand moving to rest on his cheek so you can rub the dark circles with your thumb in gentle, soothing movements. He gives you a light smile in return, tilting his head a bit to press a kiss to the inside of your forearm.

You lean forward to press a light kiss to his forehead, leaning back to look back down at him. You hesitate for a couple minutes, debating on whether or not you should ask him why he's suddenly so quiet and nearly refusing to speak because you don't want to possibly trigger or upset him. Though Spencer, managing to have memorized what your microexpressions mean, presses another kiss to the inside of your forearm in a silent reassurance that you're allowed to speak.

You take a deep breath, exhaling and staring into his eyes for a few seconds before mustering up the courage to ask him. “Why have you suddenly.. gone quiet? I've noticed.. I've noticed you're not as talkative as before. You act like a ghost at work. What's with the change?”

While Spencer isn't at all surprised by your question, having expected people to notice his sudden quietness, he didn't expect you to react more concerned than happy. “I just thought.. I needed to shut up a little more, you know? I can be a bit annoying, so I thought this would be.. uh, I thought this would be better.” He responds, his tone still timid and his voice just barely over a whisper.

You swear your heart breaking is an audible sound that echoes through the room. You grab the sides of his head and guide him to sit up with you, feeling his slight anxiousness towards what your response could be. “Spencer.. no, baby.. You don't need to shut up, you never need to shut up. I like your voice, I love your rambles. You're not annoying- Why would you think that?” You can't help but ask, wanting to know if it's been a growing insecurity or something else. His gaze falls from yours, head turning to the side. “Well, the team.. they just kind of.. don't like to listen. It, uh, it makes me feel like my voice is useless.” He explains, squirming a bit. You don't move to stop his motions, letting him look away and watch as he starts to fidget with his hands in his lap, knowing it's his own way of self-soothing when his anxiety feels like it's built up too much. He waits a second before continuing his explanation, his voice just barely louder now that he knows you never wanted him to be quiet. “I know it's stupid but I just thought they'd be happier than if I talked as much as I did, and they are.. I didn't like talking just to be ignored, I.. I, uh, I don't mean to sound rude or anything but it.. kind of hurts to be treated like that.”

His words pull at your heart, the last sentence might as well have even been a straight-up bullet to the chest. You move your thumb to rub his cheek, seeing the saddened and anxious look on his face. “I.. can't say I understand why they're like this either, Spencer, nor do I like that they treat you like this. You're not at fault for getting upset over being ignored, it's rude and you're allowed to be upset. Just like you're allowed to use that voice to talk. Even if they're not listening, I will.” You reassure him, leaning forward to press a light kiss to the side of his forehead.

Spencer ends up turning back to look at you after the kiss, tears resting in his eyes. You wipe them away before pulling him to lay back down with you, pressing another few kisses around his face, pulling a smile from the man. He can’t think of a response, so instead he just melts against you again, happy that somebody cares enough to listen.

You start playing with his hair again, enjoying the way he seems so relaxed, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he knows you never wanted him to force himself to stop talking. You lean down to press one last kiss to the top of his head before leaning, relaxing against the couch. “I'll always listen.”

——————————————————————————————————————

NOTES -

Somebody needs to let this man just full on fucking RANT for hours. Any and all topics, LET HIM SPEAK AND INDULGE IN HIS INTEREST!! (I volunteer as tribute !!)

I'll likely make an angstier version of this

#spencer reid #spencer reid x gn!reader #fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #hotboxed fanfiction #fluff and sad stuff #let him RAMBLE #let him BE HAPPY #PLEASE

[snarkylinda]

I love them actually part 2

#I thought of adding Spencer's attend of a smile at the end but that makes me sad #criminal minds #spencer reid #luke alvez #ralvez

[thatgirlstrawberry]

Tolerate It - Spencer Reid

In which Spencer has a hard time treating his girlfriend right after a hard case

Warning: cursing, sadness, angry arguments, suggestiveness, lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

It seemed to always be dark after that one case. During the daytime, it was cloudy, during the night not even the moon would illuminate the dark corners in their apartment. Spencer was dark.

She sat curled up in an arm chair with her head resting against her fist. She watched Spencer read with his head down low, slower than he had ever read in his life.

He’d barely looked at her all month. When he came back from a case a few weeks prior, he seemed off. He came in and gave her a kiss and a hug, like always but something was off. He did embrace her. He didn’t hold her and make sure she was there. He didn’t kiss her lips like he missed them. He made it seem like a chore.

She inhaled deeply, tearing her eyes away from him for a few moments. “Spence,” she called.

He said nothing but she knew that he’d heard her.

“Spencer.” She tried again. He looked up from his book slowly.

“What?” He asked. It wasn’t snappy but, he let out an exaggerated sigh behind it.

The woman bit her lip. “I just—“ She paused when he looked back down at his book. Her face fell and she swallowed. “What do you… want for dinner?” She asked, giving up on her original question.

“Whatever we have is fine.” He looked back down at his book.

She slid out of the chair, standing up and looking at him. “Okay.” She whispered. She turned and headed for the kitchen, her eyes stinging. Her heart banged against her rib cage and she tried not to make too much noise.

Her hands pressed against the edge of the sink as she tried to breathe steadily. Tears poured from her eyes and she could see a faint reflection of herself in the window in front of her. She looked at the reflection behind, Spencer was still looking down at his stupid book.

She ended up making some sort of pasta. She set the tiny table they had with two glistening plates and forks. She filled their glasses with wine and lit a candle in the middle. It was her attempt at some sort of romantic dinner.

“Spencer, dinner’s ready.” She turned her head to look at him.

He walked over, seemingly coming right for her. He leaned down, she thought he would kiss her without being asked. But no. Instead he blew out the candle in the middle of the table.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears as she watched him go to the other side and sit down. “The scent was giving me a headache.” He shrugged.

She lowered her head and inhaled. They ate in silence. Her leg bounced up and down rapidly underneath the table. He didn’t look at her once.

Later that night, Spencer was in the shower and she was getting ready for bed. She sat staring at the wall until she heard the water stop.

She bit her lip and blinked. She got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom door. She opened it and saw Spencer standing there with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

He went to step in front of the sink but she stepped in front of him before he could get to it. His hands instinctively grabbed her arms. “What are you doing?” He asked, his hands were warm against her cold arms.

“Please kiss me.” She looked up at him in desperation. He leaned down and kissed her with no emotion, a single peck. He pulled away. “Really?” She shook her head. “You haven’t touched me in weeks. Really kiss me, Spencer.”

He leaned down, lips ghosting over her own. “I can’t.” He frowned.

She stared into his eyes searching for a way she could understand why he was acting like this. She shut her mouth and glared at him after a moment. She moved from between the him and the sink and left the bathroom, slamming the door.

She crawled underneath the heavy duvet and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent any tears from coming out.

But they poured anyway.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

She was standing in the kitchen the next morning doing the dishes she didn’t have the energy to do the night before. She stood in her own pajama pants and a tank top when she’d usually be wearing something of Spencer’s.

Spencer walked out of the bedroom in distress. “Why didn’t you wake me up, I’m going to be late.” He asked, walking into the kitchen looking for his watch.

She didn’t respond to him. She finished cleaning the dishes and took a sip of her coffee. “Your watch is on the end table.” She spoke softly.

He walked into the kitchen after putting his watch on and grabbed the cup of lukewarm coffee that his girlfriend had made for him.

“I can’t keep doing this, Spencer.” She said loudly. She wanted to catch his attention.

“I’m going to be late for work—“

“No. We need to talk about this.”

He sighed and looked at his watch. “I think—“

“Listen, Spencer.” She snapped. “Whatever happened, I’m sorry. I am. I know that your job is hard and you see messed up things but you can’t just— stop being you!” She shook her head and set down her coffee cup. “Where are you Spencer? You have to help me so I can help you.”

“I really can’t talk about this right now.”

“So you’re just gonna throw away four years, Spencer?” She scoffed. He shook his head, crossing his arms.

“I’m not throwing away anything! You’re the one trying to break up what we have!” He yelled.

“You already did!”

A silence was loud between them. Her breaths were ragged, her lips parted like something was trying to escape. “I’ve had this— this dagger in me ever since you came back from that case. You won’t talk about it and it feels like you’re just pushing it in deeper! I’ve been afraid to break free and leave us in ruins because you’re the first person I’ve ever loved, Spencer.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to say. He never did.

“You come home day after day and I’m waiting there, wishing you snapped out of it. I look like a kid standing there with my hands behind my back, begging you to feel something for me! Every time I speak about you to my mom on the phone I use the best words to describe you but you don’t even think about me, do you?”

He took a step forward and she pushed herself back in to the kitchen counter. Tears fell down her cheeks. “I got out the fact fucking plates, Spencer!”

He tilted his head, the first sign of emotion that she’d seen in a while. “I tried to give you space! I’ve been walking on eggshells , waiting for you to come to me but you’ve treated me like barbed wire.”

The desperation in her voice made Spencer sick to his stomach. Why couldn’t he just snap out of it? Why couldn’t he give her the love she deserved?

“Just tell me why, Spencer. Tell me what I can do and I’ll do it.” She walked towards him and placed her hands on the side of his face. A last ditch effort, hoping that he’d come to his senses.

A single tear cascaded down his cheek and he backed out of her hands. He walked away from her and left the apartment.

He shut the door and leaned up against it, listening to her gut wrenching sobs. He heard her knees hit the floor and squeezed his eyes shut before walking away.

When he came home that night, she wasn’t there.

He walked into the bedroom expecting her to be cuddled up in the sheets but the bed was made. He found the dresser drawers opened. Her side was cleaned out.

He panicked and walked into the kitchen and saw that dinner was made and sitting on the stove.

A sticky note was stuck to the range hood above the stove.

I took the dagger in me and removed it, I’m sorry.

With a sigh, he bit his lip and shuffled back to the room that he used to share with the love of his life.

But now, she was gone all because he couldn’t do anything but tolerate her.

———————————-

Hello! I’m so sorry that I’ve been gone for so long.

I took a break because I’ve been so busy and my boyfriend and I had broken up so I was pretty sad for a while but I’m heeled now sand better than ever!

I hope you enjoyed this this is my favorite Taylor Swift song atm and I relate soooo much!

Love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

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#spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x original female character #spencer x oc #spencer x reader #crimimal minds #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #sadness #heartbreak

[radiant-reid]

Beyond Breaking // Chapter Four

False Flags

disclaimer: i'm not an expert on anything regarding divorce so this is just what i could find from the best of my research

Summary: It all feels like a fever dream, but the feelings are very real

Content Warnings: divorce, mention of Spencer’s drug addiction, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 7.0k

Masterlist/ Navigation Taglist

< Prev

One thing Y/n hated was lawyers.

It was ironic since she was one herself, but they were the most gossipy pack of egomaniacs she had ever known.

Family lawyers were a whole different group. She had successfully avoided getting whispered about at work, but she knew it would be different once it was official.

Everything would be different when things were official.

The fear hadn’t properly hit Y/n until the night before she had to do something she never thought she would be considering, like some sick delayed suffering that waited until she was completely alone with a terrifying calendar event upcoming to strike.

Spencer Reid was her person.

The person she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with was gone. Not in the way the tiny voice in her head said it would be every time he left to hunt down serial killers. He wasn't gone because he was injured or dead. This time he was gone because he wanted to be.

It was something he promised he would never do. Back when he swore he would be home every night he was in DC, the problem was him sleeping in the office during the weeks after Gideon died. What Y/n wouldn't do to have that as their main problem now. She would be able to do the same thing to support him, only if he let her.

As her cheeks grew damper, it became more obvious that Spencer wasn't coming back and that his departure was because he didn't love her. Couldn't. That was the word he used: perfect to deflect all blame off himself.

There was no one she blamed but him, and she hadn't let herself feel that way until she was looking at the framed wedding photo of them- one of the happiest days of their lives- and the text under it; just their names with a heart in the middle. It was sappy, she could admit that, but it was simple. Simple enough that if it wasn't her fault, it was Spencer's fault. What hurt the most was that she would give him every piece of love she had in her body if he let her.

The common denominator in every other argument or tricky situation they'd been in -that wasn't a factor anymore- was that Spencer loved her.

When they loved each other, they could get through anything, and she was still so madly in love with him that she couldn't bring herself to throw out the photo. Spencer in the photo with his wide grin, straight tie, tidy hair, and his eyes only focused on her wasn't the Spencer who was around anymore. There actually wasn't one thing she saw in common between them. Two different people with the same face.

Her sobs were a fraction of how loud they could be because of her determination not to wake up the little Reids. There was no way, at all, that she was going to tell them. The situation was Spencer's fault, so he could be the one to ruin the idea of love that their children had. And she was determined not to feel bad when they eventually hated him for drastically changing their family dynamic.

If he wouldn't love her, she would make sure they did. And when they grew up and saw the thousands of photos they had with their mom, remembered the memories with one of their parents, and asked where their dad was, that would be her revenge.

But Y/n wasn't thinking about that when she was off to the best family lawyer she could find on Monday. She never knew until now, but the FBI seemingly has everyone needed for a divorce on retainer, prepared for the next couple that breaks under the pressure.

Rossi and Krystall had insisted on babysitting the kids at the Reids' house, citing that they didn't want all the differences to add up in their brains. So with kisses on Maddie, Bennett, and Florence's forehead and some pitiful smiles from their babysitters, Y/n was on another stress-inducing drive to another car park she'd never noticed when she drove past.

"Naturally, I'm sure you know how this process works." Amelia Mary Allen, degree of Juris Doctor- according to the framed certificate that hung on the wall above her desk- said.

Y/n nodded her head, the complete emptiness apparent on her face. "Yes, I want to be the petitioner rather than him." She replied. Her experience and the cases she'd heard about made it impossible for her to wait any longer than she needed to file the petition.

She was finished with playing the game on his terms, and she wasn't going to let him file a divorce petition first and get in writing his wishes for who gets the kids, the money, and the houses. 

Even though she loathed the idea of not being his wife, she wasn't going to put herself at a disadvantage for him anymore when there was nothing she could possibly do to make him love her again.

"I understand." Her lawyer replied. "Let's start with the basics; social security number and names." Finally, a not challenging question for Y/n to answer. It wasn't complicated like the ones in her head. "Grounds for divorce?"

For a moment she sat there in silence. "He'll agree." She whispered, wanting to cry with the shame she wasn't worth Spencer caring. She wished she would have the confidence to set easier terms, too, but that love didn't just go away. "So we can separate without cohabitation for 6 months."

The lawyer laid down her pen, stopping writing. "You shouldn't get divorced if you don't want to." She advised.

"I love my kids, and as much as I love Spencer..." Y/n trailed off, trying to explain how she was feeling like she was sitting on the therapist's couch all over again. "I don't know him anymore."

"That's fair." She agreed. "What are your terms?"

That was the big question Y/n had been thinking about since she realized this was the step she had to take. "I want physical custody. His work at the BAU means he's away on cases on average for maybe 3 days with a day or two in between during the work week which would prohibit him from providing a stable home where he sees them frequently."

"I agree." The lawyer said. "Even if it goes to court, a judge would never grant him sole physical custody." Even though Y/n knew that was true before the meeting, it gave her reassurance to hear it. "Legal custody and visitation?"

"I want us to both have legal custody." She stated. She didn't know what his actions would be when she was involved, but she did know he wouldn't purposefully harm their children. "For visitation, on the 90 days he's working for the BAU, I want him to have every second weekend, and if he chooses to, see them throughout the week. He can come to whichever extracurricular activity he chooses. During the 30 days that he's teaching, I want to do 2-2-3 custody so they can see us equally." It killed her that for an entire month, she'd see them only 15 days and she let a single tear run down her cheek at the thought of all that missed time. "When they're older, I think a week each is more appropriate." Then the dreaded reminder that this was permanent snuck up on her.

It was so kind and far too forgiving to someone who had shattered her heart. But she was desperately trying not to let her reaction to Spencer's actions affect her choices about their wellbeing, and she felt so good about herself for it.

"How about holidays?"

"I want both Christmas, Easter, and thanksgiving." It was the first selfish thing she'd said. Imagining them opening presents on Christmas morning, hunting for chocolate or having a family meal without her there was heartbreaking. "At least a week around the dates so I can travel with them. And I want their birthdays, but he can come to their parties. Any public holidays we can split." She hated having to compromise on her time with them. "For summer, he can have two weeks if he wants and he can have Father's Day. Oh, and Halloween, he can have that."

Again, she stopped writing and looked up at Y/n. "It's your favorite, isn't it?" Y/n really didn't know how she was so readable, and she frown at the statement. "Sorry, I just saw your lockscreen."

"Oh," Y/n answered in realization. "Yeah, but I only started liking it because it's his favorite."

Then there was some more scribbling before another question. "How about dividing property?"

"We own a house which I want to keep and eventually sell since I'm going to have the majority of custody." She decided. Living there, where they used to be a couple, wasn't ideal, but she didn't want to change too much all at once.

"Okay, the last thing we have to go over is finances and assets." She prompted.

"I make slightly more money than he does." She said transparently. "So I don't want alimony, but I want him to pay for half of everything for the kids, including their private school tuition. For the money we have... I think I want my percentage of income out of the total, preferably in stocks." The finances didn't worry her too much, but she was going to have to get an accountant because Spencer had been doing her taxes for years. "I want to keep my car, all the furniture, and my family heirlooms. Basically, everything that I use in the house."

The room fell silent aside from some writing. "It's a fair settlement. If he doesn't agree and it goes to trial, I would think a judge would side with you."

"So that's it?" Y/n asked.

"Pretty much, as soon as you're ready, you can sign whenever you're ready, and he'll get served." She answered.

Her fingers were shaking so much that she knew she wouldn't be able to physically sign it. "Can I sign in a few days?"

"Of course." She answered again, standing up to shake her hand before Y/n left.

~

Emily tried to talk some sense into Spencer when he returned to her place after therapy in tears. She thought the couple would work it out there, be provided with some strategies to fix things, and go back to the lives and love they deserved to have.

What made even less sense to her was Spencer's sudden inability to express his feelings to Y/n. Y/n had just always been the person he talked to, for years, and Emily understood prison complicated things and made Spencer closed off, but he was meant to talk to her. It's what he always had done.

But then he told her he thought she would go and see a lawyer, and she almost called Y/n to figure out what the fuck was actually going on. He made her promise she wouldn't, and she couldn't argue with him when a lot of their life was private.

"What are you doing today?" Emily asked, sitting next to him at the breakfast bar of her apartment, where he was drinking his coffee like it was just another Monday.

"Not getting back together with Y/n, if that's what you're asking," Spencer told her, clearly still raw from therapy a few days ago. "And I can't go back to the BAU because my time's not up." He groveled.

Emily gave him a stern look. "Reid." She warned in a tone he knew meant he needed to stop sulking.

"Sorry." He apologized, rubbing his eyes. "Y/n said I could see the kids, but she had an 'appointment' this morning." He continued, using air quotes.

"Oh, Spence, I'm sorry." Emily sympathized, resting a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. She knew Spencer's inference was usually right and if he thought Y/n was at a lawyer's office, she probably was. And that only meant he would inevitably be served and they would be divorced. 10 years of history were about to be gone.

Spencer just shrugged, holding back the tears clouding up his hazel eyes and taking another sip of coffee. "I think maybe I'll take them to the park or the museum." He said, changing the topic to something less heartbreaking. "I don't wanna tell them so I'll just drop them back to Y/n's and tell them I have a case." He decided, trying to think of the most painless way for things to go.

"Well, they're always welcome here if you're keeping them overnight." Emily reminded him.

"Thank you, Emily. I appreciate it." Spencer said, giving her as much of a smile as he could muster. Things would suck a lot more if he didn't have such good friends.

Emily nodded at him. "Of course. I'm going into the office, but everyone else is off for the day." She informed him, moving around the kitchen to pour a travel mug of coffee to put in her handbag.

After another text from Y/n confirming he could come around, Spencer stopped moping around Emily's apartment and tried to put on a smile as he got ready.

He switched his socks out three times, trying to find a combination that didn't say too much. It was stupid, really, but what socks he wore spoke louder than words. Even though she didn't tell him till later, Y/n had profiled he was proposing when he subconsciously wore the same mismatched socks that he'd worn on their first date. His socks had to be neutral.

The drive was longer than it felt when he fled to Emily's, and it only gave him more time to think: something that had become dangerous. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he knocked on the front door of his own house in an odd twist of his life.

"Daddy!" Maddie squealed, flinging the door open and jumping into his arms.

"Hi, munchkin." He greeted her, effortlessly catching her and spinning her around in a hug. "Are you allowed to open the door without an adult?"

She pouted when he put her down, those big brown eyes matching his own. "No. Sorry."

Spencer smiled at her, making sure she knew he wasn't mad, just concerned about her safety. "Where's everyone else?" He asked, looking past her into the house. He really wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to see Y/n with how they'd left things and the fact she was most likely meeting with her lawyer that morning.

"C'mon." She instructed, reaching out for his hand and pulling him through the house. On instinct, Spencer turned to lock the door and took off his shoes.

It was clear Maddie didn't notice the stress in his demeanor or any of the tension between her parents. She dragged him upstairs, finding Bennett and Florence in the living room, a cuteness overload as they played with their toys together. As soon as they saw him, their eyes lit up and they came sprinting over and gave him the hugs reserved for only him. They chatted to him about what they had been doing like they did whenever he came back from a case and Spencer realized he didn't deserve the obvious affection he was being given in excess.

"Spencer, can I talk to you?" There was that angelic voice he had listened to for 10 years. It was slightly different though, wavering more than it usually did.

His eyes locked on hers, and he got up from where he was crouched down playing with the train tracks and walked over to where she was standing in the doorway dressed in jeans and a cardigan. "What's up?" He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. His nerves were evident in how he shuffled on his feet.

"I was, uh, just thinking that they could stay with you overnight... if you had somewhere to go." She offered, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. It was so awkward to be around him and that felt wrong.

"What?" Spencer asked although he'd heard the question perfectly.

"I mean, they're your kids too, and they missed you." She justified, unable to read what was in his tone. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

He wasn't going to reject such a good offer, not when the last time they spoke in person she looked so hurt that he thought she might never speak to him without going through a lawyer again.

"Yes, please." He accepted, looking back at the three wonderful children for a second. "I was planning on taking them to the zoo with Derek and Hank, so maybe we'll stay there."

She was grateful he told her without any prompting, and as much as she hated the fact it was happening, they would make good co-parents. "I trust you with them." She emphasized the last two words, making sure he got the point. "Just wanna make sure they're okay." That was the only reason she was even talking to him. Had things happened differently and they didn't have kids, she wouldn't have spoken to him until he apologized.

"Are you going to be okay without them?" Spencer found himself asking before he could have it.

She laughed dryly, but she looked like she was about to cry. Just the welling of tears in her eyes-tears he caused- was enough to have his heart panging with guilt. Shaking her head, she glared at him for a moment before walking past him and into the living room.

"Who wants to have a super fun sleepover with their cousins tonight?" She asked them, enthusiasm, albeit fake, in her tone.

It was enough to have them bouncing around, excited for a late-night, movie, and take-out. He watched her for longer than he should have, unable to stop his mind's spiraling thoughts.

Then she left and came back from Maddie's bedroom with a backpack to hand to Spencer. "All their sleepover stuff is in there." She informed him, fingers brushing over his as she handed him the pink, sparkly backpack.

"Thanks," Spencer replied, not commenting on the similarity in how he had already had his bag packed when he left. "Who's ready to go?" He asked, turning back to the kids.

There was a chorus of affirmations, and they excitedly raced to the door to put their shoes on, leaving Y/n and Spencer together without a conversation buffer.

"Uh, so we should m-maybe talk... sometime." He offered, shifting his weight on his feet.

Although Y/n had no idea what they were going to talk about, she nodded. "Y-yeah, sure."

And just like that, he was gone again with the three kids. She tried not to think about them as she went about her day, knowing they would be having fun and their little brains wouldn't be able to theorize about what was going on.

After the zoo, Spencer didn't even think about asking Morgan to have the kids stay over. He did, however, make a phone call to someone else before letting Emily know he wouldn't be coming back to her apartment that night.

~

Y/n didn't wait for him later that night, but it was hard not to focus on him and the kids when she got the text: Laine noticed Wren left her bear at home, she's asleep now, but if she wakes up and it's not here... can I come and get it?

It was so much more domestic than Spencer had been in the past few months with her, talking about their kids and home and Florence’s goddamn Cubs bear, and all it made her feel was physically sick.

It felt like the start of what their new relationship was going to be: Spencer texting about things related to their kids in a friendly tone. And she cried- for what felt like the 100th time that day- as soon as she came to that realization.

She was sitting in the kitchen drinking wine and trying to pretend none of it was happening when Spencer walked in. "Hey, it's just me!" He called out like he always did.

It started after what happened with Diane Turner, and she couldn't stand anyone sneaking up on her at home, even Spencer snaking his arms around her waist holding flowers had sent her into a panic attack 5 years ago. Another scar left by the FBI.

Spencer walked through the hallway and into the kitchen like he knew exactly where she would be. "Hey." He greeted her again, looking at her figure sitting on one of the barstools. "Drinking?" He asked the question without any judgment.

"Want some?" She offered, expecting a refusal.

"Do we have any scotch?" He asked, not waiting for an answer as he entered the walk-in pantry to look for some. He shook off the feeling of being a stranger in his own house, while Y/n shook off the use of we.

He poured some, more than he should have, into a glass before pressing it against the ice dispenser on the fridge. Y/n tried not to focus her eyes on him, not to think about him like he was still someone who loved her so she stared at the marble on the bench and tried to memorize the pattern while the clock ticked each awkward second of silence past like it was a taunt.

"Where are they?" She questioned, feeling terrible she hadn't confirmed it since they left. Her mind was such a mess, and she relied on the fact they were safe with Spencer.

Spencer rested one hand against the cold bench top, the other raising his glass to his lips. The alcohol made him wince a little like he was still 21 and having his first drink with the team. "With Derek and Savannah." He lied flawlessly.

It went completely unnoticed by Y/n, who nodded. "Good, they love hanging out with Hank."

It hit her then that she might not get to see them. Would they be claiming friends? Spencer would get JJ, Y/n would get Dave, and there would be a fight for Penelope and Luke.

"Do you think they know?" She blurted out before she could stop herself, the white wine making her bolder than she wanted to be.

"No," Spencer answered quickly. "Maybe Laine is suspicious. I don't know, I always knew my parents were splitting up because they argued." He reminisced, and it drew tears to his eyes at the fact his actions put his family in a situation closer to the one he grew up in than he ever wanted them to be. Y/n bit her bottom lip, ignoring almost all of her thoughts. "We should talk about how we approach that."

She shook her head so quickly that his head whipped up so he could look at her. "Please, not tonight." She whimpered, hating how pathetic it sounded.

Spencer's heart sunk at how upset she seemed, and the guilt was nauseating. But he couldn't talk about it. Not now, and maybe never. "What is with Wren and pretzels?" He asked, completely changing the conversation.

After a light laugh, she gave the rhetorical answer Spencer was looking for. "I have no idea." In a moment of bravery, she met his stare. "She was back at it again today?"

Her eyes were back on the bench, not lingering on him for another second. The crash in her confidence was so drastic, and he knew he didn't have the right to feel anything about it, but he did.

"Yeah." He answered. "Made me stop at three gas stations to get her a packet before falling asleep and spilling them in the car. Good thing He-Hank loves them too."

"I know people said youngest children of three are the wild ones, but, boy, I was not expecting her." She commented with a laugh that was too genuine for the awkward relationship between them.

Of the three kids, Florence was definitely the untamed one. She was so much more carefree than either of her parents, obsessive over her teddy and pretzels, and so hilarious there were multiple giggling fits each day. Her wild Reid curls only added to her attitude.

Madelaine, naturally, was the independent one being the first child. She was stubborn like Spencer, thankfully getting his intelligence as well, and always the leader.

Bennett was the charming middle child, mostly unphased by whatever his sisters were doing. He was the sweet one, and both of his parents always made sure that didn't get taken advantage of and that he knew he was of equal importance to them.

Spencer laughed too, and it felt like a moment of peace. "I was actually reading a survey about how having three children is the most stressful."

"I did always want another one." She commented before she could stop herself, blushing from more than the wine when she realized it was said aloud.

"After p-prison," Spencer recalled, not making a remark about how improbable it was that they didn't have one after all the time they spent together when he got out. "Why didn't-"

"I didn't want a Band-Aid baby, Spencer." She cut him off harshly before he could finish the question. "No child should feel like their purpose is keeping a sinking ship afloat."

He didn't bite his lip or make any attempt at staying silent. "We weren't sinking then." He bit back quietly.

It was the worst way to argue, she had come to realize. The snide remarks let arguments go on for hours- or days- longer than they needed to.

"Well, we must have started at some point because now we're here." She stated flatly and with so much disdain he physically flinched.

"I would have had a baby then." He said, almost entirely ignoring her point and imagining, foolishly, what could have been. "Another sweet boy like Ben to even the ratio out or another girl as independent as Laine... or as wild as Wren."

Y/n, too, could play the ignore-any-problems-and-change-the-subject game. "The nicknames you give them always... interest me." She told him, trying purposely to phrase it in a way that it wasn't a compliment. Spencer only frowned at her, not a word passing his lips as he waited for her to elaborate. "Wren Reid?"

"True." Spencer agreed, chuckling the slightest amount. "I could have thought that one out better."

"I thought you'd stop after the rhyming of Maddie's 'Laine' and Raine, but a first name/middle name combo wasn't enough." She said and it sounded so similar to a standard conversation between two parents in love with each other and their kids that they just indulged in the fantasy.

"Wren Reid is only an imperfect rhyme!" He defended himself playfully.

The flipping from teasing to squabbling was so exhausting so Y/n picked a side. "At least you didn't do any sadistic nicknaming of Bennett." She joked.

He laughed harder than he should have, earning a frown from her. "Y/n, his initials spell out bar." He deadpanned.

Her mouth dropped open at the realization: Bennett Aaron Reid. "How did I not..?" She trailed off into giggles. She wasn't drunk, just tired and an emotional mess. "That is so bad."

"If it helps, I didn't realize until he was at least three." Spencer offered, finishing the final sip of his scotch.

She was still laughing, getting out of her seat, and walking around the kitchen island to put the wine glass in the dishwasher. "It absolutely does not help." She assured him, holding out her hand so he could give her his glass.

His fingers were warm against hers, and their hands touched for longer than they needed to. Those sparks, the electrical current, couldn't just be something she was feeling run through her veins.

She straightened back up once she shut the dishwasher and didn't put any additional distance between them. Spencer's eyes were locked on her firmer that time, desperately trying to work up a profile.

The hand he had resting on the bench came up to rest against her cheek, and the final thing grounding either of them was gone. Y/n dove in, knowing there was no way he would cross that time unless he knew how reciprocated it was.

Her lips were so unfamiliar to his, but they fell perfectly in sync. It took Spencer a moment to realize it wasn't a dream, and his eyes closed as he kissed her more firmly. He kissed her with all the red inside him; the passion, the anger, the love, the heat. All the most intense bottled-up emotions flowed out of him. Y/n melted against him, everything in her demeanor going from tightly wound to relaxed with a few seconds of kissing. He knew about the effects kissing had on serotonin, but never had he seen an experiment so effective.

He pulled away when his brain kicked in, and he realized they needed a moment to think about what had taken over them.

"183 days starting tomorrow?" Y/n asked in reference to what she'd heard earlier in the day. A few days didn't matter to her, not when her lips were an inch from his and she didn't feel so empty.

Spencer wished he could believe she knew they needed to avoid any form of cohabitation for 6 months because she was a lawyer, not because she'd seen a lawyer, but he didn't. And he hated the fact she thought he would agree to divorce even though his actions showed he would. The need for her to hope he would fight for their family was the most illogical and unfair emotion, but it was so persistent in his mind.

"How much have you had to drink?" He asked, able to taste each note of the wine on his lips.

"One." She assured him, annoyed he didn't just want to fuck her. The rules were all gone now, and she had burnt the playbook. "Now shut up."

His lips closed, indicating he wanted what was about to happen, and she wrapped her fists around the material of his polo where the lapels of his jacket usually were to pull his body flat against hers.

"Starting tomorrow." He mumbled against her lips in agreement.

It was something he'd said to himself so many times when he was trying to quit Dilaudid. He would stick the needle in his arm time and time again in his old, dark apartment when he was at his absolute lowest, pretending it would be the last time and that tomorrow would be different.

Spencer was an expert at pretending. You have to be when you're in prison or in a hostage situation, and if he thought about it hard enough, he could overlook how fucked up the entire situation was. His new talent had replaced the talent he used to have for seeing the consequence of his actions.

Spencer held her face more firmly that time, his arms boxing hers in. He angled his hips more until he had turned them around, and her hips were trapped between his and the bench. Her brain was spinning, the lust eating up each negative thought.

They were still so in sync that it was hard to believe they hadn't done anything like this in the three months they'd drifted apart. Y/n bit down on his bottom lip with enough force that he whimpered and gave her the chance to slip her tongue into his mouth. In a quick motion, she was sitting up on the kitchen countertop, the coldness against her thighs a contrast to Spencer's warm hands.

Y/n kept her legs open so he could stand between them, gripping his hips with her inner thighs to keep him close to her. He was more hesitant with his hands than usual, which gave her the rare opportunity to tease him first.

Her hands ran down his chest, all the way down the light blue dress shirt he wore until her fingertips trailed over the growing bulge in his pants.

Spencer lightly moaned against her lips, biting down on her bottom lip and tugging it away from her face. His lips were slotting against hers again, but that time, he kissed her deeper, tongue slipping into her mouth and tangling with hers.

A content sigh sounded from her lips into his open mouth when his hands gripped her hips tighter, fingertips no doubt bruising her skin. There was a burning need in her to touch his skin and she reached out for the collar of his shirt to pull him closer before getting to work on the buttons.

There were too many and she pulled at them hard, earning a lighthearted chuckle from him at her eagerness. "Let me." He offered gently, wrapping one hand around both of hers and using his other to undo the buttons.

She did the same thing, pulling her t-shirt off while Spencer took off his shirt. Why he always wore dress shirts, she didn’t know, but over the years he’d started filling them better. Her hands were on the skin of his chest as soon as she could, pushing the shirt onto the floor. It would be inconvenient for him to find later when he left, but she couldn’t care less.

That time their lips attached, Spencer seemed more urgent. His hands pulled her hips closer and he all but dragged her off the bench. Y/n followed his lead, running her hands up and down his chest like she’d missed doing so much. His fingertips were always cold but his heart was always warm. 

He knew each inch of that house and he knew where he was going as he walked backward, eyes closed and lips on hers. It wasn’t until the stairs and her hands fidgeting with his belt that his coordination dropped off. The grace he had and the pressure of his lips against hers were all gone when he stepped back and tripped up the stairs. 

She waited for a beat to make sure he wasn’t actually hurt, and then they were giggling like they used to when they were in love. Hearing him laugh was one of her favorite things, something she’d been starved of for far too long that she couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear. She didn’t have the chance to ask if he was okay before he was doing the safer thing, reaching out to take her hand and pull her upstairs. 

It felt weird to be back in their bedroom together, and Y/n desperately tried to ignore the voice in her head telling her this was a bad idea. It was going to hurt later, but it was worth it, if not for anything else than just to feel close to him again. 

It didn’t feel anything but right when he walked her over to the bed, those gorgeous big palms holding her waist while his thumbs touched the bottom of her bra. He looked at her for what felt like years, more focused on remembering every detail of her face than he was on her body. The moment that should have been more uncomfortable lasted until she was backed up against the base of the bed when he kissed her. The feeling of his hands roaming her skin was going to be something she missed, she realized as they traded saliva and Spencer reached around to unclasp her bra.

His lips broke away from hers and trailed down her neck. “Spence.” She lightly moaned when his teeth dug into her skin, marking her like she was his. Arching her back to give him more access to her boobs, she tangled her fingers through his hair and squeaked out noises of pleasure into his ear. It was a move that apparently hadn’t stopped working because he rolled his hips rhythmically against hers.

It was unspoken that they didn’t have a lot of time. Derek wasn’t going to believe it took him three orgasms worth of time to drive a few miles. Those big firm hands pushed her back onto the bed and Spencer's kisses reached lower as he stood between her thighs. As usual, he paid particular attention to the faded scar on her abdomen from Florence which she hated until he convinced her it was something to treasure. 

He was hesitant with the button of her pants but the desire in her was too strong to wait around for him to rethink his decision and come to the same conclusion. She sat up slightly against the comforter and gently palmed his bulge, waiting until the friction was nearly overwhelming to actually unbutton and unzip them. 

Spencer followed suit, pulling her pants off with a little help from her lifting her hips up. His intrigue with her wet core peaked as he ran his finger over the damp spot on her panties. He slipped his thumb under the seam, teasingly running it through her folds and watching the expression on her face change. Determined to not let him have the upper hand, Y/n used her own hand to play with him. He caved first, as expected, stepping out of his boxers and she followed suit, taking off her panties and shuffling down so her legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. And then there were absolutely no barriers between them.

With his hardened, red cock in his hand, Spencer guided himself through her wet folds, spreading his precum against her. Y/n watched, still sitting up and a little mesmerized. In one smooth motion, he pressed his lips against hers so forcefully that she fell back onto the comforter while gliding inside of her. He could feel her breath shortening as he pushed into her.

“Fuck.” She mumbled against his lips. It was total confirmation that she’d never be able to feel the same again, no one else would perfectly fill her up or make her skin so hot. Even thinking about being with someone else made her uncomfortable.

“I know.” He smirked, the heat of his voice against her skin dizzying. When he pulled back to thrust in again, he did so tenderly, not at all the rough hate fuck she expected to get from him. It was nice, though, and it oddly felt like they were back in sync again. Maybe the only thing they could do together anymore was passionate sex. 

His lips stayed close to hers, not directly on hers but close enough that he could kiss her. It meant she could let out breathly sighs each time he pulled out of her and moaned when he slammed back into her.

Spencer avoided telling her how beautiful she was, he just relished in the time they had left together. 

Her nails trailed up and down his back as he continued to fuck in and out of her slowly. It was so intimate for two people who had stopped showing their love for each other. All those soft touches, kisses, and pleasureful moans felt like something different and she felt like she was back in the old days. Back when they’d go to the movies just to make out, those times hand holding under the table at Quantico, and when saying goodbye took hours because of the endless kisses. When they couldn’t stand not touching each other. 

“Spencer, faster, please.” She begged, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. 

He threaded his fingers through hers above her head while he leaned down to kiss her neck and fulfilled her request. The smell of his shampoo and cologne and the scotch sent her senses into a Spencer overdrive. 

“Getting close?” He asked although he knew the answer. The amount of time he’d dedicated to getting to know her body meant he knew that when she started rolling her hips against his and got all quiet, she was about to cum.

“Mhm.” She answered, quiet for another second before a spew of his name and curse words left her lips. Spencer loved the sounds she made almost as much as he loved how she looked as she orgasmed. “Holy fuck.” She let out again as she came hard around his cock, all her muscles contracting before she fell back against the bed. 

Spencer fucked her through it before falling apart on top of her with a moan of her name. Then he was kissing her again softly before rolling onto the bed next to her. The post-orgasm sensation muted all those annoying thoughts in her head, and his beauty wasn’t lost on her. 

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked, turning on his side to look at her with the particular shade of brown she loved more than any other.

No.

Despite how close they’d just been, this felt too close for her now. And despite how bare they were, she’d never felt more exposed. 

“Yes.” She finally answered. It was easier to lie than to ask whether he was talking about the sex or her physical state or her mental state.

With a definitive nod, he got up off the bed. That’s when it felt different, when it was real that he was about to walk out and they weren’t going to cuddle and talk all night like she missed so much. 

His eyes lingered on her while he put his boxers and pants back on. “Can I ask you a favor?”

No. 

Y/n picked at her nails, trying to act like she wasn’t completely focused on his body. “Sure.”

“Don’t do anything irrational.” He requested before his voice got much quieter and she would have missed his next statement had there been any other noise in the house. “We can fix this.”

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[literaila]

the better version: will you just kiss me? 

spencer reid x reader 

summary: just like spencer already knew, the truth reveals itself. 

warnings: i havent written spencer in a month, cliffhanger, angst, so much fluff. 

the better version masterlist. 

last part. 

a/n: hahahahahahaha so no space fic this year. take this instead. 

*

the first time you kiss spencer, he almost falls over. 

maybe it's his absurdity. the oblivious nature, the somehow clueless person that he's been. 

but not that clueless. 

because he's been waiting. 

still, when you jump across the table, cradling his face in your soft hands, and pressing your lips to his before he can begin to think about it--well, he has to use the chair to keep himself up. 

but it's only a moment before he kisses you back. 

and this isn't how he'd imagined it. 

this isn't anything like he'd thought it might be. 

still, spencer feels completely mailable under your fingertips. he feels like he might just move the world, if that's what you asked from him. he feels like he might just fall over, because how can he breathe when you're sitting right in front of him, when you're kissing him and--

"oh my god," you say pulling away. there's a shocked look on your face. a brief, paralyzing moment. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to--" 

"what?" 

"oh god, i don't know why i did that." you're pushing away from him, heat leaving his skin before he can begin to complain. "i mean--i know why i did it. it's... look at you. it's just, i didn't mean to actually--i didn't even ask." 

your eyes are so wide, your lips are so puffy. 

spencer's never seen anything prettier. 

he tries to speak and finds that his throat has gone dry. his lips are tingling. "it's okay," he says, but it's so quiet that he doesn't think you can hear him. "i didn't mind--" 

it's not enough. 

there are no words. 

still, you're moving even further away from him, getting up from the table--chess ruined, now. "spencer, if you never want to come back, i completely understand. you're a wonderful friend--friend--and i've crossed the line. so many lines." 

"y/n." 

"i'm such an idiot. you were just sitting there--you're always sitting there--looking adorable, and i lost my brain or something. i don't know." 

"y/n." spencer says again. he can feel a smile teasing at his lips. 

you look up at him, concerned. "what?" 

and instead of answering, because spencer still can't find the words, he can't find the emotions, can't find the will in him to care--he takes a step forward. 

the smile on his face feels surprising. shocking. unused and rotted. 

still, he leaves it there. 

he can't get rid of it when you're right in front of him, looking so helplessly guilty. 

spencer wants to kiss the expression right off your lips. 

he wants to hold you in his arms and take you on a date and talk to you about things other than chess. 

he wants to be with you, wholeheartedly. 

he wants to kiss you, so bad. 

and so, he takes a step forward. 

the first time spencer kisses you, it's to ease your guilty conscience. it's to take away the shock, the embarrassment from your body. 

he chooses your happiness, your joy, and pleasantries and teasing over anything else. 

and, spencer assures himself, how can this be a lie? 

how can he be lying to you when he's so certain that this is all the truth? 

he pulls back, just enough to feel your breath on his philtrum. "i liked it," he says. 

"you did?" 

spencer kisses you again, harder. 

*

your apartment is warm. 

spencer recognizes the smell of the walls; the things that are similar to your shop. 

he's begun to correlate paper and pages with your voice. 

begun to think of you every time he sees a chess board. 

it's nothing of conscience, really. spencer is sure that it doesn't mean much. 

or just enough. either way. 

"this is nice," he tells you, stepping through your door, taking off his scarf. 

he looks upon the walls, for anything of importance. 

reminds himself to ask you about pictures. reminds himself why he's there, and why that doesn't matter to him anymore. 

you're smiling at him. "want some coffee?' 

"isn't it--" spencer reminds himself to smile back. "isn't it a bit late for coffee?' 

"spencer," you feign shock. "i can't believe you just said that to me. is it too late? who are you?" 

his brow furrows. "what do you mean?" 

you've walked into the kitchen--fully furnished, bright and shiny like you've just cleaned it--and taken two mugs out of the cupboard by the time spencer follows. 

"we've known each other like two months now," you say like it's an answer. 

spencer waits, brow raised. 

you sigh. "you literally fell asleep in one of my chairs." 

spencer clears his throat--tries not to remember that particular instance. 

your house might be the warmest place spencer's ever been. 

or maybe that's the flush. 

still, your eyes are berating, your smile is intrusive and spencer doesn't really want it to go away. 

"shouldn't you be encouraging my coffee detox?" he asks, as you pour some grounds into a filter. 

"sure," you answer, bright. "but first, you need to try mine." 

"do you have decaf?" 

"do you want to be kicked out?" 

spencer laughs, leaning against your counter. 

you laugh back at him, though he suspects that you're not entirely kidding. 

still, there is nothing out of the ordinary. 

you hand him a mug after a couple of minutes pass, it's warm in his hands. "so," you say, "want to go make out my couch?" 

spencer chokes on his coffee. 

*

a week later, spencer is so sure. 

of absolutely nothing. 

he doesn't know what to tell you. what to tell his team. what to think about any of it. he doesn't know how to breathe when he's around you, how to keep away the urge to grab you and run, never looking back. 

he doesn't know much. 

but when it's early in the morning, and he's been awake all night, and thoughts have plagued his mind so many times that he's become immune--he knows that he misses you. 

spencer knows that he would like to see you. 

it's not a far walk from his apartment. spencer was required to memorize your schedule, so he knows that you'll be there. 

it's no inconvenience, to see your eyes and watch you smile. 

in fact, when spencer arrives, you're just opening the door. 

he tries not to sneak up on you, but it would seem that his efforts are futile, and his footsteps are too quiet. 

"hello," he says, mostly teasing. 

he doesn't really expect you to jump back, trip over the curb and end up in his arms. 

because who is spencer if he lets you fall? 

"oh," you smile up at him, dazed. "it's you." 

"just me." 

you push away from him, getting your balance back, but as soon as you're up, you're glaring at him. crossing your arms. "spencer." 

"hi?"

"it's seven in the morning." 

spencer looks down at his watch, brows furrowed. "yeah, that's right." 

"what are you doing here?" 

spencer's eyes widen, immediately taking in the rejection as it comes--but if he looks close enough he can see that amusement in your eyes, the crinkles in your cheeks. it takes only a moment to recognize that you're joking. 

"wanted to take a look at your selection," he answers, carefully. feigns interest at the display window. "looks like it could be interesting." 

you push him. "that's not very romantic." 

spencer raises his brow at you, keeping the smile away. "it's not?" 

"you are joking, right?" 

"i thought books were the windows to the soul?" 

you scoff, going to open the door again. "that's not even an expression," you say, walking through the entrance and holding it open for spencer. 

he follows you, quick to take in the aroma, the silence--your smile. "it is, actually. in the early 1800s books were known--" 

"will you just kiss me, spencer?" 

spencer pauses, looking at you. 

you've got a smooth and easy smile. the guards have taken their break, and your walls have fallen. 

spencer reaches out before he can think about it. 

he kisses you without blinking an eye. without considering what it means. 

it feels right enough. 

you smile into him. "this is why you came, right?" 

"hmm?" 

"you wanted to kiss me?" 

spencer blinks, trying to wake himself up from whatever dream he's having. 

"yes," he says, and it doesn't feel like much of a lie. "i wanted to kiss you."

*

it's your day off. 

spencer knows that as he puts on the vest--as he runs the speech over in his head again, swearing to himself that he'll do it tomorrow, later tonight. 

you're not going to be at the shop, spencer assures himself. you're at home, probably still sleeping, probably texting spencer right now, probably just perfectly fine. 

and he's not going to see you. 

you're not going to be there. 

spencer is sure of this, as he straps aramid around himself. 

you're not his unsub.

*

he supposes that he should've expected it. 

there's an old saying about the truth--that it reveals itself. that even if you want it to stay in the next room, even if spencer might've liked it to wait outside while he got everything, the truth insists. 

it wants to be there, centerstage. 

it wants to collect the tears and the anger and agony, to feast on reality and bad dreams. 

the truth is a treacherous thing. 

and spencer knew that it would come out eventually. 

he knows about all of the sayings. 

but as you stand in front of him, behind a desk that you weren't supposed to be behind today, he can't remember any of them. 

he can't remember his own name when he looks at you. 

he can't remember what he's supposed to be doing there. 

what he was ever meant to be doing, lying to you. 

he can see the lights in his head--the warning signs. 

he can see the recognition as you look him up and down, with eyes that are much duller than he's used to.

lips that are perfectly still. a hand that has stolen his heart, hidden it somewhere he can't find. 

you're just looking at him. and he can't look away. 

"spencer?" you whisper, just as hotch arrives. 

*

my masterlist here. 

taglist:  @maltamurdock​ @goldentournesol​ @v1ci0us​ @preciousbabypeter​ @nadixq​ @alexxavicry​ @directioner5life

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x fem!readr #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid sad #Spencer Reid series #spencer reid au #spencer reid angst #spencer reid and reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds Reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

[dcvidsrossi]

Emily: What am I most afraid of? Hmm, let's see...

Reid: Global warming. And getting a ‘B’.

Rossi: The phone ringing in the middle of the night.

Hotch: I'm too much of a perfectionist.

Rossi: Aaron, this isn't a job interview.

Hotch: Oh, man. Job interviews.

Morgan: Nothing.

Reid: Yeah, right. What about the pigeons?

Morgan: No, I don't like them. They're shifty.

Will: Losing JJ.

JJ: Aww. Hotel bedspreads.

Will:

Penelope: Never getting my driver's license. Or getting one but the picture sucks.

Emily: Dying alone.

#i like how they're all a little funny because they fit the character so well #and then there's emily's‚ which is more than a little sad because it fits her character so well #emily prentiss #spencer reid #david rossi #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #william lamontagne jr #jennifer jareau #jj #penelope garcia #hotch x rossi #morgan x reid #will x jj #otp tag: mom & dad #otp tag: “just friends” #criminal minds #incorrect quotes #criminal minds incorrect quotes #cm #bau #source: modern family

[spncvr]

glasses reid you will always be famous

#c won’t shut up! #hes actually my man #the way my and my mom were so sad when he stopped wearjng them #spencer reid #glasses reid #reid #spencer #glasses spencer reid

[entrop-y]

—marya hornbacher, wasted

SPENCER REID AND MAEVE DONNOVAN: SEASON 8 EPISODE 20, "ALCHEMY"

#very mixed feelings about this coloring #but feeling sad about them today </3 #spencer reid #maeve donovan #spencer reid gif #spencer reid gifset #marya hornbacher #criminal minds #cm #mgg #criminal minds gifs #my gifs

[sweatervest-obsessed]

You

pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.8k

cw: oh death babes, depression, mentions of drugs, mentions of ODs, gun violence, blood, four out of the five stages of grief (there’s no acceptance here)

a/n: Guys, I was feeling something, and spewed this out. Enjoy the pure grief and pain I just poured out onto a page. Also spot the little references throughout hehe. 

Spencer Reid Masterlist

“Spence, you did everything you could. It’s not your fault.” 

He shook his head and pressed you up against his chest, ignoring the blood seeping into his pants, his vest, his hands. 

“You can’t—hey, hey, hey, look at me. Y/n, please.” His voice cracked on his plea as the two of you crumpled to the ground. He screamed out for a medic as he cradled your body against him. 

Your eyes floated in and out of consciousness, focusing on him when they could. “We knew this was going to happen eventually.”

“N-No.”

“I-I…I love you…” Your chest heaved up and down. 

“Stop it. Stop.” 

“So….much….” 

Spencer just shook his head and yelled at his team to do something, but they all stood back, none of them wanting to ruin the goodbye he never got to say. 

Spencer snapped into focus, realizing he was sitting on the jet, staring out the window. There was no one sitting next to him, they had all taken the physical seats, leaving him to the couch. And while this was nothing out of the norm, the only difference was that you weren’t sitting on the couch facing back at him. 

Spencer was alone, in his head, and on the couch. 

Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n passed away on May 17th, at the young age of thirty. She had been an agent of the FBI for over seven years, and a member of the BAU for almost five. She had become an integral part of the team and was a valued member of the team. She was survived by her fiancé Doctor Spencer Reid, her Mother and Father, her younger brother and sister, as well as two nieces and one nephew. 

Spencer thought about you every single day. 

He would think about you when he went to make his coffee, adding a scoop of sugar since that’s how you took yours. He thought about you when he took the train into work, listening to songs that you loved, over and over and over. He thought about you when he would sit alone on the jet, trying to ignore all of the pitiful stares as everyone tried not to take your spot on the couch. 

He liked to replay your death over and over and over, making it so that he was in the other car, he was onsight to say goodbye to you. 

Derek told him that you waited for as long as you could. 

Spencer didn’t know if that was comforting, knowing you willingly suffered longer than you needed to, just to see him one last time. But it was in vain since you died two minutes and forty-seven seconds before the car arrived. 

In his head, he was the one who held you, who told you how much you were loved and adored, and maybe that could’ve made you stay. 

It wasn’t Derek holding you as you choked on your own blood, watching you struggle to survive long enough. It wasn’t Derek holding you telling you to breathe and just let go. It wasn’t Derek being the last person to hear your voice. 

Tell him that I’m so sorry, and I love him. So. Much.

Spencer realized about a month after the funeral, that he never saw your wedding dress. You were about seven months away from your wedding when you died, but you had been engaged for over a year. 

Emily, Penelope, and JJ have the pictures, but he column’t bring himself to see you in something that was supposed to signify your forever, when instead it was cut short by an ambush and the carelessness of the local cops. 

Apparently, it was perfect. But Spencer didn’t have perfect. He wasn’t lucky enough to have perfect. He wasn’t privileged enough to even be allowed to think about perfection. 

The anger would take over after thinking about it for too long. He always found himself angry with you for leaving him—abandoning him. How selfish could you be? Spencer believed he wasn’t worthy of you, he never had. You’d always take your lunch breaks with him, so he always had someone to sit with since he told you about how he would eat alone when he was younger. Every Time he’d come in with his tie crooked or his hair a mess, you would casually let him know. Eventually, when you worked up the courage to kiss him one night, you just started fixing it for him. Every morning you’d make him coffee as you both got ready for the day. You’d leave him little notes hidden in his desk, in his pillowcase, in his wallet, in his pockets.

It didn't take anything to make him think about you, but when he reached into the pocket of his jacket to find his phone as he got onto the plane, he found one. 

Hello Darling,          I hope today is a good day for you. You deserve         good things Spence. I hope you one day believe        it as much as I know it to be true &lt;3.      With all the love in my heart,             Future Mrs Doctor Spencer Reid P.S. you owe me the dishes tonight…

It shattered what little resolve he had left this morning, causing him to sit alone, on the couch, the note pressed against his lips as he stared out the windows of the plane. 

It was ironic that the one good thing he had left in the world was suddenly gone, and how you leaving made him feel as though he deserved nothing. The Bureau gave him a maximum of six months off, Grief Leave, they called it. But he ended up getting restless around month four, asking Hotch if he could come back periodically. That was how JJ found out that Spencer had been sleeping on the couch, unable to bring himself to sleep in a bed made for the two of you when there was only one left. 

It’s also how JJ found out that Spencer had relapsed. 

She had been the one to find him on the bathroom floor, a few days after your funeral. And spencer fucking hated her for it. He kept asking himself why she would keep the two of you apart? Two souls that were meant to forever be intertwined suddenly ripped apart. It felt like some sort of cruel joke. 

But he didn’t use it after that. One and Done, as he stated to Garcia over the phone one night while at a rehab. They let him out a week later since they couldn’t prove he was a harm to himself. 

The team would take their turns, feeling like he was twenty-three again, watching as they felt obligated to babysit him, watch out for him. Made him feel more like his friendships were chores than acts of love. Spencer didn’t feel much love anymore, only pity. 

Spencer looked over as Derek cleared his throat, silently asking if he could sit down, in your spot. He nodded once, an invitation he wasn’t really in the mood to repeat. 

The plane ride was going to be a long one, six hours. And Spencer had only been overthinking everything for one of them. 

“You found another one.” Not a question, an observation. 

Reid nodded, his gaze had shifted back to the window, the clouds, the slight rain streaking horizontally across the sky as they flew. 

 You loved the rain. It was refreshing, something cleansing. Rebirth, as you would say. 

It gives you a new beginning everytime it rains, which is extremely kind of the universe considering how many times we manage to fuck up. 

Spencer had once laughed at that, listening to you rant on about the perks and importance of rain. But now? He fucked hated it. He saw glimpses of you in every rain drop, reflecting you millions of times, and he would hear your laugh every time it thundered, taking up sas much space as deserved and echoing through your empty house. 

It rained for a week straight after you died. The world weeped at the loss of your soul. Spencer couldn’t tell if it was a cruel joke from the universe, or if it was you trying to tell him to try out that whole “rebirth thing”. 

Either way, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you would have. 

“Even when she’s not…” Spencer closed his eyes and swallowed the words, still unable to say them outloud. “She still manages to, uh, render me speechless.” 

Your favorite pastime was getting Doctor Spencer Reid to become speechless. You learned how to play chess, without his knowledge, and managed to beat him the first time you played. At somepoint, you had learned enough Russian to go and see one fo those movies he enjoyed so much, even though he knew that deep down the whole thing was not remotely in your wheelhouse. The team had never heard Spencer go as quiet as often as he did when you were around. 

Except for now. Spencer would state a fact, make an observation, point out something the team was missing, and that was it. He never spoke more than a few sentences at a time. Gone were the days of rants and backstory and additional context, that you always argued were important. No one listened to Spencer like you did. Instead, now, the world settled into an uncomfortable silence where laughter and rambling and teasing should have been. 

“She’s good like that.” Derek looked down at his hands. The two of them barely spoke because it was ahrd, for both of them. Spencer knew that Derek could still see your breath stop when he closed his eyes. Derek once drunkenly told him that sometimes, he could still see your blood over his hands–He couldn’t wash it out with water, so some nights he’d wash it out with whiskey, or bourbon, or scotch, anything to make the stains go away. 

The two of them looked at one another before opting to not say anything further, at risk of causing them both even more grief at the subject of you. 

I swear Spence, it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I know you will.

It was funny to him that in his day dream, you always ended up comforting him. You always ended up being the one to make sure he was okay before you died. 

I love you so much Spence. 

And he would just whisper how much he loved you back, hoping to god that somewhere, somehow, you could hear him. You could hear his misery and come back, having pranked him. He’d forgive you, if you came back. 

But instead, while he thought about you at 43,894 feet above the earth, you lay six feet under, permanently grounded. 

#x reader #sorry guys #sad ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid masterlist #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #crimnal minds x reader #angst fanfic #Spencer Reid x reader death #x reader fanfiction #x reader angst

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Gideon + Poetry

All photo credits are at the end

"Romance #1" by Eunsong Kim

like some 14 year old girl waiting for her crush to glance back i

keep waiting for capitalism to end

but it won't end

my adult life lover states

on what will end:

Libraries Birds Retirement Recess Sprinting during recess Hispid Hares Starfish shaped like stars inconvenience Wrinkles Sunken cheeks Living Corals Protests Anti-Nuclear Proliferation Non-Aggression Pacts Dragonflies Mangosteen DMZs Trade Embargos Leopards, all kinds Sawfins Rewilding Infiltration Plot/Dreams Oak, Trees. Partulina Varisbilis Partulina Slendida (-------) Violence Prevention Programs News. News:

Might a few jellyfish survive—

counting till revelations becomes a part of—

I feel like Gideon isn't talked about very much, and I get it. He's in the show far less than Rossi, and his ending is unsatisfying. But in many ways, he built the team. He's Spencer's father figure and Aaron's friend. He sticks up for Elle, Emily, and Penelope and keeps Morgan in balance. I think he is sad for much of the show and is good at hiding it. I think this poem represents that dynamic well. He's waiting for the world to be good. He's waiting for something that will never come, and in the end, that's why he has to leave.

But I just want to remind you all there is good in the world. There is hope out there. You matter and if you feel sad or alone I am always here to talk. Please be kind to yourselves today. I hope the start to your weeks is amazing! Love Levi - ❤️

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Photo credits

Top: Left (@h-f-k) Center (@ellie-makes-mbs) Right (@peacefulandcozy)

Middle: Left (@himekokosu) Center (@criminalmindsverse) Right (@grapeperfume)

Bottom: Left (@triflingthing) Center (@arnab-comel) Right (@flowersforfrancis)

Tag list: (🩷) @tgskitten @geminitapestry

Want to be added to my tag list? Please check out this post (linked) 

Want to send in a request? Please check out this post, CM Request Post (linked)

#criminal minds #cm #jason gideon #gideon criminal minds #criminal minds poetry #gideon poetry #levi rambles #levi writes #meloncholy #eunsong kim #aaron hotcher #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #ssa aaron hotchner #sad peoms #criminal minds moodboard #gideon mood board #light academia #light acadamia aesthetic #mood board #gideon is the og #more love for gideon #mandy patinkin #cafe aesthetic #flower aesthetic #i love you baby #🩷 #you make me so happy #can't wait to meet you irl