You and Spencer tell the team (and the kids) how you met. It's not...the best love story, but it's yours.
âThe Curse of the Love Sweater (established relationship, fluff, autumn vibes)
You've been with Spencer forever. But he's never kept a secret...until now. It doesn't take too long for you to figure out what he's stitching up behind your back...
âStay Stay Stay (angst with a happy ending, BAU reader)
You're leaving the Bureau after a long, messy decade. But somebody'd like you to stay.
âBirthday Candles; Kiss Me Slow (angst, Spencer's birthday, established relationship_
Birthdays kind of suck. But at least you're together.
âStar Light, Star Bright (4k, camping, pure fluff)
The team goes camping on a long weekend. Turns out, it's pretty damn easy to tell someone how you feel under a starry night sky.
âLucky Strike (2k, bowling date night w the team, fluff)
Spencer surprises his girlfriend. Established relationship fluff ensues.
SERIES
âLike You A Latte (12k, fem!reader, coffee shop AU)
You're a barista. He's a caffeine addicted profiler. Five drinks you serve your favorite regular, and one drink you both share.
Tired of being chronically single and teased about it, the Reader and Spencer Reid make a deal. They'll fall in love; just for the holiday season. Their arrangement is temporary, right?
BLURBS
âFireflies (600 words, fluff, wedding antics)
A few words of wisdom, a warm summer night, and dancing.
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content warning: vague mentions of food, reader uses she/her pronouns (in accordance with the song)
notes: this has been a wip for so freaking long and i'm so glad to finally put it to rest lol. and ALL the thanks to my incredibly kind and talented beta reader @behindyourbarrette!!
the fic is set to Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police, so I recommend taking a listen before/while you read! (and if you like that, here is a version by Jacob Collier that's also fantastic.) thank you all so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated âĄ
Though I've tried before to tell her
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart
Every time that I come near her
I just lose my nerve as I've done from the start
Spencer has been told by his teammates, a million and a half times, that he should âjust do it.â Just tell her how you feel, the worst that could happen is that she says sheâs not interested. But thatâs not the worst that could happen. Spencer could tell you how he feels and then immediately pass out from the social and emotional energy it took, forcing you to help him, possibly touching him in the process. And he doesnât want you to do that if you hate him, which you very well might after he reveals his affections. Furthermore, if you hate him, he canât ever hang out with you anymore, even just as friends. That would be his worst-case scenario. So pretty much every time Derek talks him into approaching you, he gets halfway to your desk before remembering that possibility and countless others, and veers off to talk to someone else or go to the break room instead.
On one such occasion, he finds himself bumping directly into Garcia; he must have been on the way to her batcave.
âOh, Boy Genius! I saw that cowardice on the bullpen cameras! Come with me, my foolish love.â And she grips his wrist forcefully as she tugs him back the way she had come from a moment prior.
Upon arriving in her tech lair, Spencer rushes to defend himself before he can get chewed out. âYou know I want to, Garcia! Of course I do! I just donât want to mess things up.â
At the glum and guilty look on his face, Garcia softens. âAnd you know I love you and want you to succeed too. Itâs so obvious that she feels the same way about you, and it would make both of you so happy to be together. You know how badly I want you to be happy, angelfish!â
Spencer gives her a hug, because he does know.
The singular time he does manage to get close for confession purposes is the next day, and it doesnât go well for him then, either. You spot him before he can launch into his memorized speech, and greet him obliviously.
âHey, Reid! How are you doing today? Didnât stay up too late researching nuances in diagnosis and classification of personality disorders, I hope,â you tease.
Spencer is thrown off entirely. How is he supposed to respond to this, smoothly enough that you want to continue the conversation, and then somehow bring it around to a spot where he can say what he came here to say? He doesnât know. He canât do it.
âNo! No, I-I slept, I promise. Did you? Sleep, y/n?â Heâs so stupid, so socially inept. Why are those the words that came out of his mouth? Out of all of the words it could have been? You giggle and take a breath to respond, but luckily, just at that moment, JJ comes by waving case files.
âThereâs-a-case-and-weâve-got-to-go,â he spills out, relieved. He shouldâve known he wouldnât be able to do it.
Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on
Spencer canât help but notice countless aspects of your personality, your habits, little tidbits that make you who you are. And he especially canât help but love them all. He loves the way you merely exist, laugh, smile when the weather gets dreary. He loves the rainbow of post-it note pads you have arranged in order across your desk, and the way you alternate colors when you need to use them. He loves the way you curl your feet underneath you when you get the chance to sit on the couch of the jet. He loves the way you try to hold in when you find something truly funny, because he can see through it anyways. He even loves the way you walk to the beat of whatever song is playing in your headphones, which isnât something anybody else would realize, he knows, but it makes your steps so purposeful (and who would just naturally step in 6/8 time?) Spencer hopes it isnât creepy that heâs picked up on that, and all of these things, but youâre truly entrancing. He canât help but analyze your every footstep, because he loves each one of them so much. And his memory means that he keeps them foreverâhe just canât get you out of his head.
Sometimes, Spencer imagines. He thinks about what it would be like to be a seamless part of your little routines and customs, how it would change his own life to be intertwined with yours. What it would be like to have those brilliant smiles directed at him, to be the cause of your laughter. For your bright sticky notes to appear on his own desk, with little notes detailing your love (not, of course, that he can imagine what exactly they might say; but he knows heâd cherish them forever). Heâd let youâinvite you, evenâto curl your body into his on the jet, and probably near about faint if you fell asleep on his shoulder. To see you look up and meet his eyes when youâre trying not to burst out laughing, because you know heâll understand. To dance in an apartment that you share to the same songs you always have playing into your ears, and go on dates where your steps match each otherâs as you stroll around the Smithsonian National Zoological Park.
Just when he thinks you canât get any more intoxicating, he thinks about what his life would be like with more of you in it, and Spencer nearly explodes from the serotonin and dopamine that floods his brain. He hopes you donât notice, but thinks it might be unlikely. Youâre a profiler, and thereâs no chance you miss the lovesick looks he gives you when you do, wellâeverything. Everything he stands the chance to gain if he finally tells you how he feels, and everything he stands to lose if youâre uncomfortable around him afterwards.
So, no, Spencer canât find it in him to confess. Not when thereâs a possibility of never being around you and all the little things that bring him so much happiness. No, he can never tell you at all.
Do I have to tell the story
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?
It's a big enough umbrella
But it's always me that ends up getting wet
Spencer knows the old adage that if you truly love someone, youâre always happy to see them happy. Which he is! You seem happy to him, at least. But at the same time, pining after you has given every single day a melancholy tinge. You love looking out the windows of the jet at the summer storm, and Spencer loves looking at you looking, and wishes you would look at him like that. He loves being your friend, donât get him wrong, but it makes him a little sadder with each day that passes that he doesnât get to hold you close and tell you exactly how precious you are to him: how beautiful he thinks you are, how comforting when the world is just too much. How all of your insecurities are completely unfounded; you are perfection itself, and nobody else could ever compare.
So when you call later that evening, breathless and sounding like youâre about to break down, how can Spencer do anything else but beg you to come over and let him take care of you?
It hurts him that you think little of yourself, and heâs forced to keep all of those things he wants to say inside. Itâs terribly difficult for him to make his soothing words platonic-sounding, and he can tell that they usually fall flat. Despite how honored he is that you seek comfort and understanding in his home, in his arms, he loathes himself for not being better for you when the downpour in your mind becomes too much. For not knowing what exactly to say to make you feel better without giving himself away.
âSpencer,â you say breathlessly when you arrive, âthank you so much.â
He wordlessly hands you his softest towels, warm from the dryer, to blot at the rain you love to look at, but canât stand the feel of in your clothes. Itâs you who speaks again, âI canât tell you how much it means to me that youâre so willing, always, to comfort me on nights like-nights like these.â
The wetness on your face isnât from outside anymore. Spencer gathers you into his arms, murmuring how what happened on the case wasnât your fault, you arenât responsible for the people who died. Youâre a good agent, a kind person, a wonderful friend.
By the time your sobs have subsided and youâre merely hiccuping into his chest, Spencer is left feeling like your sadness and insecurity have only transferred onto him. How could he ever be worthy of you? You who are so empathetic and caring? You who smell so good as he holds you close, and offer to call and pay for takeout to thank him? He doesnât know. Heâs sure he never will be.
Even on other days, when the mood is light, he canât help but feel gloomy. Every time the two of you are hanging out and you look so content, like thereâs nothing you could possibly want to add to your friendship, his heart breaks a fraction more. Just friends. Youâre happy, and in a way, so is he, but heâs also going to let a few tears slip out as soon as the door shuts behind you.
Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on
Sometimes Spencer feels ashamed of the fact that he has virtually no personal life. He works, of course, and oftentimes he guest-lectures at the academy, and when heâs available he speaks at chemistry or math conferences (most engineering conferences tend to be filled with technology types, and Spencer has enough experience with the ultimate tech type, Penelope, to be very wary of them). And his hobbies, while numerousâfor example, reading, knitting, and chessâare largely solitary activities. So he wouldnât say that heâs very social, outside of work. And some of the other team members gently rib him about it, which only makes him feel worse.
But, miraculously, this has been different ever since you joined the team. Suddenly thereâs someone he feels comfortable inviting for movie marathons, asking for help with cooking, making joint work clothes shopping trips because he hates trying on clothes so much. Spencer feels okay doing this, because for a while, you were the one asking him to hang out every time. You asked him to teach you how to make geographic profiles so quickly one day after work, and then took him to dinner at your favorite cafe. You wanted book recommendations from him, you wanted to show him the block a few streets away from headquarters with no fewer than three used bookstores. You even invited him to spend a Thanksgiving with you when you found out that neither of you had a place to go, that first year after you were hired. So at a point, Spencer decided that you wouldnât laugh at him for asking you to spend time with him, and you immediately become a valued, cherished part of his brand-new personal life.
And there are a million other things you do to make him happy; things that he isnât sure whether you even think about, but mean the entire world to Spencer. The other members of the team are fine with his infodumps until they devolve into details that are irrelevant to the case, and then come the eye-rolls, the dramatic sighs, the reminders to stay on task. But you, youâve never done that to him. Whether youâre alone or with others in the room, you nod and smile as he rambles on, even asking questions when thereâs an appropriate break. You never make Spencer feel like you donât have time for him, ever. You care about what he has to say.
When he gets headaches, it seems second nature for you to reach into your desk or your purse and pull out a travel-sized ibuprofen. Spencer isnât even sure how you always know that heâs in pain, but somehow, some way, it only takes one look, and then youâre handing him a water bottle and medication to give him as much relief as youâre able to provide.
And, in what is perhaps not such a little thing that makes his life better, but a rather big thing, youâve now become Spencerâs designated Vegas travel buddy. The first time it was because his mother had been having more bad days than good and you were worried about him going alone and just sitting up in a hotel room the whole time dwelling on her situation. But now itâs habitâhe thinks you might even be offended now if he booked one ticket instead of two. He canât begin to tell you how much of a relief it is to have someone by his side on the plane and at Bennington. Because when youâre next to him, no words are needed. Although your support of him is silent, it radiates off of you at all timesâand Spencer always understands.
I resolve to call her up
A thousand times a day
And ask her if she'll marry me
Some old-fashioned way
Spencer decides that itâll be easier if he tells you on the phone. He wonât have to deal with the expression on your face, or try his best not to constantly read your reactions. On second thought, though, maybe that added social pressure is a good, necessary thing. Maybe if he isnât as nervous, doesnât have the same in-person repercussions, heâll lose it entirely and just propose to you right there over the line. He goes back and forth on whether or not expressing his affections over the phone is a good idea, and regularly finds himself holding his ancient flip phone in one hand, your number showing on the display, his thumb hovering over the call button. But the more he thinks about doing it, the more concerned he becomes that heâll go overboard if he ever does get up the courage.
He can picture it now.
âSpencer!â Youâll say when you pick up, surprised. âIs everything okay? What can I help you with?â
And the words will come out before he has the chance to stop them. He has these thoughts so often that he wonât be able to contain them. âI love you, and I have for a long time. There is no doubt in my mind that we were predestined to be together, weâre-weâre soul mates.â In your shocked silence, heâll remember the proper order of things. âWould you like to go on a date with me sometime?â
This will never do, never. So Spencer never actually follows through with the idea of telling you on the phone. Not like it would make you more likely to reciprocate, anyways. (Spencer has thought those probabilities through very carefully.)
But my silent fears have gripped me
Long before I reach the phone
Long before my tongue has tripped me
Must I always be alone
Spencer feels, when heâs with you, that he is completely made of anxiety. His prevailing emotion is always fear, and this is what makes, as Emily so bluntly put it, his IQ drop from 187 to 60. Youâre just so gorgeous, youâre just so clever, and next to you Spencer just feels so inadequate. He stutters, he forgets what he was going to say, he spouts vocabulary lessons instead of socially appropriate responses to the things that you say. Spencer bothers you, heâs sure of it. He knows that nobody, least of all you, could ever want him in the way he wishes you could.
The first time he thought he found love was with Ethan. Ethan was smart, exactly like Spencer; he was ambitious and talented and didnât mind hanging around with a prodigy because he was near being one also. Together they shared so many first experiences: kisses, intimacy, the struggle of being young and figuring out who they were when all of the other PhD students had families and lives of their own. But then Ethan dropped out of the academy his first day at Quantico, and now he almost never writes Spencer anymore. Ethan had no more need of Spencerâhe left him alone.
The second time he thought he found love was with Lila. He could hardly believe itâa gorgeous, famous Hollywood actress, interested in him? But she insisted that she was, and she kissed him, over and over in her pool on the Los Feliz hillside. He got to be her hero for the night, and even her obsessed stalker believed they were in love. Spencer tried telling Lila that it was transference, but her protests and sweet parting moment convinced him that it wasnât. And then she never returned his call. Lila wanted someone better than Spencerâshe left him alone.
It was very similar with Austin. Looking back, Spencer doesnât know why he didnât learn his lesson from before. But she liked him before he was directly involved in saving her; she expressed interest in him when she only knew him as a gangly, awkward FBI agent looking for a witness in her bar; she noticed him when he was next to Morgan. Austin asked if she could call Spencer even if she didnât have any information: she wanted to see him again. Then he was the one to realize she was in trouble, he was the one to carry her away from the danger. She even called him afterwards! She sent him her card with a lipstick kiss on the back, of all things! And then she decided they lived too far away from each other for a real relationship, for the thing both of them were looking for. Austin didnât feel Spencer was worth the distanceâshe left him alone.
But at this point, Spencer knows whatâs going on. He sees the truth now. He simply isnât destined to be anyoneâs great love, despite how badly he wants to be. Heâs too awkward, too messy, too traumatized, too stuck in his own head to ever be the object of someoneâs affection and desire. And if he sees all this in himself, heâs sure youâre able to see it too. Youâll find someone more deserving of you than Spencerâyou too will leave him alone.
On and on and on and
Every little thing, every little thing
Every little thing, every little thing
Every little, every little, every little
Every little thing she does
Every little thing she does
Every little thing she does
Every little thing she does
Thing she does is magic
Every little thing, every little thing
Every little thing she do is magic, magic, magic
Spencer did not sleep last night. Heâs never been terribly good at regulating his emotions, and they were just driving him too crazy to let him fully relax and drift off. The thoughts of you wonât leave him alone for even a few hours. So now, on top of everything heâs still feeling, heâs running on a severe lack of sleep (even more than usual, which is saying a lot for him). The edges of his desk are so sharpâhave they always been this way? And Garciaâs outfit is just so colorful as she presents the newest case, and the fluorescent lights of the bullpen are emitting the most maddening hum in the entire world that Spencer just canât seem to ignore, not even from inside the conference room where the wattage itself is a little more forgiving.
Heâs shifting his weight from side to side in his chair, determinedly looking at everything else in the room except you (and, more noticeably to Hotch, his case file), and offers absolutely nothing to the teamâs usual preliminary spitballing session. No relevant facts that turn into rambles, no slightly related side information, not even a reference to the serial killers of yore. Spencer is off his gameâheâs not even on the right field, and everyone can see it.
Too far inside his head to think about anything except the way your perfume smells and how very exhausted and overstimulated he is, Spencer hardly takes notice when he feels a hand guide him out of the conference room after the rest of the team. Assuming itâs only Garcia, he allows himself to be led, but itâs a thorough shock to his system when he realizes why his heart is beating as fast as it isâitâs you with your hand on his elbow, you steering him into an empty office and sitting him down in the comfortable desk chair, you with a concerned look in your eyes and a water bottle that youâre setting in front of him.
âSpencer,â you coo. âHoney, is everything okay?â
Itâs too much. The âhoneyâ is what does it, itâs too much and Spencerâs brain is not working and all he can do is say the one thought heâs really sure of, possibly the only thought heâs been sure of his entire life.
âI love you.â The words slip out before he fully realizes what heâs saying, and then, terrified mouth still hanging open, heâs left with the silence hanging in the air between the two of you. Heâs really done it now, Spencer thinks. Heâs finally messed up the best thing in his life, just as he always knew he would.
But instead of widening in shock, your eyes soften. âI know. I love you too. Come here, itâs alright,â you say, pulling him to his feet. And your arms wrapped around him, the scent of your shampoo in his nose, your gentle exhalences drifting across his elbow, itâs all magic. Itâs magic.
YEEEEEEEESSSSS NEW NONEE FIC đđđđđđđđđ this has literally everything i adore in spencer fics. chefâs kiss. so honored to have beta read đđ¤Šđ¤Š
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hiii I just found temporarily indefinitely forever and I was wondering if there was an epilogue for it? I absolutely adored all 6 parts itâs amazing â¤ď¸â¤ď¸đ
hellooooo anonâglad you asked! there most definitely is :) i hope you enjoy the end to their story :D
Content Warning: brief descriptions of case-related violence (gunshots, injury while in pursuit), kissing
A/N: this fic is a long time coming! i got super hung up with editing and ended up re-writing certain parts like... fifteen times over the course of a couple months. also avoided working on it by making my first header collage. anyway! i'm finally happy with it and hope you all enjoy it too :)
A glint of copper stopped you in your tracks and you bent down to pick up the penny without a second thought. Itâs funny how things change. Growing up you never understood good luck charms, couldnât see why people would choose to believe in an invisible, immeasurable force over their own agency and abilities.
But if people are a tapestry of those we surround ourselves withâif the traits of our friends and family start to weave into the complex fabric of our own personalitiesâthen you suppose you have your best friend from college to thank for the new outlook. Whenever she found a penny, sheâd drag you to the nearest gas station to buy a scratch-off lottery ticket, using the coin to reveal the hidden symbols. She never won anything more than ten dollars or another free ticket that turned out to be a bust, but sheâd look at you with a gleam in her eye and remark how lucky she was regardless. Youâd give a good natured laugh, at the very least appreciative for the brief adventure, for the small moment of anticipation that her superstition created.
So when you spotted the penny face-up on the sidewalk on your way to the final round of interviews for your dream job, you picked it up and slipped it into your pocket. While you know you ended up becoming the newest member of the FBIâs Behavioral Analysis Unit purely of your own merit, you couldnât help but give the coin a bit of credit.
Because that was also the day you met Spencer Reid.
Today, you wake to a dreary, dismal sky. Itâs the kind of day that makes you want to pull the covers over your head and pretend the outside world doesnât exist for a while. You do the next best thingâhit snooze on your alarm until youâre running late. You shoot off an apology text to Hotch and curse at yourself under your breath as you rummage around in your go bag for your umbrella. Youâre never late (well, hardly ever, you concede) so youâre less concerned with his response and more preoccupied with the fact that this means you wonât have time to stop for a decent cup of coffee before heading to the station.
As you step out of the SUV onto the rain-soaked pavement, a familiar metallic flash catches your eye, and you walk into the local precinct with an uncharacteristically broad grin on your face.
âWoah, whatâs with you, little miss sunshine? It usually takes until at least your fourth cup of coffee for you to crack a smile like that when the weatherâs this bad,â Derek observes.
âFound a penny, looks like Iâm in for a lucky day,â you quip as you shrug off your jacket, hearing the faintest jingle of the new penny mingling with the one from the day of your interview. You still carry it with you everywhere, the copper starting to patina from how often you run your thumb over its reassuringly cool surface.
You find it hard to believe itâs only been three years since you joined this team. Barely any time in the grand scheme of things, and it astonishes you how quickly they became like a second family. Sometimes youâre tempted to think itâs just the nature of the jobâthat you have to be close since you trust each other with your lives each day. But you can have that sort of trust without intimacy, have respect without devotion.
You think back to that final interview with the BAU, the firm handshake Hotch gave you in congratulations, welcoming you to the unit. How in your excitement and urgency to text the good news to your family you didnât look where you were going and ran smack into one of your new coworkers, inciting a scene of flying limbs and scattered files. As you scrambled to help clean up the mess, the apologies spewing from your lips stopped short when you found yourself staring into Spencerâs warm hazel eyes for the first time. In the midst of the nervous laughter, you felt drawn to him in some inexplicable way. And, despite the awkward introduction, the two of you became fast friends.
Eventually that initial connection you felt grew into something more. You canât even pinpoint the exact moment it happened, you just know that you revel in your every interaction. Your simplest conversations leave you glowing for the rest of the day. You love existing in his worldâa world of kindness, intelligence, patience. You love him, though youâve resigned to never admitting it, too afraid of risking the friendship that means so much to you.
Emily pokes her head up from behind a mountain of file boxes, interrupting your reverie, âDo you really believe that old superstition?â
You give a noncommittal hum, âI donât put a lot of stock in it, but in a way, yes. I think it comes down to the thrill of possibility. The brief instance where you think that you might have the best day of your life simply because you found a penny. If picking it up helps you prolong that mindset, it makes sense that good things will followâbecause youâre open to them.â
âThatâs absolutely right!â Spencer spins around from the map where heâs working on the geographical profile to face you, nodding intently. âStudies have shown that lucky charms create an illusion of control for the person who believes in them, which boosts confidence, ultimately contributing to their own success. Thereâs no tangible thing for what we call âluck,â but we can create one by transferring the concept to an object.â
You try your hardest to pay full attention to what heâs saying. Youâd think that by now youâd have learned to focus solely on his words instead of getting lost in the way he gestures with his hands when he gets excited, how his whole face lights up when he shares something from his infinite vault of facts and anecdotes. You love listening to him when he gets like this, brain running at full speed and his mouth just trying to keep up. God, youâd listen to him talk forever if it would make him happy.
âAnd the origins of pennies being viewed as good luck are fascinating. According to one theory, the thought stemmed from religious beliefs. Folklore from ancient civilizations said that metalsâlike copperâwere gifts from the gods intended to protect people from evil. And this fueled other superstitions like charm bracelets and metal horseshoes,â he finishes, slightly out of breath from the infodump.
That is interesting, Spence,â you reply. You donât always know what to say in response to his tangents, but you hope that your tone conveys how much you genuinely enjoy hearing them.
The beaming smile he gives you lets you know that it does, and you feel that familiar heat rise to your cheeks. Itâs the way you always feel under his gaze, a reminder that your feelings for him were inevitable.
Smiling back, you allow yourself to get lost in the possibility of a life where Spencer Reid knows how hopelessly in love you are with him, if only for a moment. Youâre too busy staring at each other to notice the knowing smirk that Emily and Derek exchange, the moment only broken when Derek clears his throat to suggest itâs time to get back to work.
âIâm gonna grab coffee, anyone else need some?â You ask before settling in.
âOh!â Spencer interjects, âHereâI got you a latte when we stopped on our way in. I know how tough days like this can be for you, thought you could use the extra pick-me-up.â
Your fingers brush as he hands you the cup, leaving you unsure if the warmth you feel spreading through your body is from the first sip of the coffee or his touch. When you murmur a heartfelt thank you and give his forearm a light squeeze, you catch Derek nudge Emily with his elbow and her failed attempt to turn her chuckle into a cough. You shrug it off and think that maybe youâre in for a lucky day after all.
By mid-afternoon the torrential rain has let up, replaced by a light mist that clings persistently to your windbreakers as the team piles into the SUVs. After poring over the evidence and with the help of the one and only Penelope Garcia, youâve got a name and address for the unsub and are en route to his apartment.
When you arrive, Hotch directs you, Morgan, and Reid to cover the back in case he tries to make a run for it. Youâve barely gotten into position when you hear commotion on the fire escape, followed by a figure leaping from the second story and taking off down the alley. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears as you sprint after in hot pursuit when he suddenly stops and whips around, gun aimed straight for your chest.
A shot rings out.
Everything seems to come to a halt as the bullet hits its mark, blinding pain exploding through your body. Youâre knocked off balance, head slamming against the concrete as you fall to the ground. Your vision blurs and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of consciousness as you struggle to breathe.
Through the haze you hear Spencer yelling into his com, âAgent down! We need medicalânow!â before you feel his hands on you, frantically scanning your body for injuries.
âY/N, hey. Hey. Can you hear me?â He asks, panic evident in his voice.
You cough and sputter out a gasp, still trying to catch your breath from the impact, âVest caught it. Go.â
âMorganâs on it, and JJ isnât far behind. Iâm staying with you. You know theyâre more useful than me in a chase, anyway,â he tries to joke, but the unsteadiness in his voice breaks through.
âDonâtâdonât worry about me. Told you, my vest caught it.â you pant, hearing the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
âBulletproof vests arenât actually bulletproof, though. They just rapidly dissipate the energy from the bullet. You could have cracked ribs, or a concussion depending how hard you hit the ground, or a myriad of other internal injuries,â he lists off as he wraps his arms around you, gently helping you sit up.
âReid. Iâm fine,â you stifle a wince, only drawing further concern from him.
You offer a strained smile in a feeble attempt at reassurance, met by an unreadable expression. His eyes are wider than normal, cheeks pink and brows slightly furrowed. You notice how his hand shakes as he brings it up to gingerly touch the back of your head.
âY/N, Iâyou need to know something...â
You look at him curiously and wait for him to continue. His eyes dart to yours for a fleeting moment before dropping to the ground, but you note how they burn with a sense of urgency.
âWhat is it?â you ask softly, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
âI justâI canât go another day without telling you how much I care about you,â he starts. When he looks back up and locks eyes with you, you find yourself lost in his gaze, basking in its warmth and adoration. He doesnât continue talking, but he doesnât need to. Because that look is one that youâve found yourself wearing more often than not when in the presence of Spencer Reid. Itâs a look that sets off somersaults in your chest, knowing that heâs just as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him.
Youâre not sure who closes the distance first, but suddenly you're pulling each other into a deep kiss and all other thoughts have melted away. The feelings for him that have been clawing at your chest for the better part of three years have finally been released, and you find yourself wondering how you ever kept them contained in the first place. Youâd imagined this moment so many times, but the real thing far exceeds those wistful daydreams.
When you finally pull away for air you canât control the smile that breaks across your face, a similar one spread on his. He leans away from you and takes a deep breath, âI canât tell you how many times Iâve thought about doing that. Well, actually I couldâeidetic memory and allâbut I wonât because I know thatâs weird and I donât want to freak you out andââ
Your hands find their way to his face and you cut him off with a firm kiss. Itâs one of the few times youâve interrupted his ramblings, but will definitely be your favorite way from now on.
When you break apart again heâs looking at you like youâre the night sky, continually searching for a wonder he hasnât yet seen.
âWhy are you staring at me like that?â you tease.
His eyes remain focused on yours, âIâm still kind of trying to convince myself this is real. I canât believe I kissed you. And youâre kissing me back,â he breathes, nothing short of awestruck.
Your heart swells in your chest as you beam at him. Your next words come tumbling from your mouth without a second thought. Theyâre the words youâve been holding back for so long, and finally saying them extinguishes the fire theyâve been burning in your throat, âAnd I canât believe how in love with you I am.â
âSpence, from the moment we met I knew you were special. Iâve searched for the words to describe it but I keep coming up empty. Youâre just so... you. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, not to mention the most brilliant mind. I could listen to you talk about the latest philosophy book you read for hours, I love the way you purse your lips and scrunch up your nose right before you make a breakthrough on a case, I-â
âMonday, April Twenty-Sixth. Eight-fourteen AM,â he interrupts.
You blink back at him, confused, âWhat?â
âThe moment we met. I was making my way to Hotchâs office when the door flew open and I was knocked to the ground by the most intimidatingly beautiful woman Iâd ever seen.â
âSpencer...â you flush at the memory, but he continues, his own thoughts heâd pushed down long ago finally rushing to the surface.
âWhen our eyes met, you smiled that perfect smile of yours and thatâs when I knew... there was no stopping me from feeling this way. And those feelings have only grown the longer Iâve known you. I never believed in the notion of âlove at first sight.â I mean, by the very definition, love is an intense feeling of deep affectionâand how can you have affection for someone without knowing them at all? Oftentimes what most people experience is lust at first sight and they call it love because they donât understand simple emotions and their chemical responses. But,â he pauses to collect his thoughts, âthe first time I laid eyes on you, you defied all my understanding of love, of lust, of any sort of logic or fact or definition. You made me realize that not everything can be explained.â
He envelops you this time in a slow, gentle kiss, your lips dancing delicately together, communicating the depths of your feelings without words. You donât think youâll ever get tired of kissing him.
You smile as you pull away, âSee, I told you I was going to have a lucky day.â
âAre you serious? Y/N, you just got shot! You couldâyou could have died!â Spencer screeches.
âI could have, but I didnâtâgood luck,â you deadpan, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle your laugh.
The look of utter disbelief he gives you lets you know heâs about to reprimand you for being so cavalier about the incident, so you put him out of his misery.
âSpencer, Iâm kidding!â you exclaim, landing a soft hit to his chest with the back of your hand. âBut I did get to kiss you, which I think more than makes up for the attempt on my life.â
He lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head with that smile of his. You know as long as you can keep making him smile like that everything will be okay, and you feel pretty damn lucky to call him yours.
i appreciate each and every one of you for reading!! feel free to let me know what you think, or just come say hello <3
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turns out two of my irl friends are cm stans and they were like âhaha wouldnât it be funny if u had a tumblr?â somehow it feels like they know so hi v and j if youâre here iâm sorry if youâve read anything here you know how deeply i crave intimacy lol
A/N: Haven't posted a fic in a whileeee so here's a little blurb/excerpt from a series I started that I can't figure out how to wrap up, slightly edited so it can stand alone. Spencer's last line of dialogue is a quote from People We Meet on Vacation by Emily Henry!! It's an absolute gem of a book if you love the friends to lovers trope like I do đĽ°
There are three different types of tears: reflex tears; continuous tears; and emotional tears. Reflex tears help clear debrisâlike smoke and dustâfrom your eyes. Continuous tears lubricate our eyes and help protect them from infection. Emotional tears are what you've been crying ever since you got home from your latest case.
You read once that crying is a way to restore emotional equilibrium. Whereas continuous tears contain 98 percent water, emotional tears contain stress hormones and other toxins. Basically, our bodies get so overwhelmed that we have to let that emotion out somehow, and crying acts as our bodiesâ way of recovering from experiencing such strong emotion.
So you canât help but wonder why after almost two hours of this, your emotions still havenât reached equilibrium. Why instead the wet, bitter sobs have simply morphed into you tearlessly gasping for breath. You bet Spencer would have an explanation.
Spencer.
Itâs like his name flips a switch that puts your body on autopilot. You grab your keys from the kitchen counter and pull on your jacket. If thereâs any part of your brain telling you that people who are âjust friendsâ donât show up on each otherâs doorsteps unannounced after 2 AM, you're well past the point of being able to listen to it.
Your frantic knocks are what finally draw you out of your haze. Just as your brain catches up to your body and you realize where you are, the door cracks open mid-knock, revealing a sliver of a sleepy and utterly confused Spencer Reid.
âY/N?â He questions before opening the door fully, taking in your red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks, unsure if you're really there or something out of a dream. Or more likely, you figure, a nightmare with the way you look right now.
âDo you remember when you told me that if this job ever got to be too much, I could always talk to you?â you ask, the words unsteady. He nods and steps aside, gesturing for you to come in and shutting the door softly behind you. When he turns to face you, he gives you a look of such deep compassion and understanding that you feel the walls you've built fracture under its weight. âItâs too much,â you confess as your voice breaks and the tears begin to fall again.
âHey, hey, come here,â he pulls you into a tight hug and wraps his arms around you, the simple gift of his company soothing your aching soul. Itâs the only time you've felt right the past few days. You find that itâs easier to breathe when heâs around, the panic in your chest dulls a little knowing heâs here. Things donât seem as scary in his presence.
And through your broken sobs and his hand tracing comfortingly down your back, you hear yourself think, âIâm in love with you.â
Thereâs no fireworks, no fanfare. Just the quiet realization that you've never felt more at home than you do when you're in his arms. You think you've been in love with him for a long timeâso long that you canât pinpoint the exact moment it started.
Itâs a thought that terrifies you as much as it thrills you, because when you open yourself up to love, you open yourself up to hurt. You pull away from his embrace and start to wipe your tears away with the back of you hand.
âSpencer, Iââ you feel the telltale warmth of I love you dancing on your tongue, about to slip past your lips. But you force the words back down, throat burning on their descent. You couldnât stand to lose him, to jeopardize how happy you are with your friendship by saying those three little words if he doesnât feel the same way.
You feel his honeyed gaze, waiting for you to finish, so you tell him the truthâthe palatable part, anyway. âI canât imagine my life without you.â
A contented smile graces his face. âCan I tell you something?â You nod in response and he continues, âI used to be lonely a lot. But Iâve never really felt alone since I met you. I donât think Iâll ever feel truly alone in this world again as long as youâre in it.â
Your heart catches in your throat, and you bury your face back in his chest to breathe in his familiar scent. Someday the weight of your feelings may become too much to bear. But for now, this is enough.
a/n: love u bye LOL im kidding but check my pinned and know that this series was my fav thing ive ever done
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New Yearâs Eve, 11:51 p.m
âAre you sure you donât want to watch the ball drop?â
Spencerâs voice is hesitant, hushed against the din of the party happening beneath your feet. His hands, though, are confident, sure, holding your waist with a certain resolve. A feeling of truth to it.
You shrug, a little cold, and take a step closer to him, reaching to drape your arms around his neck.
âItâs a dumb tradition anyways.â You catch the spark of defiance in his eyes before you even finish your sentence, and to your delight, he springs to life.
âItâs loosely based on nautical time balls,â He says, smiling as his eyes drift across the skyline. âA way for sailors to set their chronometers at the same time every day, no matter where you were at sea.â
âOkay, maybe itâs a cool tradition,â You concede, just to see him smile, unrestrained and triumphant over something so small, so simple.
âI donât like being glued to the TV, though.â You add, feeling the fabric of his collar between your fingertips. He considers it, for a moment, playing up the scrunch of his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips for effect.
âFair. Itâs nicer up here.â
Itâs cold, and it looks like it might rain. The partyâs inside, where Morgan probably has a fire going and something warm in the oven. But heâs right. Itâs nice up on the roof of an apartment complex, where you arenât supposed to be. Where you feel at home.
âWhat were your resolutions? Last year?â You ask, after the silence settles and thickens into more than just a pause. By now, someoneâs turned the music up a floor below and you can feel the pulse in your feet. To your delight, Spencerâs going along with the sway youâve begun to embrace, stepping in time.
âI canât remember.â He quips, pursing his lips in pride after he gets the joke out.
âYouâre a terrible liar, Dr. Reid,â you laugh, and your hands move from his collar up to his cheeks, to hold him. âYou donât take me for a fool, do you?â
âNever.â
âSo what did you hope for?â
His eyes flick towards the door to the staircase, making sure youâre alone. You watch him ponder it for a moment, hair windswept and unruly, cheeks chapped pink.
âA good year. I always do.â He says, so sincere that you resist the urge to groan, to tell him that heâs being cheesy. He looks as if heâs about to go on, so you let him.
âI was hopeful for my mom. Her health,â his eyes flick upwards, towards the cloudy sky. âAnd for the team. I wanted to read often. To start ordering decaf. I donât think they mean much, resolutions. They go largely unfulfilled. Statistically.â
âStatistically.â You confirm with a nod of your head, a grin breaking across your cheeks. It wonât be long now, you think. Time passes more quickly, with him, when you have nowhere to be and nobody to please.
âHow about you?â
Youâve told yourself you wonât cry. Itâs hard not to, though. In the mornings, when the sunlight cuts across the room and warms his skin. The afternoons, when you read in your living room, hands intertwined, the couch too small for both of you but defying the odds so he can trace circles between your thumb and your index finger as you flick through pages. The evenings, when he holds you, and talks about dead philosophers and the cases youâve just closed and his mother and ethically sourced coffee beans because he knows that youâre listening. To experience thisâyou know now that itâs love, thatâs what itâs calledâis to feel with the dial turned all the way up. Itâs Technicolor.
âI probably said that I wanted to eat less takeout. Go on more second dates.â A surprised laugh escapes him, light and unfiltered, and you smile.
âIâm very picky, you know. Penelope set me up with half of Quantico.â
âI guess that makes me lucky.â He grins, presses a kiss to your cheek.
âStatistically, yeah. You are.â
Youâre running out of time, but you know that itâs imaginary, that nothing will change when the ball drops just a few hours north from here. He will still be here, flush against you, smiling and yours.
âHow about this year?â He asks, and you have to think about it.
You can hear the team below begin to chant. Ten. Heâs all you can wish for, really. The rest falls into place. Nine. A job you love. Eight. An apartment full of books and his clothes. Seven. Maybe a cat, but Spencer will need convincing. Six. That one corner desk in the bullpen. Five.
âIâd like to kiss the person I hope to keep kissing,â you say, once you can hear Auld Lang Syne blasting through open windows and a greater commotion. And with that, Spencer smiles, and the rooftop fades. Itâs bitterly cold, and you have a long year ahead of you, but everything is so bright. Itâs Technicolor.
March, Spencerâs Apartment
The sun has barely set, but youâre sleepy.
This type of calm is unique, you think. True security is a luxury you havenât afforded yourself in a long time. Youâve spent your years with the Bureau looking over your shoulder, always half-fearful that your work will catch up to you. That thereâs something lurking when you arenât working, when you let yourself relax. But ever since January, youâve been able to sleep.
âYouâll wake up with a crick in your neck if you keep that up.â Spencer nudges you with his socked foot, and you snap out of a microsleep. The book youâre readingâhis annotated Tolstoy, which is probably older than you bothâfalls to the ground and closes with a decisive snap.
âOh, come on. Let me ruin my body in peace.â
âOrthopedics are no joke. The neck is a delicate mechanism, all the joints and ligamentsââ
âYou arenât that kind of doctor.â You say, voice garbled through the filter of a yawn. He smiles, and grabs hold of one of your arms. In two quick motions, youâve moved from your respective corners of the couch to an embrace, holding each other. His legs hang off the couch as you become the little spoon, but apparently itâs a sacrifice heâs willing to make. Face to face, you watch him take a deep inhale, his muscles relaxing as you wind yourself around him.
âIâm exhausted.â You mutter, head tucked into his chest.
âWe probably have to work tomorrow.â
âCanât we skip?â You counter. After the day youâve had, itâs tempting to feign a bad hangover or hayfever. Anything to preserve this feeling, the warmth of it.
He glances up, probably calculating a figure or statistic, but abandons it in favor of gazing at you.
âDid you have a good birthday?â
You hold onto him a little tighter as you nod, hoping he feels that youâre grateful. He did everything rightâran out for coffee and a chocolate croissant before you woke up, recruited Penelope and Rossi to bake you a perfect cake, and planned a small dinner party, over before the clock struck nine. But the timing had been off. Your birthday came in the wake of a brutal case, one that had really and truly rattled you. The day was lost the moment you took that assignment on. It was worth it. People were saved, justice was brought, but it had soured the next few days. Bad luck that it happened to be your birthday.
âI did.â You say, lifting your hand to brush your thumb across his cheek, in a beat of two. He nods, smiling sadly, and you kiss the expression away.
âI wish it couldâve been better. That there was something I could do.â
âBut there was, and you did it. Today was perfect.â
âSometimes I wonder if itâs worth it.â
âSpencer.â You hate to chastise, but itâs more than surprising to see him this way. A hand travels to his chest, trying to ground him.
âYou love your birthday. I hate to see this job take it from you. Even when we win, it takes.â He settles back into the sofa, and you squeeze him in a half-hug.
âIt didnât take anything from me. I had a wonderful day. And Iâm with you. We have a great life. Together. Thatâs worth celebrating.â
âYouâre right.â He sighs, conceding defeat, and a genuine smile sparks across your face. The sleepy expression on his features offers you a rare chance at a joke, and you race to take it.
âDo you want to read, or sleep?â
âBoth. In that order.â
And the night trickles away, on that couch, clumsily arranged so that youâre touching as much as possible, voices slurred and thick with fatigue, arms and legs pinned and needled, books crumpled after you both drop them in the brave act of falling.
August
Summers are different, now.
Theyâre spent maximizing the in between. You refuse to let this job eat the two of you alive, not when you actually have lives to live, now. So you spend your weekends with your phones off and hands holding each otherâs.
Itâs nice, in D.C. A stoneâs throw from home, but fun to walk with someone who knows literally everything there is to know about U.S History. Spencer talks your ear off as you make your way down the cobblestone streets, pointing out landmarks and little corners of the city that you wouldnât have noticed, had he not been there.
It gets hot around noon, though, with the sun high overhead and the humidity almost as bad as it is a little further south. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, and you stifle a flustered laugh in an attempt to play it cool. No amount of time will change how incredibly disarming Dr. Spencer Reid can be, in all his glory.
âI canât wait for Halloween.â He mutters, and you take a step in from the sidewalk to bask in the shade of an overhang. Pulling a bottle of water from your purse, you offer it to him.
âYou always look forward to Halloween, though. I think you just want it to be cold.â You tease, watching him take a tentative sip. Sharing drinks with you is a relatively new level of intimacy, but after you remind him that you share more than the rim of a glass, he warms up to the idea.
âWhat are we going to be this year?â He asks, a little breathless. Excitement leaps into your chest at the idea of another party, another costume. You flex your fingers, feeling the spot where the skin by your scar refuses to follow along. Thatâs the pleasure of timeâit heals. You can look forward to parties again. Your hand only hurts you when it rains, which youâre pretty sure is a placebo, as explained to you by a very intelligent doctor. The iron grip that last yearâs autumn had on you has faded into little more than a scar and a story that nobody believes when you tell it.
âWhatever you want. We can be anything.â
âYeah.â He agrees, and he looks past you towards something that makes his eyes light up. âWe can be anything.â
âIs that a bookstore?â He asks, pointing towards a sign across the street. It advertises used books, and an idea lights itself like a match. You turn back to him, grinning.
âIt totally is, and I am totally going inside to do top-secret shopping. You can have your turn after Iâm done.â
He smirks, probably at the idea that thereâs little you can hide from him, which above all else is true. Youâve given up on concealing much of anything anymore. Itâs too difficult to keep from grinning, these days.
âIâll be here.â He gestures to the sidewalk, a delightfully aloof smile on his face.
âLove you.â You press a kiss to the edge of his mouth, because you know itâll make him laugh. He presses you close to him in a rare public hug, and buries his face into your hair. It is of absolutely no importance, how ridiculous you two look.
âLove you too. Just donât buy me Dickens.â
You laugh, unrestrained and loud in the middle of the street. Spencer blushes, and watches you make your way into the tiny bookshop. A bell sounds as you enter, and immediately you know that itâs the perfect place to buy Spencerâs birthday gift. The shelves are covered from wall to wall with yellowed classics. Thereâs almost too much to choose fromâbut you manage to trail around, enraptured by the display of signed copies in the back.
October isnât so far away, youâve learned. Fall, and everything that comes with it, will be here before you know it. Itâs easy, then, to busy yourself with poking through the shelves in search of something that heâll love. Something to show that you do, too.
While youâre waiting in line to check out, a small stack of vintage first editions in your arms, you hear a siren. Itâs not quite rationalâSpencer would tell you that human memory is little more than a guessing game, that thereâs no easy explanation for whatever reaction triggers a memoryâbut your mind tugs you back to that urgent care waiting room, the drive over, Spencerâs hand pressing into yours, the bloom of blood on the makeshift bandage. The skin on your palm is still puckered, the line white with age. The cashier catches sight of it as you hand her a novel, her eyes lingering on the tight line of the scar. You pass her your card in an attempt to redirect her focus, and she takes it with a slight tilt of her head.
âOuch. Looks like that one hurt.â She says, offhandedly, and you know that she will not remember you by the end of today. You shrug, and let her hand you your copy of Cannery Row, the receipt tucked into the first page. The door opens, and a short bell sounds. You offer her a small smile, in honor of everything she does not know.
âIt was a long time ago,â you say. Pain is pain, though, regardless of which side of it you are on. If anything, she understands, eyes meeting yours with a soft smile. You turn on your heel, towards who you know is waiting for you, and leave the past behind.
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hi guys! rory here. this isnât an update i want to give, especially after feeling super grateful for that recent milestone, but i figured a lengthy textpost explanation would be a bit better than leaving you all in the dark. i'm in my freshman year of college and while i'm having a great time, itâs really difficult and i havenât been able to have time for myself at all, let alone any of my hobbies. i created this blog in july and even then, i had been stockpiling content for months and my active interest in CM was fading. despite how much i love writing all the time and creating a ton of content, iâm just unable to maintain the activity level that i was able to over the summer. i still love criminal mindsâiâll probably binge it later this year and my passion for writing spencer will reawaken, but for now i think itâs best if i leave this account be and take an indefinite hiatus. feel free to unfollow, but if you'd like, you guys can find me on my personal blog, @icedchailover (Slight callback to like you a latte 4 the mems) which i'll keep going bc i do love this website, all of my awesome mutuals and also posting snippets of poetry/prose Because i do write to live!! i just don't want to live to write fanfiction anymore to the detriment of my mental health and studies. love you all to bits and pieces, please please please message me if you'd like to stay in touch and follow me on my other blog. stay healthy and safe and i wish you all the best this fall! catch you on the flip side.
-caroline <3 (or rory, you pick. the joy of nicknames!)