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Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets heβs your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]
c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer canβt believe he bagged you, requested hereΒ
Λ ΰΌ ΰ³βqΛβ
Spencer wakes to an empty room.Β
He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.
He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like heβs been sucking on cotton balls.Β
Spencerβs alarmed, without a clue what it is heβs done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom heβs okay.Β
Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case.Β
A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.
Spencer doesnβt want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesnβt remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him?Β
Heβs scowling at the window with itβs wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens.Β
Youβre looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets βwhat are you doing here?Β Agent L/N, Morganβs friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. Youβre from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway.Β
Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind youβd been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. Itβs because youβre the prettiest woman heβs ever seen. Heβs not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, youβre just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. Itβs better when you notice heβs awake and light up like heβs the winning numbers for tonightβs lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates.Β
βHey, babe!β you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.
He doesnβt think to move away as you take his face into your hands.
βIβm so glad youβre finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.β Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. βIt's a good thing, obviously,β you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. βYou heal more when youβre asleep. Or so Iβve heard.βΒ
You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencerβs never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesnβt have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? Thatβs the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?
βHow are you feeling?β you ask, losing some of your pep. βHowβs your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.βΒ
βThey cut my hair?β he croaks.Β
βShaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, donβt worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,β you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. βItβs not much. You canβt tell.β
βIβ¦βΒ
βYou feeling okay?β you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. Theyβre cute eyebrows.Β
βYou look different than the last time I saw you.βΒ
He doesnβt mean to say it aloud. Heβs noticing things now. Youβre wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didnβt look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isnβt too different, nor your brows, but youβve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesnβt claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit.Β Why the sudden change?
βItβs hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,β you say, taking his hand where heβd left it loose in the blankets.Β
Your fingers slip into his with ease.Β
βCan I tell you something?β he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves.Β
βOf course you can.βΒ
He licks his lips. βUh, I think Iβm confused. I donβtβ I donβt remember what happened, andβ¦βΒ
βOh, right. They told me this might happen.β You draw yourself up with a breath. Heβs fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. βYou got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.β You turn your face to show your cheek. βWeβre even now on good scares, yeah?βΒ
You have a scar on your face heβd missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart.Β
βWhat happened to you?β he asks.Β
Your brow crinkles. You go very still. βMy cheek?β you ask.Β
βWhatβ¦βΒ
βSpencer, whatβs the last thing you can remember, honey?β you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes.Β
βUhβ¦βΒ He feels sick to his stomach.
βSpencer?βΒ
Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap.Β
His mouth fills with spit. βIβm fine,β he says.Β
βNo, I donβt think so. Let me get a doctor.βΒ
βWait,β he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. βPlease donβt go.βΒ
βMy face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you donβt remember?β you ask incredulously.Β
βWhy do you keep calling me honey?β he asks. He knows the answer, but itβs not computing.Β
Your face drains of any happiness. βIβm going to get a doctor,β you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing heβd just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again.Β
β
βAnd he really canβt remember you at all?β Morgan asks.Β
Youβre a little less startled than you had been, and youβre trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship βyears of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each otherβs places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between casesβ was a slap.Β
βHe remembers me,β you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencerβs bed to hold his hand. βHe just doesnβt remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.βΒ
βI remember when you had hair,β Spencer says to Derek.Β
Derek glares at him, βThis Spencer doesnβt get to sass me.βΒ
βBut I do eventually?βΒ
βHow come youβre holding hands if he doesnβt know who you are?β Derek asks pointedly.Β
You shrug. βWe talked about it, didnβt we?β you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isnβt unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. βHe doesnβt remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.βΒ
βThis must be pretty weird for you, kid,β Derek says.Β
βSort of,β Spencer says.Β
Itβs funny. Now you know Spencer thinks heβs twenty three again, you canβt not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. Youβd forgotten what he was like back then.Β
βWait, does that mean you donβt remember Emily?β Derek asks.Β
Spencer frowns. βUh, no?βΒ
You sit up in your chair. βEmilyβs one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.β
βNot you?β he asks.Β
You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. βNot me. I didnβt transfer for a long time, unfairly. Itβs okay, though, youβll remember Emily eventually.βΒ
When you realised Spencer wasnβt as okay as youβd thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. Youβre in Arizona where heβd thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencerβs fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldnβt believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag.Β
Youβre trying to drive home to him that youβre not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. Youβd spend life in his lap if you could afford it.Β
βHowβd she get you to believe her?β Derek asks Spencer.Β
βUh.βΒ
βI kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,β you say. βSo I didnβt have to explain.βΒ
βI didnβt mean to lie,β Spencer says.Β
Heβs looking less haggard now youβve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didnβt flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. Itβs hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. Youβve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out.Β
βItβs okay,β you say softly, βI donβt mind kissing him, even if he doesnβt remember me. Just so long as he doesnβt mind it back.β
Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. Itβs a soft one, but itβs real. βI donβt mind.βΒ
βYou dog,β Derek says.Β
βStop, stop. Heβs not doing anything wrong, is he?β you ask. βIβm the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesnβt know me.βΒ
βI do know you,β Spencer says.Β
βWhatβs it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?β Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where heβs crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table.Β
Spencer swallows. βUh, nerve-wracking.βΒ
βBelieve it or not, thatβs not so different to now,β Derek says.Β
Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. βSometimes you're still a little shy, but itβs not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. Itβs easy with us.βΒ
βDo we really live together?β he asks. βYou said common-law.βΒ
βNot technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.βΒ
βEvery week?β he asks.
βYeah.βΒ
βWeβre never apart?β he asks.Β
His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks.Β
βDerek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?β you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze.Β
Derek gathers himself up. βSure. We gotta feed the string bean something, donβt we?β he asks.Β
Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencerβs arm with your nails. Youβre going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything youβd ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too.Β
βYouβre not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? Youβre quite lean.β You stand to sit where youβd put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. βSolid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.βΒ
βWe do?βΒ
βMm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.βΒ
βWe did?β
You smile warmly. βItβs nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.βΒ
βHow do you love?βΒ
His ears are bitten-red. βOh, you know. Iβm too affectionate. Itβs hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we wereβ¦ I donβt know, playing a game.β You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. βBut I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.β You poke the skin beside your eye. βBut sometimes youβll surprise me and kiss my nose.β You're going lax with love, remembering things heβs done, and does every day.Β βOn a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.βΒ
βThatβs not how you love, thatβs what you love,β Spencer says.Β
βOh, you want a play by play of things?β He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh.Β
βI just canβt believe this is happening.β
You try to think of things you donβt think about anymore. βYou love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.βΒ
He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger.Β
βI buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldnβt get yourself. Weβreβ¦ itβs like, it doesnβt feel like gift giving anymore because weβre always getting stuff for each other. Youβre just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks βcos yours are all odd,β you laugh. βI knew I loved you already, butβ¦β
Itβs a little sad, actually. He canβt remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. Itβs not what youβd meant to get into.Β
βCan I ask you something?β you ask.Β
βAnything.βΒ
Heβs slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams.Β
βWhat do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.βΒ
βWho wouldnβt like you?βΒ
βBut did you?βΒ
He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. βI guess so. But itβs notβ not real. I have a crush on you.β His mumbling is sweet. βI have no idea why Iβm telling you that.βΒ
βI had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasnβt anything serious, but it wasnβt a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,β βyou take his hand and put it back on your armβ βand we did.βΒ
You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. βWhat do you think of me now?βΒ
βI canβt remember,β he says sorrily.Β
βWhat do you think?βΒ
βYou feel like a dream.β He shakes his head. βYouβre the most beautiful girl in the world. I donβt really get how this is real.βΒ
You shouldnβt be surprised that heβd say it, you practically begged for it, but you canβt stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. βItβs real. Promise. And for the record, youβre handsome. They stopped saying βaged like fine wineβ a while ago. Now they just say βaged like Spencer Reidβ.β
He gives a choky laugh.Β
The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. βReid, youβre awake,β he says, not bothering with a smile. βMorgan said you have amnesia?β He directs it at both of you.Β
Spencerβs looking at Hotch in clear shock.Β
βHe hasnβt aged that badly,β you chastise teasingly.Β
βHotch, youβreβ I thought you wouldβveβ Youβre stillβ?β
Hotch squints. βYou didnβt think I had the stamina for it?βΒ
Spencer squirms under his gaze. βNo, sir, itβs not thatββ
βSir,β Hotch says, and then he smiles. βI forgot when you both used to respect me.βΒ
βI have the utmost respect for you, sir,β you say through your own smile.Β
βHas she been kind to you, Reid?βΒ
βUh, yes? Is she not usually?βΒ
Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. Thereβs a sympathy in his expression you resent.
β
Itβs a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss βI tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thingβ and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times youβd been caught. He canβt imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as youβd described and the mortification of being walked in on.Β
You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how youβd fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space.Β
Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.
Your hands βhis hands. Your smile βhis laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap βthe urge to catch your chin for a kiss.Β
He doesnβt know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. Youβre standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while heβs so urgently confused and upset, you canβt make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely.Β
Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him.Β
βI like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,β he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. βAnd every time I crossed the square by the stationββ
You let out a surprising squeal of joy. βSpencer!β you say, racing to take his hands, βYes! The donut truck!βΒ
You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. βOh, you remember,β you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. βI was getting worried.βΒ
βSome of itβs still hazy, but not so much you.βΒ
You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. βI missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldnβt remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?βΒ
He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. Heβs genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. Heβs not scared of what you think of him anymore, βcos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. βI remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.βΒ
You bend into his touch. βHoney, Iβm sorry. How was I supposed to know youβd get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.β You kiss his nose quickly. βIβm so glad youβre you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.βΒ
He shushes you. βDonβt give us away. Theyβre not gonna let you stay if they think Iβm fine.βΒ
You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. βI missed you so much. Youβre so devious now.βΒ
He rubs your back. βI missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.β
simon x gn!reader, 337 words
summary: short blurb where it doesn't take long for simon to convince you to go to one of his gigs.
tw: alcohol, simon being impatient, foul language directed at the reader
"I never asked for that." The words leave your mouth quickly, as if you have no sense of self-control. Really, you don't. The alcohol has inebriated you just enough that you just took one look at Simon and you spilled.
He paused, watching you for just a moment. He scrunched his nose, tossing his empty can of beer in the trash.
"The fuck d'you just say to me? You never asked for that? Bitch, last time I checked, you were fucking begging for me to take you to a gig. What happened? Chicken out?"
That was his what, fifth beer? What were you up to? You couldn't even remember.
He grumbled under his breath and walked back over to you, sitting scarily close to you on the couch. He took your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him.
"Come on, Y/n, don't be a pussy," he said. "It's just a fucking gig. You show up, you be pretty for my fans, and then you listen to the music like a good little pet."
You swatted his hands away, groaning. "Stop it, you freak," you said, grabbing the pillow beside of you and throwing it at his chest.
"Come on," he repeated, grabbing your wrist. "I don't ask just anyone to go. Free ticket in, baby. Please?"
The more he asked, the more you realized he wasn't really trying to be mean, so-to-speak. He just wanted you to be there.
"What's so special about this gig?" you asked him, frowning.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. You could smell the cheap beer, the stale cigarettes.
"I wanna dedicate it to you, that all. My music baby," he said. He kissed down your jawline, hands finding their way to your hips. "Come on. Go. Don't make me ask you again."
You rolled your eyes, but the way he was kissing you was rather convincing. You may just have to say yes and go, even if you were being dramatic as hell moments prior.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming