Masterlist
Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)
Fluff
the next step
high school reunion pt.1
high school reunion pt.2
tattoo tour
Angst
break-up to make-up

Kiana Khansmith
Game of Thrones Daily
Sade Olutola
Today's Document
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)

oozey mess
h

Origami Around
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
wallacepolsom
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
noise dept.
seen from Australia

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
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seen from Australia

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seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States

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seen from Türkiye

seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
@sillymusings
Masterlist
Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)
Fluff
the next step
high school reunion pt.1
high school reunion pt.2
tattoo tour
Angst
break-up to make-up

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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I would love love love to hear your thoughts on Spencer with a quiet reader. He does all the talking and she loves to listen to him ramble but he’s always wondering what she’s thinking 💕
THINKING ABOUT : spencer reid being in love with a quiet reader
𝜗𝜚 notes : spencer reid x reader (fluff, established relationship)
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ you always thought of love as something grand, bold, dramatic gestures and loud declarations … that was until spencer reid came into your life
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ defying every scientific law and mathematical equation he knew, he sweeped you off your feet with the quiet gestures, the little things no one else seemed to notice
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ you two were alike enough to be on the same wavelength, yet completed eachother in a certain way. where he is an early riser, you physically can't get up until the third alarm. though he is a man of science, you buy magazines just to read the horoscope on the last page - your relationship is an intricate pattern that only you both can understand
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ nevertheless, mishaps happen. when two overthinking brains connect, it can end in some more miscommunication, driven by a crippling fear or doing something wrong
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ and spencer, well, he doesn't exactly feel deserving of your love. your soft smile, your melodious laugh and your sickeningly sweet eyes, he doesn't know what he did to earn the privilege of your life and his intertwined
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ you’re quiet by nature. lost in your head way too often, you’ve always lived in your word on your own. he doesn’t mind, really, as long as you let him in
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ he tends to carry the whole conversation sometimes. when you don’t feel like talking much, he rambles enough for the both of you by telling you random facts or sharing bits and pieces about his day
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ but sometimes, your silence weighs on him. he’ll stop mid sentence, look at you with a sincere gaze and ask “love, are you listening ?”
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ it’s not your introverted reputation that throws him off - he’s an introvert too, but his coping skills tend to fall on the oversharing side
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ however, there’s always a part of him that’s scared the reason you’re quiet is because you’re bored. or worse, you’re annoyed
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ “are you sure you don’t mind ? i could-“ ; “please, tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours” one thing about spencer reid is that he’ll never drop the subject
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ giggles. your answers come in giggles, soft kisses pressed against his hair, and your fingers caressing his cheek. “no, spence… i wanna know what happened then, tell me”
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ you lean against him, resting against his side as he finishes his passionate explanation
౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ in short, he doesn’t mind your quietness - he loves it. because it’s a part of you, and all he ever used to wished for was someone to be there with him. someone who’d listen.
a/n : please send me more thoughts/headcanons !! it’s so fun to write and might get me out of my slump…
spencer has to deal with lovely wife’s pregnancy cravings
spencer woke in the middle of his dream; he pressed his eyes closed, hoping that he could get a few more hours in before he had to go to work.
but just as spencer was drifting off, he heard a soft sniffle from next to him.
spencer opened his eye for a crack, thinking something serious had happened; you'd just entered your second trimester, but he knew that miscarriages during that time weren't rare. spencer cupped your cheek, turning your head so that you were facing him, even as you held your head down.
"what's wrong?" spencer asked, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
"it's embarrassing." you sniffled, covering your face with your hands.
"i still want to hear it." spencer gently pried your hands away from your face, "what's wrong?"
"nothing's wrong..." you mumbled, taking in a deep breath, "i just... i had a dream i was eating the same meal at that one place went out to on our first anniversary. and i started craving it…"
spencer let out a soft snort, your brows raising as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, "is this really funny to you?
"it's not, i swear." spencer took in a deep breath before facing you without the hint of a smile on his face, "i’ll order it first thing tomorrow morning."
your jaw fell for a moment before you pulled spencer into a kiss.
he gets you.
spencer pulled away, moving to your stomach, pressing a kiss on your bump, "fast food is bad for you, but you should get everything you want." he mumbled.
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everytime someone hates on iris for the "we are the flash" line, i like it more
cause fuck yeah THEY are the flash
iris west is the love of his life AND HIS FUCKING WIFE
they are a team, his problems affect her and her problems affect him
A Reid Christmas Morning
Pairing: dad! spencer x mom! reader
Summary: You wake on Christmas morning to the best gifts you could ever have. Your sweet husband and two little children.
w/c: 1.1k words!
Content Warnings: spencer and reader are parents, they have a little girl and a little boy, some kissing, use of angel as a pet name, a suggestive comment, but overall super cute!
a/n: this is so late but i've been struck by some horrible illness which i think might be the flu so i haven't been able to move, and this is shorter than i originally planned. HOWEVER it is still super cute! hope you all enjoy!
Ficmas 2025 Masterlist
The first thing you feel when you blink open your eyes, is your husband's arms encircling you tight, and his soft breath against the back of your neck. His large hand rests against your stomach, and twitches slightly as he himself drifts into consciousness. He lets out a sleepy hum and kisses the back of your neck. The moment froze and everything was still so peaceful as you felt him murmur against the back of your neck.
“Merry Christmas angel,”. His lips brush the back of your neck again, and he squeezes you against his chest. “Looks like I was right when I said it would snow last night. There was a high probability, and the storm was predicted to be heavy lake effect snow.”

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put a ring on her, reid — ( spencer reid )
spencer reid x fem!reader
being with spencer means living in a constant state of surprise—whether it’s him remembering the most obscure edition of your favorite book, “mathing” his way into winning you a carnival prize, or secretly teaching himself your native language just so he can understand every version of you. but nothing prepares you for the moment you end up on one knee, velvet box in hand, your entire team as accidental witnesses. but as always, spencer surprises you right back, and suddenly the equation balances perfectly: you, him, forever.
🏷️ 2.5k — mutual pining finally combusts, proposal chaos™, soft!reader bold!reader? maybe, spencer is absolutely glitching, fluff, he says yes (eventually), love languages in every form
author's note — my first 4 + 1 fic for spencer, and i had to make it disgustingly sweet. this man was made for the softest love. i wrote this with heart eyes the entire time. hope you love it as much as i do ‹𝟹
꒰ masterlist ꒱ : navigation
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ────────
The first time Spencer surprised you, it wasn’t with some grand romantic gesture or an intricately thought-out plan—it was with a single sentence, delivered so casually you almost missed it.
You were at the BAU, perched on the edge of Spencer’s desk, absently flipping through a book he’d left open while he and Derek were mid-conversation about something you weren’t entirely following. The buzz of the bullpen droned around you, keys clacking, phones ringing—nothing unusual. You had half a mind to start daydreaming when you caught the tail end of Spencer’s words, his tone as effortless as if he were reciting a grocery list.
“—kind of like the 1972 edition of The Last Unicorn, you know, the one with the misprint where the dedication is in the wrong place. That’s her favorite edition. She mentioned it once, so if you ever see a copy, let me know.”
You blinked.
Your favorite edition? The one with the misprint? The edition you had rambled about once—once—over takeout months ago? The conversation had been a passing thought, a fleeting mention between bites of lo mein, something you’d figured was lost to the ether.
But no. Of course, Spencer remembered.
Derek smirked, a slow, knowing expression creeping across his face as he shifted his gaze to you. “Damn, pretty boy. You writing a dissertation on your girl or something?”
Heat surged up your neck so quickly it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. “Spencer—”
“What?” Spencer blinked at you, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. “You said it was important to you. Why wouldn’t I remember?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Because I said it once. Months ago. In passing.”
He frowned, as if the very concept of forgetting something you loved was utterly foreign to him. “You love it. That makes it important.”
Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth pooling low in your stomach. You weren’t sure what to do with the way he looked at you, all soft certainty and quiet devotion, as if remembering the smallest details of your happiness was second nature to him.
Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
Spencer barely acknowledged him, tilting his head at you. “Did I say something wrong?”
You exhaled a laugh, light and breathless. “No, Spence. Not at all.”
You were still flustered. Still shocked. But more than anything, you were his. And that made all the difference.
X is for XX
July 3, 2010
summary: You and Spencer have a small babyshower/gender reveal with the team at Rossi’s house.
word count: 1.2k
warnings: pregnant reader, team fluff
Decorated with Love (And Science)
Pairing: S4 Spencer Reid x fem! gf reader Summary: You and Spencer spend an evening decorating, and lighting up your Christmas tree, realizing that the best gift you could ever receive was each other. No use of y/n! w/c: just a bit above 1k words! Content Warning: Not much but this is some sickeningly sweet Christmas fluff! Some kissing towards the end, and mentions of Spencers sad childhood Christmas experiences :(. Had a S4 Spencer Reid in mind, but that's not explicit! a/n: I hope you love love love the first fic of ficmas 2025! This fic was supposed to be kinda a blurb but turned out longer so I hope you enjoy! Ficmas 2025 Masterlist
“I think if i just change the angle of my approach- there we go”
Spencer hums thoughtfully as he examines the string of lights he’s wrapping around the tall Christmas tree, positioned right by your window.
His tongue pokes slightly through his lips, and he has an adorably concentrated look, quiet similar to the one he has when deep in a case file.
“You’re doing great, Spence,” you giggle as you hang up two stockings over the fireplace.
BELIEVE THE STING PROVES HEART TO ME
in which: you doubt you deserve the softness he gives so freely, yet spencer stays, because loving you was never in question.
spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of self deprecating language, mentions of SH but nothing explicit—more implied, physical effects of depression (self care), r is implied to have curly hair… sick of reading these types of fics w dry brushing bruh, bathing, cm case stuff mentioned, hair brushing/washing, kissing, spencer is the most gentle lover in the world and my heart hurts, ib dai the flu by deftones—because music is meant to be interpreted and seasonal depression is catching up to me.
wc: 3k
a bit more vent-ish than im used to guys… this is definitely self indulgent and probably should’ve been written in a diary but hey! i can post what i want!
lowercase intended, no use of y/n
omg i just saw your post asking for requests.. i've had this angst to fluff idea in my head where the reader adores Spencer, but feels dumb and insecure and somewhat unimportant when Spencer does his intelligent rambling bc, if Spencer knows everything, then why is the reader there? Spencer remembers every little detail, but reader forgets silly things- y'know? i'd love to see how you interpret this idea!!
“insecurities”
pairing: fem!reader x reid
summary: the prompt:)
warnings: angst, insecure!user, fluff, Spencer is a cutie
a/n: HIIIII AGAIN!! I am so so sorry for disappearing for almost three weeks, I had my finals and also collage is killing me 🥹 I hope you like this short but cutie request <3
It starts on an ordinary morning.
Sunlight slips through the blinds in skinny little lines, warming Spencer’s shoulders where he’s leaning over the counter, pouring hot water into his mug. His hair is messy in the way it gets when he falls asleep on the couch reading, sticking up just enough to make you smile.
He doesn’t notice you staring.
He almost never does when he’s thinking.
“There’s this fascinating study from 1972,” he says, voice soft but excited as he stirs his tea, “about olfactory cues and episodic memory storage. Basically, certain scents can trigger—”
You’re listening. You always do.
You love the way he talks, the way his voice lifts just slightly when he’s sharing something he finds interesting. You love how alive he looks in those moments.
But somewhere between “olfactory cues” and “episodic memory,” something in your chest sinks.
Just a tiny bit.
It happens every now and then, like a flicker you can’t control.
That whisper: He knows everything. Why are you even here?
You don’t want to think it.
But it’s there.
You reach for your mug— and your hand knocks it right over.
Hot tea splashes. You gasp.
Spencer’s eyes snap up immediately, worry hitting him fast.
“Hey— are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Yeah, I just— slipped.”
He’s already grabbing a towel, cleaning the mess before you can blink.
And somehow, that makes you feel worse.
He remembers obscure scientific papers from decades ago, and you… can’t hold a mug properly today.
You joke sometimes about how clumsy you are, how forgetful you get. But today it feels heavier. More… true.
You turn to the fridge, thinking maybe you’ll grab something for breakfast, and the moment you open it — your mind goes blank.
What were you even looking for?
You stare at the shelves like the answer might magically appear.
You close the fridge slowly.
Spencer notices. Of course he does.
“You seem… quiet,” he says softly.
“I’m fine.”
He tilts his head in that gentle, analytical way. Not judging. Just trying to understand.
“You’re never this quiet in the mornings.”
You swallow. “Just tired.”
He takes a small step closer.
“Did I do something?”
The question hits too hard. Because no — he didn’t do anything.
He’s perfect. Kind. Brilliant. Caring.
And you feel like a cracked cup next to a museum piece.
“It’s not you,” you whisper.
“Then what is it?” he asks, voice warm and careful, like he’s touching something fragile. “I want to understand.”
You shouldn’t say it.
It’s silly. Embarrassing. Stupid.
But Spencer looks at you like the world pauses until you answer.
So you breathe in, shaky.
“I just…”
Your voice wavers. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for you.”
He freezes.
You keep talking before you can stop yourself.
Words spill fast — too fast — like you’ve been holding them for months.
“You remember everything, Spencer. Literally everything. Every detail, every date, every study, every… whatever. And I forget things all the time. Little things. Important things. I can’t keep up with the things you talk about. I just—”
Your throat closes.
“I don’t know why someone like you would want someone like me.”
Silence.
But not cold.
It’s soft. Heavy.
Meaningful.
Spencer steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently taking your hands in his. His fingers are warm.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me?”
You do. Barely.
His eyes are wide and earnest — not pitying, not confused. Something deeper.
“I need you to hear this,” he says, voice steady even though his hands tremble just a little. “I don’t want you thinking that. Not ever.”
You bite your lip.
He squeezes your hands.
“You think I don’t forget things?” he continues gently. “I forget to eat. I forget to drink water. I forget entire days because I’m caught up in work. I forget birthdays unless someone reminds me. I forget to take breaks, to sleep, to… be human.”
Your breath catches.
“And you,” he says softly, “you remind me. You ground me. You help me live in the present instead of inside my head.”
He steps even closer, foreheads almost touching.
“You don’t need to know what I know,” Spencer whispers. “I don’t love you because you’re like me. I love you because you’re you. You’re warm and kind and curious. You laugh at the things I say even when I’m rambling. You ask questions because you want to understand, not because you’re trying to prove anything.”
His thumb brushes your cheek — so gentle it almost breaks you.
“You make me feel… safe,” he admits. “Which isn’t something facts or data have ever done.”
Your eyes sting.
Not hard. Just enough to blur him a little.
“And,” he adds, cheeks turning faintly pink, “I like that you forget things. It means I get to remind you. It means I get to be… part of your days.”
You laugh. It’s tiny and watery, but real.
Spencer smiles — that little crooked smile he never gives anyone else.
Then, softly:
“Can I hold you?”
You nod before you think about it.
He wraps his arms around you, tucking your head beneath his chin, holding you like you’re something precious and solid and needed. His heartbeat thuds softly against your ear — a warm, steady rhythm.
“You’re enough,” he murmurs into your hair.
“More than enough. For me… you’re exactly right.”
You melt into him, letting the warmth sink into every anxious corner of your chest.
He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
Then another.
Then one to your temple.
And just like that, the morning feels lighter.
You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers back.
And you believe him.
For the first time in a long time, you really do.
author’s note: thank you so much for reading! don’t forget to like and repost <3

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after hours
s.reid x fem!reid
fluff!
no warnings<3
You’d been putting in extra hours lately to help JJ, who was run ragged taking care of her boys who were both down with the flu. It wasn’t a big deal, or so you told yourself. You didn’t mind helping out, but as the hours stretched on, the hum of the computer and the tap of the keyboard had become the only things keeping you company.
You hadn’t looked up in ages, not even when Spencer came in. You just reached out your hand, and he took it, warm and familiar, his thumb brushing softly over your skin like he’d done it a thousand times before. “You’re biting your nails again, love,” he murmured after a minute. His voice was gentle, almost amused.
You paused, realizing your teeth were indeed against your thumbnail. “Helps me think,” you said, glancing up at him for the first time in hours.
He raised an eyebrow, that half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what about the gum I got you instead?”
“Finished it,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair and stretching your shoulders until they popped. Spencer reached into his bag, rifling through papers and pens until he found another pack. He handed it over, but didn’t let go right away. “You’re overworking yourself—”
“It’s not permanent,” you cut in, a little too quickly. The words came out defensive, and you knew it. You took a breath and softened your tone. “I’m just helping JJ until things settle down.”
He didn’t argue right away. He just watched you for a moment, the way he always did, quiet, thoughtful, seeing more than you said out loud. Then he tilted his head, his voice lower now. “It still doesn’t mean you should burn yourself out.”
Before you could protest, he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. The touch was soft, barely there, but enough to make you stop typing and really look at him. “Take tonight off, honey,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “You’ve done enough for one day.”
You sighed, the fight in you fading as quickly as it had sparked. The truth was, you were exhausted. You unwrapped the gum, put a piece in your mouth, and gave him a small smile. “I suppose you’ve convinced me.”
He smiled, triumphant but tender. “Good. I’ll make dinner.”
You gave him a look. “You mean order dinner.” He grinned “Semantics... either way, you’re not touching your laptop again tonight.”
You smiled wider this time, finally closing the computer and leaning your head against his shoulder. For the first time all day, you let yourself relax, the hum of work fading until all you could feel was him, steady, warm and there.
𝜗𝜚 The List Of Cons.
Spencer Reid x Roommate!reader
main masterlist
Summary: When Spencer accidentally finds a note in your room about an internship offer in another city, his heart skips, not because of the opportunity itself, but because under “cons,” the only name written is his.
Words: 9,4k.
Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. written with an early season spencer in mind, so i mention his phobia of germs and traumas in MY OWN perspective. mutual pining. lack of communication but happy ending. first kiss. fluff. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: Hey! life got so hard that the moment uni started giving me a tiny break, my phone decided to break too :( that’s why it took me so long to post this. Anyway, tysm to everyone who voted for this fic, hope you love it as much as I do♡
LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON ME - 1.6k
pairing: garcia!reader x smitten!spencer summary: (based on this request) spencer is not the singing type, but when it comes to you, he can't help but comply. c.warnings: fem!reader ; domestic!spencer x reader ; pure fluff, like toothrotting fluff ; lots of abba appreciation ; and slight second hand embarrassment from spencer singing, but that's okay. a/n: i got sent to the hospital after writing this because my blood sugar levels were too high. hope you like it!! hope you enjoy it <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !! requests | series masterlist | main masterlist
it started as background noise.
spencer noticed it one quiet morning in early spring, your voice floating through the apartment, half-hummed, half-sung. you were getting ready for work, darting between the kitchen and bedroom, singing under your breath:
don’t go wasting your emotion…
he smiled faintly from where he was sitting on your couch after having spent the night at your place. his psychology book open but entirely forgotten. you hit the high note with enthusiasm, your hair still damp, wearing mismatched socks and a grin he couldn’t see from where he sat, but that he could most definitely hear it.
by the time you grabbed your bag and keys, the chorus was in full force. you gave a dramatic twirl by the door, pointing at him like you were performing on stage.
“lay all your love on me!”
spencer raised an eyebrow, amused. “is that a request or a command?”
you laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “both. see you tonight, babe.”
and just like that, you were gone, leaving a soft echo of abba in the apartment, and spencer sitting there, grinning to himself like a man very much in love.
the thing was, it didn’t stop there.
over the next few weeks, that song became your unofficial soundtrack. it followed you everywhere… in the shower, while folding laundry, and even as you graded your student’s homework.
spencer would catch little snippets of it throughout the day, and it never failed to make him smile.
i still don't know what you've done with me
you sang it while blow-drying your hair.
a grown-up woman should never fall so easily
you sang it while brushing your teeth, voice muffled by toothpaste foam.
don’t go wasting your emotion…
you sang it in the car on the way to work, off-key but gloriously confident, and spencer swore he could still hear it echoing in his head hours later while working a case.
he started teasing you about it, gently.
“do you ever get tired of singing the same song?” he asked one night, when you were making tea and absentmindedly humming the melody.
you grinned. “never. it’s one of my favorite abba songs.”
“i noticed.”
you turned to him, mock-offended. “what, you don’t like it?”
he smiled, shrugging. “on the contrary. i think i’ve developed a pavlovian response. every time i hear it, i expect to see you walk into the room.”
you laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “good. that means it’s working.”
it became a kind of private joke between you.
when you were apart, you’d send him random texts like “I wasn't jealous before we met” and he’d reply, deadpan: “no need to think of other women as a potential threat, babe.”
when you watched mamma mia! together for the first time, you sang along — loudly, dramatically, and very much off-key — while spencer sat beside you, pretending to read the trivia page about abba on his phone but clearly smiling behind it.
you threw popcorn at him when he didn’t join in. “come on, you love this song!”
“i like that you love it,” he said softly.
you paused, warmth flooding your chest. “i think that’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”
he looked up, eyes twinkling. “oh, come on. you love it when i’m cheesy.”
you looked at him with loving eyes, “sing with me?”
but spencer shook his head. singing, performing… that was not his thing. he enjoyed watching you, though.
one night you were cooking dinner, wearing one of his old shirts and humming to yourself as you moved around the kitchen. the air smelled like garlic and basil and the faint trace of the vanilla candle you’d lit earlier.
spencer was sitting at the coffee table, the table in front of him covered in colores paper cuts, golden stars stickers and some other materials. after you had almost dozed off with a pair os scissors in your hands as you finished preparing some projet for your next class spencer had offered to take over the task promising to cut out the rabbits and cows like and expert.
from time to time, his eyes would lift from the fluffy animals to watch you dance around the stove, hair messy and bare feet tapping lightly to the rhythm only you could hear.
and then, right on cue, you started singing again.
don’t go wasting your emotion…
you spun around with a wooden spoon in your hand like it was a microphone and padding towards him. spencer smiled behind a piece of pink construction paper.
lay all your love on me!
you sang it dramatically, closing your eyes, hand pressed to your chest. he bit back a laugh, but when you opened one eye and pointed the spoon at him, challenging, he knew what was coming.
“your turn, doctor.”
he blinked. “my… what?”
“duet time!”
he shook his head. “i don’t sing.”
“everyone sings,” you countered, grinning. “even geniuses.”
“i can recite the lyrics,” he offered, deadpan. “from memory.”
“that’s not the same thing.”
“i disagree. abba’s lyricism is poetry. i’d be doing them justice.”
you rolled your eyes, moving closer. “you’re impossible.”
he smiled, setting the scissors aside. “and you love me anyway.”
“i do,” you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind the couch. “now sing with me, or no lasagna for you.”
he tilted his head, lips grazing your cheek. “is that blackmail?”
“it’s motivation.”
he laughed, and you felt it against your skin, that warm, breathy sound you adored. then, without warning, he started softly:
i wasn’t jealous before we met…
you froze.
his voice was low, quiet, uncertain, but it was beautiful. gentle, even. the kind of singing that wasn’t meant for an audience, only for you. ad that meant the world.
he glanced up, nervous. “is that… right?”
you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt. “it’s perfect.”
he chuckled, shaking his head, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck.
so you joined in, circling the couch and offering him your hand to stand up.
now every woman that i see is a potential threat…
you sang dramatically, bumping your hip into his. he laughed, grabbed your hand, and then, to your complete surprise, he twirled you.
you yelped and almost dropped the spoon. “spencer reid, are you dancing with me right now?”
“i’m attempting to,” he said, voice playful. “there’s a difference.”
you laughed, letting him spin you again. the apartment filled with the sound of your laughter and abba lyrics echoing off the walls.
don’t go wasting your emotion!
he sang that line louder this time, smiling, voice cracking slightly on the high note. and you loved it. you laughed so hard you could barely sing your part.
“see?” you said between giggles. “you can sing.”
he shook his head, still smiling. “no, i can love you enough to try.”
you went quiet for a second, chest tightening with affection so fierce it almost hurt. you looked at him, really looked, at the way the candlelight flickered against his hair, the way his eyes softened when he met your gaze.
you reached up, cupping his cheek. “you’re ridiculous,” you whispered.
“and you adore me,” he said softly.
you nodded. “damn right, i do.”
dinner ended up slightly overcooked because you both got distracted. first by singing, then by laughing, then by kissing…
when you finally sat down to eat, spencer poured wine and put your favorite abba album on again, quietly this time, just the faint hum of the melody in the background.
“see?” you said, smiling as you twirled your fork in the pasta. “now you’re a full convert.”
he smiled. “i’m more of an admirer of your enthusiasm.”
you smirked. “so you don’t secretly listen to abba on the jet?”
he hesitated. “...i wouldn’t call it secretly.”
you gasped, pretending to drop your fork. “oh, my god. you do!”
he laughed, shaking his head. “just once. i was curious.”
“and?”
he met your eyes, smiling softly. “it reminded me of home.”
that stopped you. “home?”
he nodded. “you. the song. the kitchen. the singing. it feels… it feels like home.”
you felt that lump in your throat again. the kind that came when he said things so genuine it almost didn’t seem real.
the next day, in the office, spencer caught himself humming the song as he walked into the briefing room. garcia frowned, immediately recognizing the melody. then her eyes opened wide.
“oh, god. you’ve officially been corrupted.” she lay a hand on spencer’s shoulder. “i can’t believe she got to you too, my poor boy!”
spencer shook his head, smiling faintly. “i prefer the term influenced.”
“how many times has she made you watch mamma mia! already?” garcia asked, feigned worry tinting her expression.
“this week? four times. overall, i’ve lost count.”
penelope let out a fake cry, drying her already dry cheeks. “you’re too far gone to be saved.”
spencer remained quiet for a minute, staring at the wooden desk in front of him. and then, smiling, said, “i don’t think i want to be saved.”
because even if he wasn’t the biggest abba fan, he loved what their music had brought into his life. now, whenever he thought of them, he thought of you and the melody of your song, now his too, mixed with the beautiful sound of your laugh.
tags !! @siennnaaa1202 ; @kusanagisunshine-blog-blog ; @girllblogging777 ; @superbeaglewitch ; @cynbx ; @tokalotashiz ; @yasministration ; @thedarknesss ; @theredvelvetbitch
thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!
tattoo tour!
summary: you tell Spencer the stories behind your tattoos
note: refers to morgan as the only tattooed team member thus far (pre Garcia's babygirl tattoo haha)
word count: 3,718 words
“Y/N, this looks incredible,” JJ praised.
You glanced at her across the open archway above your kitchen bar, pausing the cutting of the cucumber in your hands to scan the dining table as she set down the pasta bolognese you'd made between your oven-baked potatoes and sautéed vegetables.
It was mid-July, the point in time when the scorching summer sun was only tolerable because of how much you'd anticipated it the whole year. You'd invited the entire team over to your house to share a meal and enjoy the view of the nearby lake. Despite your insistence that they only bring themselves, wanting to give them a chance to decompress after days spent on one of their grueling cases, all of them had ignored you. Not that you were complaining, really. It was almost embarrassing how many times you had stared at JJ's perfectly crisp apple pie sitting at the end of the table.
“It seriously does. When did you even have time to do all of this?" Penelope asked, adding the serving spoon to the potato dish.
"It took me a while," you admitted. "I hope you guys like what I made. I tried some new recipes, so I'm not sure–"
"Oh, please. We all know that when it comes to cooking, you run circles around everyone," Emily insisted, trying to snatch a potato. Penelope shooed her hand away, but then snuck one for herself, leaving a gaping Emily to forcefully steal one in retaliation.
JJ and you were still grinning at their shenanigans when the door to your backyard slid open, revealing a perplexed version of your boyfriend seeking refuge from the chaos out back.
Spencer wandered straight over to you, pressing a kiss on the side of your head. “Hey, love.”
You simply leaned into him, not wanting to touch him with cucumber juice all over your hands.
“Hey. How’s it going out there?” You stared through your glass windows to the garden, where you could see –or rather hear–Aaron and Derek arguing over how long they needed to leave the meat on the grill. The two self-proclaimed barbecue masters had been fighting over proper technique since they got to your place. David and Will lingered in the background, nursing glasses of wine as they watched the two of them like they were Broadway-level entertainment. “It seems... intense.”
Spencer scoffed. “You’re telling me. I nearly burned a couple of pieces, and they almost tore my head off.”
“Well, considering how much I love that head and the brain inside of it, I’m glad that wasn’t the case.”
His lips twitched. "You say the sweetest things to me in the strangest ways."
"It's called romance, babe," you said, punctuating each word.
"I bet." He opened the cupboard behind you and reached for a platter, having been at your place so many times before that he needed no guidance. "So... need any help in here?”
“Trying to escape?” You tsked.
He nodded furiously, not bothering to lie. “Very much so.”
"No offense, Spence, but the last time we tried to cook together, you almost burnt my kitchen down."
He held a hand up. "I only turned my eyes away from those pancakes for one second."
"The fire alarm went off." You deadpanned.
He pursed his lips, and you watched him with an amused smirk on yours. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you're not making pancakes right now," he pointed out, gesturing to the bowl of salad that you'd been working on for the past few minutes. "I think I can handle some vegetables."
“No can do.” Before he could protest again, which you saw him getting ready to do, Morgan's voice rang through the house.
"Reid, where are you with the other platter?"
You'd think the whole thing was an FBI operation instead of a low-key summer dinner.
"Yeah, Reid?" You raised a sassy eyebrow that made him roll his eyes. You were the only person, aside from his mom, who never called him by his last name. Unless you were making fun of him.
You practically shooed him out of the kitchen, blowing him a kiss in response to his mopiness, and saw him huff a breath just before heading out like he was off to war. Seeing the rising tensions out there, he might have been.
These FBI agents don't do casual very well, huh?
Penelope clapped her hands together, her gushing reminding you that the ladies had seen the entire interaction. "The two of you are so cute together."
"I think he rambles about you as much as he does about science. I didn't even think that was possible." Emily teased.
"More even," added JJ.
"Guess what she said to me yesterday. Do you want to hear about how she was promoted at work a few days ago? She looked so beautiful today," Penelope imitated Spencer.
You warmed at your boyfriend's words. They weren't surprising, per se. Spencer made sure you knew how much of a priority you were in his life, but it was nice to hear that he communicated that to other people as well. It was one of the ways he made you feel integrated into his life, something he'd come to learn was important to you. Your favorite part of your relationship was the constant effort to learn about and from one another. You'd never known to ask for that in a relationship, but now you couldn't imagine not having it.
You were still thinking about your very lovely boyfriend when Emily's next words drew you back. “Y/N, I didn’t know you had so many tattoos.”
You glanced down at your exposed arms. You'd exchanged your typical long sleeves–habitual for weather convenience– for something a little more manageable on a hot day like this. As a result, your tattoos were front and center, your arms decorated with them. Small but plentiful and exposed in the thin-strapped top you were wearing.
You laughed. "Yeah, my sister likes to say that I collect them like stamps."
Finally done with the salad, you picked up the bowl and brought it around to the dining table, joining the ladies. The backyard door slid open again, and the guys walked in. Morgan and Hotch–the farthest back– were each holding a platter in their hands and a look of pride on their faces.
Spencer raised an eyebrow. "What are we talking about?"
He held out a chair for you and then slipped into the one beside it.
"Y/N's tattoos," JJ explained as Will did the same with her. The rest of the group dispersed themselves in the remaining seats. You held out your hands in a gesture to dig in, and there was no hesitation before drinks started being poured and dishes sampled.
"How many do you have?" Derek asked. The tattoos showcased on his arms told you he was familiar with the game.
"Around fifteen, I think. I've lost count." You turned to Spencer. "Love?"
"Seventeen," he said without hesitation.
"Thank you. I have the memory of a goldfish sometimes." You sighed. You didn't miss the way the BAU team members traded grins. Spencer's love language was in knowing all the little facts about the people he cared about. "I got my first one when I was eighteen, and they've just been piling on since then. Hence the stamp comment."
"That's pretty young," Aaron stated. No judgment to his words, just an air of curiosity.
“Actually, I would’ve started even sooner, but I tried to ask my mom for parental consent when I was sixteen and she said no.”
Rossi snorted. "I wonder why."
"I know, right. Who wouldn’t want their sixteen-year-old to have a tattoo that all the other parents would judge them for?" You joked. "No, but honestly, I’m glad I waited. Some of my teenage self’s ideas weren’t the best. Have any of you ever thought about getting one before?”
Reactions were split in the middle. Morgan held up his arms confidently.
Penelope drummed her fingers against the table. “I've definitely thought about it, but I always get so indecisive about what to get. And then I worry about getting something on my body permanently and regretting it. I know you can technically remove them but still."
"Come on, babygirl. There are some things you'll never regret. Your undying love for me, for example," Derek teased.
She winked. "Don't tempt me."
All of you shook your heads, always amazed by the love affair between those two.
“I totally get the regret thing," you chimed in. "What helps me is to think about my tattoos like a tribute to all the versions of me come and gone. Some things may no longer be prevalent in my life, but they once meant so much to me. Enough for me to want to get them tattooed in the first place. It's almost like having a time capsule," you explained.
"When you put it like that... all the versions of me are pretty amazing, so I guess I wouldn't mind remembering them forever," Penelope declared, making everyone laugh.
Conversation flowed into something new not long after, but you could feel Spencer's gaze on you. Not drawing attention, you reached out under the table, taking his hand and squeezing two times. It was a secret language between the two of you, a way of checking in on one another when you wanted to keep the stakes low.
What's wrong?
He gave a single squeeze back and the slightest shake of his head.
It's nothing.
You let it go.
It was well into the afternoon when the team left. Each one took the time to thank you for planning the outing, highlighting how much they had needed a day like today. If there was anything you knew about the BAU team members, it was how dedicated all of them were to the job that they did. It was a calling to every one of them. Still, that didn't translate into the job being easier or the cases more digestible. More often than not, they dulled the rose-colored glasses and served as a reminder of just how cruel people could be. For that, you hoped that days like this would come more often. Days where they could momentarily take the weight of the world off their shoulders and partake in their own and each other's lives.
You were sitting on the porch swing in your yard, legs bent and pressed to your chest as you waited for Spencer. When he finally appeared, holding two slices of apple pie, a huge smile spread across your lips. "Have I mentioned that you're my hero?"
You scooted over, making space for him to settle beside you.
He snorted. "Because I brought you a slice of pie?"
"Yes," you said unabashedly, accepting your slice–the bigger slice despite your insistence that he have it–and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And for introducing me to JJ, who had this heaven-sent recipe. It's actually a secret family recipe, you know, but she gave it to me anyway. It's possible that I have never been this honored in my life."
"I'm happy for you, love," he said with an amused grin.
You thanked him and dug into your pie, enjoying each piece while your head rested on Spencer's shoulder, watching the sunset start to fall over the lake a close distance away. Some time passed, and he was silent. Pensive. You turned to face him. "What's wrong, Spence?"
"What makes you think something's wrong?"
You narrowed your eyes playfully. "I have the Reid instinct."
"Reid instinct, huh?" He asked, pulling you closer.
"Oh, yeah," you continued. "It lets me see right into that beautiful mind of yours. What are you thinking about?"
He laughed nervously. "You’ll think it’s silly."
You gave him a look. “Try me.” Maybe you were just head over heels, but you were certain that you would never classify anything this man said to you as being 'silly'.
"Okay. I'm thinking about... your tattoos."
Your eyebrows furrowed. "My tattoos?"
He nodded. “Earlier, when you were talking about how each one has meant something significant to you, I realised that I didn't know what any of those meanings were. I’m sorry I’ve never asked before. I should've.” He felt almost ashamed. Your tattoos were a part of you. He could list every single one and its placement but came up blank on why you'd gotten them.
That's what he's been thinking about?
You tried not to swoon at how much he cared.
“It’s okay, Spence. I’m happy to tell you about them now.” You pressed a hand to his cheek and then sat up straight. "Commencing the official Y/N tattoo tour," you stated in a dramatized voice that was enough to make him laugh.
"You're incredible," he told you, the smile in his eyes. You loved it when that happened. When you could see him relax and decompress from the stress of the job. Selfishly, you loved it even more when it happened because of you.
Forcing yourself to look away, you decided it was time to get the show on the road. Your first tattoo was a lyric from one of your favorite songs. "This was the anthem of my adolescence. All angsty and misunderstood," you joked.
"So not that much different from now."
"Hey!" You whacked at his arm before relenting. "Fair enough. But there was another reason."
"Tell me," he encouraged.
"Well, there was this part in the song about being unshakeable. Looking right into the face of everything you've been through and declaring that you're stronger than all of it. I thought that was breathtaking."
Spencer nodded along, considering the words carefully.
"But that's only second to the angst, of course," you added.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Next, you directed him toward the tattoo behind your ear.
"A tulip," he said, his finger gently tracing over it. "Your favorite flower."
"Yup. But also one of the flowers that my grandparents used to grow in their backyard. My grandpa taught me how to plant them when I was little, and we did it frequently while I was growing up. It was our favorite way of spending time together."
"I didn't know that."
You shook your head, just in case he was blaming himself. "You couldn't have. I don't talk about him that much. I should talk about him more." Sometimes you felt like you were letting his memories be forgotten.
"Hey." Spencer linked his hand with yours. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it."
You stared at your intertwined hands. "No, I want to. It's just been hard since he passed. Next to my mom, he and my grandma basically raised my sister and me."
"How old were you when he passed?"
"Twenty. A month later, I got the tattoo."
He gave a squeeze to your hand. "Well, he sounds like he was a great man."
"He was. And he would've liked you a lot."
Spencer blushed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Take how much my grandma loves you and, like, triple it." It was no secret that your grandmother adored Spencer. She knitted him new sweaters every Christmas. She asked about how he was doing during every call. If she called while you two were together, she insisted on seeing him. You were pretty sure she'd pick him as her favorite over both you and your sister.
"That much?"
"It's not hard to believe because you're so lovable," you praised. "He would've done the whole 'are you good enough for her' interrogation tactic, but once he warmed up to seeing who you are, he would've been just as obsessed as the rest of us. Probably would've challenged you to a ton of chess matches."
Spencer grinned. "I would've liked that."
"Would you have let him win?" You narrowed your eyes. "He would've hated that."
Chess was another thing your grandfather had taught you. Over the years, you'd gotten so good that you'd started beating him. You'd tried to hide it at first, pretending to lose to him, but he always did have a way of seeing right through your shenanigans. He caught you the first time and told you to knock it off.
"Love, he's your grandfather and I would've treated him with the utmost respect, but I never let anybody beat me at chess."
"Like I said, he would've loved you."
Next, you directed him to the small river on your upper arm. "Water flows, and it has the capacity to change into all these different states. It's adaptable. When I got this one, I was at a point in my life when I felt so stuck, and I wanted a reminder to embrace change instead of fearing it."
"I can definitely relate to that," Spencer said. "I always felt like I was standing on uneven ground, you know? Things in my life were always changing, and the moment I'd start to get used to how they'd become, they would change again."
This time, you squeezed his hand. "There's that saying about how change is the only constant in life. I hated that growing up," you admitted through a short laugh, musing at the teenage you who had just about resisted the phenomenon as much as she could. "I knew it was valid, but the idea that change would forever be a part of life was just about the last thing I wanted to hear as someone who already knew it all too well."
He shuffled closer to you. "Well, I hope that some things never change."
You let out a soft hum, raking your fingers through the brown strands of his hair. "Better yet, I hope that we'll go through every change from now on together." You said the words lightheardly but knew that they were also heavy, maybe heavier than you'd intended them to be. You didn't want to come across as too hasty or ahead of the curve. As secure as you felt in your relationship with Spencer, some tiny part of you still worried about scaring him off. Showing too much, feeling too much, too soon.
Nevertheless, Spencer had a way of stopping that fear in its tracks whenever it crept up. For the first time in a relationship, you felt like you were on equal footing when it came to where you wanted things to go. Even now, fingers still interlaced, he pressed his forehead against yours, muttering lowly, "There's nothing I want more."
One by one, you took him through each of your remaining tattoos, highlighting their significance in your life and the circumstances that had led you to getting them. Spencer listened intently, asking questions at times, but mostly just focusing on understanding you and your experiences.
For the final tattoo, you flipped to your inner wrist, rattling off the date written on there. "This is–"
"Your mom's birthday," Spencer remembered.
“The day the most important person to me was born.” You nodded. "The woman who gave my sister and me everything that she could. Despite the circumstances of where we were living. It’s never easy being a single mom, but the people in the town that I grew up in always made her feel like she had to be twice as good a mother to make up for the fact that we didn’t have a dad. It was absurd."
“Yeah, it was like that for me, too. They would make jokes about it. Neighbors. Kids at school. Sometimes even family members. I remember there being so much talk after my dad left. It was like they couldn’t possibly accept that some people had a different family structure than theirs. It's hard enough to go through that as a kid trying to make sense of it on your own, let alone when it feels like the rest of the world knows about it and is making fun of you for it.”
Your family dynamics were one of the things you and Spencer had in common. Your fathers had both left when you were young, leaving behind a lot of confusion, anger, and hurt. It had taken you years to work through those feelings about your father, questions of why the family he’d made had not been enough for him to stay. It was true that you couldn’t always choose your family, but your father had chosen this one, so what was his excuse?
A complicated mixture of therapy, self-reflection, and experience had taught you that his absence hadn't been your fault, nor had it been your job to be a certain way or act a certain way to make him stay. You were not responsible for cultivating his sense of parental obligation. It had been a burden-lifting truth to understand that there was nothing you could’ve done to change what happened. When you’d met Spencer, a couple of months after he’d seen his dad for the first time in years on the Riley Jenkins case, he’d been learning the same thing.
It wasn’t always easy, though. There were times when you were still angry, when you resented your father for the choices that he had made. But more than that, you tried to be grateful for the people you did have. Incredible grandparents, a sister who went to bat for you like no other, a spectacular mother who never failed to remind you how much she loved you, friends who made everything an adventure, and a boyfriend who made the love you'd seen in books and movies seem non-fictional. All these people who constantly chose you and who you constantly chose would always make up for those who had left.
“These tattoos represent the stories of my life and the lessons I’ve had to learn, some harder than others, but all of them important nonetheless. Lessons that make me who I am.”
"They're beautiful," Spencer muttered. His fingers followed his eyes as they traced over your arms before eventually looking up at you. "You're beautiful."
Your face heated up, and you couldn't help your grin, leaning forward to press a peck on his lips. Still holding his face, you gave him a wink.
"Play your cards right, doctor, and there just might be one for you pretty soon."
timing — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer has no idea when or how it’s appropriate to show affection, but he's doing his best. or at least trying to. content warnings: established relationship, it's spencer's first relationship, spencer is quite awkward at times, sunshine reader? i'm not sure, but she's quite bubbly a/n: hiii !!! i've been in a writing slump, so you guys are getting a two month old draft, because i did promise that i'd post more fics this october and i've been lacking. so, i hope you enjoy this !!
Spencer wiped his very sweaty palms against the sides of his slacks.
He had been pacing for the last ten minutes, no, twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds, ever since you’d texted that you were on your way. His apartment was clean. Impeccably clean. He’d dusted, vacuumed, even rearranged his kitchen twice just to be sure. But now, standing frozen in the middle of his living room, he realized with a jolt that he’d been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t heard the first knock. The second, louder one at the door snapped him back to reality.
You were here.
He nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to reach the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. With a deep breath (that did absolutely nothing to calm him), he swung it open.
“Sorry—hi. I was just—cleaning. The apartment. And then I, uh, forgot to open the door.” The words tumbled out in a rush, his voice pitching slightly higher than usual. He cringed internally.
But you only grinned. “Hi, Spence,” you said in such a sweet tone, immediately putting him at ease.
His lips quirked up in an embarrassed smile, and he stepped aside, holding the door wider. “Come in.”
Now came the hard part. Spencer loved you. Adored you. More than he could quantify, more than he could articulate in any of the languages he spoke fluently. But physical affection? Timing? That was a struggle.
Was a kiss appropriate right now? Should he hug you? Was it too soon? Too much? His mind raced through probabilities, past interactions and social norms.

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all the places we dream of
abstract: in the quiet hours before true morning, a nightmare pulls spencer out of sleep.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (usage of Y/N)
genre: fluff, tooth rottingly so
word count: 3.5k
note: tw - run on sentences. it’s a bit different from my usual works, i tried leaning into a more poetic style this time. honestly debating on having a separate poetry blog… dreams mean a lot to me, so here is my possibly overdone verse-like take on dreams and spencer reid.
The first thing that broke the silence was the sound of his breathing.
It came sharp and uneven, each inhale catching in his throat as though he’d been running. The sheets shifted against his skin, damp with sweat and the faint coolness of the night air that slipped through the cracked open window. A thread of rain tapped the glass in restless rhythm, mingling with the low hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the bed frame as he moved.
‧₊˚emergency contact - s.r. ‧₊˚
Spencer is shot while on a case, and his emergency contact shows up to the hospital.
pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: fluff i think, a little bit of hurt/comfort (spencer is hurt, reader comforts him) content: established relationship, team doesn't know spencer has a partner, gn!reader i think, early seasons spencer in mind but could be read with any, hospital setting, not proofread wc: 859 a/n: this has been in the drafts for a Hot Minute. i maybe wanted it to be longer but i also just want it to be Out There so. idk hopefully it's okay, let me know what u think :) likes/reblogs are SO appreciated, asks/requests are open! :D my masterlist!
You hurry down the halls of the hospital, practically sprinting, and trying desperately to remember what Agent Hotchner had said when you spoke to him on the phone. Was it two rights and then a left? Or a right and then two lefts? The pristine white walls of the hospital are disorienting, scrambling your already worried mind further.
Thankfully, your question is answered when he comes into view in the hallway.
"Agent Hotchner!" You call, your voice loud and a bit desperate in the empty halls. It echoes off the walls, emanating through the air before returning back to your ears.
He gives you a tight lipped smile, more of a grimace or a cringe than anything else. "He's resting," he says to you in greeting. "Lost a lot of blood, and needed a minor surgery to get the metal shards from the bullet removed from his shoulder. Awake now, but still a little bit drugged up."