emery and surgeon reader bickering like divorced parents, pretty please with a cherry ontop
Hi babe! Thank you for this request. You didn't specify what you wanted so I hope I delivered nicely though. Comment if y'all would like a part 2 or an epilogue âĄ
â« WC: 1.1K
â« WARNINGS: Profanity, mentions of sex, fwb and not proofread
Attending Emery Walsh x Resident (Genius) fem!Reader
The ER was never really quiet, but tonight it felt exceptionally louder than most nights.
Mostly because of the growing tension between a certain attending and her resident. Emery Walsh and Y/N L/N, two very talented surgeons who have never failed to bicker like divorced parents every time they have a shift together.
âYou changed my post-op orders.â
You looked up from your iPad, one eyebrow raised as Emery stood acrossed from you in her navy blue scrubs that made a shiver run down your spine, arms crossed together so tightly it physically pains you. She had that same expression she only used when she was pissed off at you or anyone honestly.
âI corrected them. Thereâs a difference.â
Her eyes narrowed, worry, anger and annoyance flickering on her eyes for a second making you double back. âYouâre impossible.â âAnd youâre dramatic.â Emery scoffed, A nearby nurse immediately pretended to be extremely interested in arranging the syringes as if they werenât already organized more than a second ago. Emery stepped closer, lowering her voice. âYou donât get to sweep in here and override me because you think youâre the smartest person in the room.â
You leaned back in your chair, folding your own arms. âI donât think so, Emery. I know it.â She stared at you for a beat. Making you overthink maybe you went too far, or maybe it hit a nerve. You werenât very sure. Then she scoffed, shaking her head. âGod, youâre insufferable. Also, Itâs Dr. Walsh to you. Brat.âÂ
âAnd yet,â you said sweetly, âyou keep talking to me.âÂ
That earned a glare sharp enough to cut through steel before she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway. If you didnât know any better you would think she would assign you to triage, knowing her sheâs too soft on you for that. The nurse beside you let out a long breath. âSo,â she threaded her words carefully, âare you twoâŠ?â
âTogether? God, no. She's just my attending, She seems scary but in reality? Huge softie, especially with her nicknames.âÂ
âTerrifying.â
âThat too.â You laughed, the nurse fleeing off to Lena. While you went back to your iPad and went to check on your patients.
Later, you tried to focus on your charts, but your mind kept on wandering. Your irritation kept on circling back to Emery. She was brilliant, annoying? Yes but annoyingly brilliant. You couldnât deny that, she is experienced, confident, and far too good at getting under your skin. She also had the infuriating habit of acting like your age somehow cancelled out your abilities to work in the ER and in surgery.
Yes you were younger than most attendings, residents hell even the med students. Yes, you had skipped years of school and finished med-school faster than anyone expected but doesnât mean your abilities were any different from someone older.Â
No, that did not mean you needed Emery hovering over your shoulder every time you made a decision. Still, you couldnât bring yourself to stay angry for long. You knew why she did that, because she cared more than she was willing to admit to anyone.
No one else but you two know ending up in bed limbs tangled together and kissing each other means youâre not just friends with benefits. Not with those small touches, gifts randomly appearing inside your locker and definitely not the flowers ending up on your doormat every time you spent the free time you had together.
By the time your shift ended, the anger had cooled into something softer. Guilt, maybe.
You sighed, standing in your apartment kitchen in the afternoon, staring at flour like it had personally offended you. You didnât know if she would like brookies that you make.Â
âApology pastries sucksâ you muttered, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Your roommate passing by for water, blinked at you, confused on her face. âIs that even a real phrase?â
âWell it is now.âÂ
âWhat did the hot doctor do this time?â
âShe was annoying me.â
âAnd you were?â asked your roommate, âAlso annoying.â not even trying to defend yourself. âHow tragic.âÂ
You ignored her and continued to mix the batter. Emery had once, in a rare unguarded moment during a terrible night shift, where everyone ended up in the bar drunk as fuck, admitted that brookies were her favorite. No one was selling brookies in any cafes she went to.
So naturally, you were now making them from scratch like a woman on a mission. Which you were, but no one cares⊠right?
By evening you walked into the hospital carrying a tupperware and your dignity hanging by a thread. Emery spotted you almost immediately, like she was already scanning for you in the crowd of mess ER always managed to achieved.
She glanced at the tupperware you were holding, then at you. âWhat is that?â
You held it out to her. She looked suspicious of you yet took it from your hands. Opening it and only stopping to ask you. âIs this poisoned?â causing you to scoff. âIf you want it to be go to the janitors closet. Thereâs cleaning solutions for you to add.âÂ
That made her lip twitch into what you thought was a smile she fought hard not to show.Â
Progress.
âYou baked this?â Surprised. She havenât eaten brookies in a while.
âNo, I fought a grandma for it in a bakery parking lot for it. Yes, I did bake it.â You retorted not angry just testing her. Emery huffed out a laugh, shaking her head.Â
You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.
âIâm sorry,â you said. âFor being a nightmare yesterday. You were trying to protect the patient, and I know that. I just⊠hate feeling like people assume Iâm less capable because Iâm younger.â
She was quiet for a moment. Then she closed the tupperware gently, âI know.â she said. âAnd Iâm sorry too. I push because I forget sometimes that you donât need proving. You already did that.â
You looked up, surprised on your face. Her expression had shifted into something softer, only reserved for you and you only, all the sharp edges gone.Â
âItâs just hard,â she admitted. âWatching someone I care about throw themselves into impossible situations.â Your heart stopped, you were sure of it. Someone I care about?Â
âOh,â you said shocked. Emery smiled, small, warm yet dangerous.
For once, neither of you had a clever comeback. The hallway buzzed around you, nurses rushing past, monitors beeping in distant rooms, the whole hospital moving like it always did. But you felt like the world stopped, right there, it felt still.
You cleared your throat. âSo⊠are we done fighting?â
She stepped closer, just enough to make a shiver run down your spine. âProbably not,â she said teasing you. âYouâre still insufferable.â You smiled at that.
âBut it doesnât mean I canât take you out. Letâs have coffee or anything tomorrow morning after shift okay?âÂ
You tried very hard not to grin like an idiot.
You failed completely.
A/N: Hello! this is not proofread so please lmk for any mistakes! Also, I haven't written in a WHILE so my way of writing changed also this will be cross posted on ao3.
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Autistic!Reader, Smosh!Reader, Genius!Reader, Fem!Reader, Former StarKid!Reader
Synopsis: While on an episode of Bepordy the Smosh cast find out you are a member of Mensa. Thus the nickname âResident Stuff Expertâ is born.
Mensa International is the largest and oldest high-IQ society in the world. It is a non-profit organization open to people who score at the 98th percentile or higher on a standardised, supervised IQ or other approved intelligence test.
Reader has an IQ of 146
It wasnât that it was a secret. Honestly it really couldnât be, being a Mensa member is public record. But you also didnât broadcast it anymore.
You were smart, incredibly so and you had been your entire life. It was your preschool teacher who suggested the test to your parents. She thought youâd benefit from skipping a few grades but your parents need to test you first. Your entire family had been thrilled at the idea of a little genius being amongst them and when the results came back, the excitement intensified.
Your intelligence suddenly became an unexpected party trick. Parents, Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts, Cousins and even friends began showing off your skills to other people.
At age six when most kids are stumbling their way through first grade, learning how to read and write proper sentences. You were not only learning but mastering algebra and reading entire novels in a week.
At age seven your teachers began complaining. Believing that elementary school wasnât the place for you, so your parents pulled you out of school all together. Signing you up with all kinds of tutors and private teachers. Then in hopes of keeping you somewhat social your parents began signing you up for community clubs and local sports teams. Pushing you to interact with child your own age. It didnât work out very well. Every playdate, game, or event was met with resistance and tantrums from you. So they stopped trying.
At age eight money got tight. The any savings your parents had was going towards furthering your education. It was tense, and you started spending a lot of time at your grandparents while your parents fought. Your grandmother who had previously been a librarian, gifted you your first ever library card. Books became your best friends, relying on them to keep you company rather than people. People were confusing, unpredictable, unnerving. Books were easy. Each one had a beginning, a middle, and an end. A protagonist and an antagonist. You knew what to expect from them.
By age nine you were a high school graduate. That same year also came with an official diagnosis. You were autistic, suddenly every âquirkâ or âweird thingâ you did made sense to your family. But the world made even less sense to you. Then that âparty trickâ of yours grew stale. Family members who used to look at you with pride when you would recite your favorite monologues from memory now looked at you with pity. As if they thought you were sick. As if they thought you were suffering.
With that diagnosis came your familyâs favorite cop out. One you absolutely hated. Where you were incredibly book smart, you were terrible with people. Social situations made your skin crawl. Suddenly it felt like every day was a walking performance from the moment you woke up until you went to bed at night.
At age ten your grandfather introduced you to plays. Told you about actors and actresses who got to pretend to be someone else for just a little while. And to you it sounded like a dream come true. So you became invested, spending every waking moment you had researching, reading, watching plays. Dissecting movies and tv shows. Continuity became a passion project. Any moment you had to focus on anything else felt like a personal attack on the psyche.
Between the ages of eleven and sixteen your grandparents began taking you to free acting seminars. Comedy shows, improv classes, creative writing lectures. Some for kids some of them open to all ages. Script writing became an outlet for you and as it would turn out, people actually found you to be incredibly hilarious.
Over the next several years you would go to college to get multiple degrees and certificates in:
âąPlay & Screen writing
âąTechnical Design & Production
âąDirecting
âąFlim Studies
âąCinematography
And of course to make your mother happy, you also got degrees in Business, Social Sciences, and Psychology. A fall back plan she called it, in case my âplay write fixationâ didnât amount to anything.
Eventually you stumbled upon StarKid Productions, where you work from 2018-2023. During that time you were completely behind the scenes. You barely spoke a word to anyone unless you had to. To nervous about saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was at StarKid that you met your best friend.
You and Angela quickly became inseparable. She never minded that you didnât always make eye contact or that sometimes talking was hard for you. One days when you wanted to just listen sheâd talk to you for hours, on days when the world got to be to much. Sheâd sit quietly on the other end of the couch and just exist with you.
When Angela started working at Smosh, you saw her less. But then in 2023, they had an opening for a new writer. So you joined her at Smosh. The atmosphere of the office was nothing like you had ever experienced before.
Suddenly you were in this space that felt comfortable. It didnât feel like you were taped on top of an already perfect picture, it didnât feel forced, or scary. It felt like home in a way that finally made you realize what home meant.
In that space, you met Damien. Quickly connecting with him on a different level to your connection with Angela. You fell for Damien so fast that you didnât even realize heâd fallen for you too. It took you both months to realize the attraction was mutual and when you did, you went on a date.
Damien took you to the zoo where you guys spent the whole time rattling off animal facts. After the zoo you went to the planetarium, queue even more info dumping. The date was finished and a quiet little hole-in-the-wall cat book cafe, where you had the best sandwich of your life. You became official pretty soon after that.
Around the end of 2024 was the first time you showed up in a Smosh video. It was a livestream sketch event where fans instantly seemed to latch onto you. They loved your personality, your jokes, and your relationship with the cast. You werenât on camera much after that, appearing mainly on Smosh Mouth or Reddit Stories. But fans absolutely adored you.
All of that lead to today. You didnât have much to do today so you were sort of hanging out around the office. Helping with costumes, helping cast members write TNTL bits, going over camera angles, busy work.
That was until about an hour ago. Spencer had to go home because he wasnât feeling well and they needed someone to fill in on an Beopardy video. You were hesitant at first, given that up until now this was the only Smosh show you hadnât done yet. But you knew fans had been requesting it and it would be with Damien and Angela. So you said yes.
âYouâre gonna do great.â Damien smiled bumping his shoulder against yours reassuringly and you nodded. You sat in between your boyfriend and best friend at the black table with a red buzzer in front of you.
And now remember how you said your IQ wasnât a secret? It isnât! Honest, but you also hadnât broached the topic with anyone in years. People you met just thought you were smart and people who knew about your degrees just thought you were motivated.
âYeah, just have fun.â Angela added before Courtney who was directing the video announced that filming would begin soon.
âHello and welcome to another episode of Beopardy!â Shayne announced causing everyone in the room to cheer. He gave it a moment before he introduced us.
âThe theme of todayâs episode isâŠAre you smarter than the internet. Where our contestants with answers trivia questions about random categories picked my our editors. Today we have Damien!â
âHey, Iâm Damien and Iâm pretty good with facts.â He shrugged earning scattered applause and laughter from the audience of our co-workers behind the camera.
âThe ever mysterious but always wonderful, Y/n!â Shayne announced and you waved at the camera letting out a shy hello.
âAnd finally, you know her, you love her! Angela Giarratana!â
âI am so excited to be here! Hi!â Angela practically yelled as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders. You leaned into her touch pressing your head against hers with a smile.
âToday our categories are: Pop Culture, Sports, Smosh Lore, Decades, and Nerd Out Trivia.â Shayne explained before quickly going over the rules and the game began.
Half way through you were currently in second place. Damien had 1000 points, you had 950 and Angela had 800.
âUh, can I do Smosh Lore for 300?â You asked and Shayne quickly pulled the card off the board.
âWhich cast member currently holds the record for most Beopardy wins?â Shayne read out and Damien quickly hit his button.
âDamien?â Shayne asked and your boyfriend tilted his head in thought before hesitantly guessing a name.
âIs it Courtney?â Shayne shook his head and Angela pressed her buzzer
âItâs Chanse!â She exclaimed immediately
âY/n?â Shayne said signal that it was your turn to guess.
âIs it Angela?â You thought out loud, the girl beside you immediately looking at you with wide eyes.
âNo way!â She denied only for Shayne to laugh and her head immediately snapped towards his direction.
âItâs not me!â She yelled so Shayne turned the card around to reveal her name printed on it.
âOH MY GOD! This is so crazy!â She shrieked completely surprised by this.
âUm Iâll do Nerd Out of 200.â Angela laughed nervously. You watched as Shane reached for the card, reading it in his head before he read it out loud.
âWhich country has the most islands in the world. Bonus points if you can give me a number.â
âWhat?!â Angela exclaimed slapping her hands on the table in shock. The question wasnât one any of us would realistically know. But oddly enough, you knew it.
Hesitantly you pressed your buzzer with a shy smile.
âY/n?â Shayne announced causing Angela and Damien to look at you.
âSweden. And itâs like 220,000 I think.â Shayneâs eyes widened at your words and he nodded his head.
âThatâs correct!â
âHow did you know that?!â Angela exclaimed while Damien smiled proudly in your direction. You only shrugged not having a real answer. Youâd read it in a book once and just never really forgot about it.
âPop Culture for 100?â You asked
âWhat is the best-selling book series of the 21st century?â Shayne read and all three of you were quick to press your buzzers.
âWho was first?â Damien asked as you all looked over to the camera.
âIt was Angela.â Courtney replied after going back to check the footage so everyone then turned their attention to her.
âUm, I want to say like twilight or something but I feel like thatâs wrong so Iâm gonna sayâŠ.Harry Potter?â She nervously suggested
âIt is Harry Potter.â Shayne agreed
âLast question, Smosh Lore for 500.â Shayne announced grabbing the card and reading it over.
âOkay so this is absolutely insane! Not even I knew this fact.â He laughed causing the three of you at the table to lean forward in anticipation.
âWhich members of Smosh became one of the youngest members of Mensa International at just 3 and a half years old?â Shayne read out and you felt your entire body freeze. It wasnât a secret, you werenât hiding it. But suddenly the idea of everyone knowing felt light a giant weight on your chest.
âWe have a Mensa member at Smosh?!â Damien gasped excitedly.
âWait whatâs Mensa?â Angela asked confused as she looked around for clarification.
âItâs a nonprofit organization for people in the 98th percentile of IQ. They are as close to genius as you can get. Gosh I wonder what their IQ is. Man thatâs so cool.â Damien rambled his hands moving to cover the wide and incredibly excited smile on his face. You noticed Shayne studying you and you hesitated. You knew that he knew it was you, your name was printed on the card in his hands. Of course he knew it was you. You could practically hear your heart beat in your ears as you began tuning out Damienâs excited rambling and Angela jokes about it secretly being her.
Your hands clenched then unclenched repeatedly as you took a deep breath before pressing your buzzer.
âItâs me.â You announced and suddenly the room went quiet.
âItâs you?!â Damien practically squealed, you nodded your head as Shayne turned the card around so everyone including the camera could see it.
âYeah, I uh, my IQ is 146 so like 16 points higher than the minimum Mensa requirement.â You explained. Nervous about the response youâd receive. Sometimes itâs positive other times not so much.
âSo youâre like a Stuff Expert?â Shayne joked, laughter filled the room and suddenly all the tension left your body.
After the video was posted and word traveled through the office, Shayneâs joke actually became a running bit.
âThe Stuff Expertâ became a character you would play on Bit City and several other Smosh segments. A quirky scientist who loved talking about random facts whenever possible. You also became a regular of Beopardy, sometimes it would be you verses the rest of the cast or crew in special episodes called âAre We Smarter Than A Geniusâ. For episodes you werenât in a new rule had been implemented where they could phone an expert one time per episode.
Funny enough, they didnât even phone you every time. Sometimes theyâd call Damien, or Spencer, or even Ian. Now instead of being a âParty Trickâ it was just you having fun with your friends again.
This thing that you had formerly been ashamed of was suddenly a super power again. You were a whole person at Smosh and not just a brain.
It was nice, it was comforting.
Sooo I kinda forgot my idea for this like halfway through, thatâs why the ending kinda sucks.
I was in a writing flow state and then I got interrupted, then suddenly the idea was gone. đ
tags: eeeeee! yearning yearning yearning.. yearning.. yearning.., spencer is in denial BIG TIME folks, aww reader is so cute and sappy!!!, she.. spenced the night??? (sorry not sorry), aww, spencer is having heart palpitations! whoops, youâre hot, dreams!, christmas dreams, love at first sight mention, pining!!!!! spencer is down bad, reader is just as down bad!!, depressed yearning
trigger warnings: literally none.Â
wordcount: 3.1k
a/n: i am a machine. (we are slowly descending into angst territory)
commenting etiquette, nexalune masterlist
It was 12:05 am when the city lights of Los Angeles finally came into view. You had fallen asleep a few hours ago. He could still hear your voice, the syllables of your words nestled deep inside his mind. If he tried, he could still picture the crooked smirk on your face when you spoke. âYou know,â you had said. âI used to drive out here with my friends to drink. I mean, they legally could, they were twenty two. I, on the other hand, was fifteen.â
âReally?â heâd asked.
âYes!â Youâd thrown your hands up in mock defeat, which had, admittedly, startled him for a moment. âEveryone thinks that Iâm, like, incapable of having fun. Geniuses can break laws too.â
âOf course, maybe just.. donât mention all the crimes youâve committed in front of an FBI agent?â
âWhat, you gonna report me, Dr. Reid?âÂ
âWhat for? Conveniently, I didnât hear what you just said. Care to repeat yourself?â
That had drawn a snort out of you, which, in turn, made Spencer smile. A real smile, one he hadnât seen on himself in a very long time. How did you do this to him? It made him feel scared, if he was being honest. Stupid if he wasnât. He knew, logically, what love was. He could break it down, make it clinical- remove his actual emotions from the situation if he wanted. If it was Emily, or JJ, or even Morgan who came to him with this story, he wouldnât believe it. âThough there are accounts of love at first sight,â he would say, âit has yet to be proven as an actual condition. Just- coincidences triggered by different circumstances.â Yet, here he was, living it. Trying his best not to screw it up. Love is the release of dopamine, oxytocin, and vasopressin in the brain. When these chemicals are all activated at once, or, more commonly said, if someone is has fallen in love, they may feel infatuated or obesessed with another individual. Symptoms may include: constant thoughts of a specific person, intense anxiety surrounding scenarios with the aforementioned individual, and shortness of breath when interacting with the person.
If these symptoms persist, please contact a doctor. Though he doubted that even the most experienced surgeon could fix the way his brain was wired to want you.Â
â
By 2:24 am, Spencer was questioning his life choices. You were still asleep, snoring softly in a way that felt extremely domestic, and did absolutely nothing to ease his predicament. He refused to let his brain wander to other circumstances that could lead to a scene like this. Maybe if you were- no. Absolutely not. He wasnât going to think about it. He refused to even picture you at all. 3.141592653897-
You stirred in your sleep. How wonderful. And there went all of his restraint. Right out the window. Maybe, if he looked hard enough, he could find it flitting through the air outside the car.Â
Of all the people in the world, heâd never imagined finding himself admiring someone he had just met. Then again, maybe it wasnât a coincidence. Maybe youâd fallen in love in your past lives, or something. God, he really had to stop listening to Penelope.Â
Maybe it wasnât love at first sight. Just- interest. Thatâs what he could call it. You piqued his interest, that was all. A budding friendship with a side of fries and flirting. Because friends definitely dream about kissing each other. Friends keep score of how often they can fill the other with butterflies? Friends write that number on a piece of paper, and share it like itâs sacred? Friends go home, only to think about each other all night? Right? It didnât matter, it shouldnât matter, youâd made it clear that you wanted to.. Involve yourself with him, whether that be physically, emotionally, or..
Romantically.Â
Spencer wasnât one to curse, no, he was professional. He found that he had to often make up for his younger age by over utilizing formalities. But god, there was no other way to describe this situation.
Spencer Reid was totally, completely, and entirely fucked. There was nothing professional about it.
â
Spencer really should have asked you for your address before you fell into a makeshift coma. Clearly, all the rain and sexual tension had exhausted you thoroughly. No matter how many times he tried to wake you, you gave him nothing but a noncommittal hum, or another sweet exhale. âHey,â he whispered. âWake up. Weâre almost back.â
âReally?â You yawned. It was supposed to be impossible for someoneâs heart to skip a beat. The sensation could be explained as a premature beat followed by a pause, followed by a more intense beat, all which came together to form the phrase that was constantly used throughout the romance genre as a whole. But god, did it feel real right there. Like his heart was performing the physically impossible, just to throw him off.Â
Your voice was soft in a way heâd never heard from you before. âM good. Jâst go to your motel.âÂ
âWhat? Where will you sleep, I-â
âAt your place. Mineâs lonely. ând cold. The heater broke.â
As if he wasnât already defying the status quo, he felt the sensation repeat itself after you finished talking. Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat. Soft beat. Pause. Hart beat. Again and again, over and over, so many times in a row that, for a second, he thought he might be having a heart attack. You were lonely and you wanted to stay with him. Jesus fucking christ, this was it. Game over. âHere lies Spencer Reidâ, his tombstone would read. âKilled by a girl asking to stay the night with him.âÂ
Heâd have to add this to your score. It definitely counted.Â
Spencer- 2
You- 2
Even at last.
â
The air was warm inside the motel. No, it wasnât- the thermostat read 68 degrees. Heâd have to change that, youâd mentioned your apartment being cold. The real cause of the burning sensation in his face was not a fever, or an actinic erythema. The immediate cause was the fact that you were next to him, radiating warmth like a furnace. Or maybe you werenât, maybe he was just interpreting his attraction for you as you being, for lack of a better word, hot. In both senses of the word, but he wasnât ready to admit that yet. He seemed to notice the weight of your presence more than usual, because he was struggling to hold both you and himself upright. Symptoms include: feeling weak in the knees. Heat and redness of cheeks. If he were that kind of doctor, he would diagnose himself with incurable desire. Patient Spencer, of course, would refuse the medication offered to him by Doctor Spencer. âStay away three times a day until the feeling is gone.â But how could he, when indulgence in you was absolutely exquisite? Torture and reward, all at the same time. Too much feeling, too little time. Tick tock.Â
âLetâs get you into bed, yeah?â He asked. You mumbled something that he didnât quite catch, something he assumed to be a yes. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat.
He thought you wouldâve let him go, but no, you dragged him into bed with you.
Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat.
You curled up next to him and placed your head on his chest.
Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat.
You muttered his name- his name- in your sleep.
Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat.
Now he was sure that he was dreaming, because he swore he could feel the same abnormality against the palm of his hand, which was pressed against your back.
Soft beat. Pause. Hard beat.
â
Youâd only ever seen snow once, during a trip to Canada to see your cousins for Christmas. Yet, you were seeing it now. Soft and fluffy, tumbling down from the sky. Like a snowglobe. Like magic. Or, rather, synthetic mica, the snow inside of snowglobes.
It was frozen water, not magic, but for some reason, your brain refused to let you acknowledge that.
You were sitting on your front porch, dressed in a coat youâd never own, when It happened. A small child, one who looked suspiciously like Spencer, came barrelling towards you. You were greeted with a high pitched squeal, and a âMommy!â that made your heart skip a beat. You found yourself stewing in adoration for this child whom youâd never seen before. And then, like it was fate, you felt yourself skip another beat when you saw who stepped out of the car after her, armed with grocery bags and a smile so adorable that it could be considered assault with a deadly weapon.
Spencer. But your brain didnât stop there. My Spencer.
If dreams truly were a glimpse into another universe, then you didnât want to wake up. In fact, you wanted to trade lives with this version of you, the one who actually got to live out her future with Spencer. The one who got everything she wanted, you thought, glancing down at your hands. Only, your ring finger wasnât bare. Two twin rings. One with a diamond, and one with a simple engraving.Â
To my love, who stuck by me always. Even when we were out of time.
The child who, you realized (10) was your daughter, tugged on your sleeve. âI wanna have hot chocolate!â She declared. âDaddy said I could, âcause it's made with milk, so it has cal-ci-um.â She seemed to be very proud of herself for being able to pronounce calcium.Â
A voice came from behind you. âAnd? What else, honey?â
âOh yeah! Mommy, thereâs more!â She paused for a moment, a confused look spreading over her face. âCalcium does..?â she trailed off, glancing at her father for rescue. He gave a little chuckle, and pointed to his teeth. Her eyes absolutely lit up, and she continued, just as animated as before. âCalcium makes your teeth strong! And your bones!â Quickly, she zoomed over to Spencer. âAnd I gotta have a lot of calcium, âcause my bones are super strong. See, Mommy?â You watched in great delight as she âheldâ one of the grocery bags on Spencerâs arm.Â
âI do see, youâre very strong.â You laughed, giving her a warm smile. âNow, can you put all your toys in the living room away?â
âNo thank you, mommy. I wanna have hot chocolate. Then Iâll put my toys away.â
You rested your hands on your hips, shooting Spencer an incredulous glance. âSheâs your daughter, through and through.â Your eyes said. He only gave you a sheepish nod in return.
You sighed. Oh, the joys of parenting.Â
âWhat if,â you said, kneeling down to be on her level. âI told you a secret.â
âI like secrets.â She said thoughtfully. âDepends on what it is, though. âCause last time you said you had a secret, you just said that you love me. And mommy,â she put her hand on your shoulder, as though she needed to brace you for what she was about to say. âThatâs not a secret.âÂ
âI promise itâs a good secret, sweetheart.â You whispered.
âPinky promise?â She asked, the skeptical look in her eyes almost making you blow the whole operation. Â
âI swear on all the stars in the sky.â You said.Â
âNuh uh! You gotta pick something else. Stars âre just gas, mommy. Daddy told me.âÂ
âOh, did he now?â You shot Spencer another look. âSorry,â he mouthed. âI read that itâs beneficial to tell children the truth from early on.â
âOkay, then. Miss Star. Care to tell me what I should swear on?â
She thought for a moment. â..dirt.â She finally said. âDirtâs always there.âÂ
Okay, then. Dirt it is.
âAlright,â you said, intertwining her outstretched pinky with yours. âI, Mrs. Reid, solemnly swear on the dirt that I will tell you a good secret.â
âOkay.â She said seriously. âI,-â she paused, glancing at her father. âDo I say Mrs Reid too, daddy?â She asked.Â
âNo, bug. Say your name.â He chuckled. She nodded, her face still serious. âI, Penelope Reid, swear on the dirt that I will clean up my toys if you tell me a good secret.â She narrowed her eyes at you. âIt better be a good secret.â She said.
âNow, are you sure that youâre ready for my secret?â You asked. âBecause itâs a good one.â
Penny was practically jumping up and down now. âYes! I am! Please?â
âOkay. Well. The elf on the shelf tells Santa to give you one extra toy if you clean up after yourself all year long.â You said.
She gasped. âReally! Really really? Daddy, is that true?âÂ
âSure is, bug. Now go pick up your toys. Then weâll have hot chocolate.â
âOkay!â You werenât sure you could make this up. Quite literally, she skipped her way into the living room. Once you were sure that the coast was clear, you began to speak. âYou know, sheâs got your eyes. And your curiosity.â You stood next to your husband, allowing your head to drop down onto his shoulder. âNo,â He replied, his hand entangling itself with yours, âI think she got that from the both of us.â
You stayed like that for a while. No words, nothing special, no extravagant surprises. Just you and the man youâd loved since the day you met him, watching your daughter pick up her toys.
Somehow, nothing had ever felt more right.
â
âHey, you gotta wake up. Weâre already late,â
You felt a surge of sadness rush through you as the dream dissipated, slipping through your fingers and plunging into the pit of lost memories. If only you could hold onto that moment for a minute longer. She wasnât even real. You were sad over a child who only existed in the depths of REM sleep.
âShit. What tim- what the fuck. This isnât my room.â You were in a bed you didnât recognize, between sheets that were definitely not yours, and on top of a man you definitely shouldnât be on top of.
âWhat happened to being subtle, Mrs Reid?â You asked yourself.Â
âDid- did you kidnap me, or something?â You yelled, finally starting to realize (11- or 10? Do dream realizations count?) what had happened.Â
âWhat- no! Iâm literally an FBI agent!â He raised his hands in the air, like that was somehow supposed to clear his name. âI did not kidnap you. I promise.â
âPinky square?â You said, feeling the want to go back to dreamland hit you at full force.
âI- sure?â Spencer was confused. Fair enough. Youâd be confused too, if you were him. Youâd be running all the possible outcomes of the situation if the girl you were maybe-kinda-into accused you of kidnapping with all the authority she could muster.Â
It wasnât until you felt the weight of his hand in yours that you finally calmed down.Â
âLast night-â he paused, almost as though he was making sure he wasnât dreaming. âYou fell asleep in the car after the movie.â He swallowed nervously. âDo you remember that?â
âYeah,â you said. âContinue.â
â
âI asked you for your address, but you were too out of it to tell me. You insisted that we go back to my motel instead.â He said, his tone soft and slow to ensure that you didnât snap at him again.
âSo, I obliged. It doesnât have to be anything more than it was unless you want it to be. Just two friends, sharing a bed. Nothing happened.â âOther than my heart skipping beats like they were stones,â his mind said. âOther than me realizing that I do want you, even if weâre 2,633 miles apart. Even if it goes against every dream Iâve ever had about love.
In a perfect world, he wouldâve confessed his feelings right then and there. Wind in your hair, a mildly dopamine-inducing melody playing in the background. But his world wasnât perfect.
Too many words, too little time. Tick tock.Â
You seemed to accept his answer, unaware of what had really happened. He pretended that it was fine. He couldnât afford to care, not when time was running out.
Tick. Tock.
â
âShit.â You muttered, glancing down at your watch. You wondered how youâd gotten yourself in this situation. Wearing the same clothes as you had been last night, in someone elseâs bed, hair greasy because it had gotten wet and then dried again without a proper wash.Â
âSpencer,â you waved your hands in front of his face. âI- did you leave your car at the station?â
He gave you a look that reminded you of a deer in headlights. Then, he dropped his face into his hands, muttering something you didnât hear. You thought you caught the word love, but that would have been absurd. Absolutely absurd.
Right?
âI did,â he admitted. âI didnât expect us to be gone for the night.â
âNeither did I,â you said. âOkay. Itâs fine. Weâll just take mine.â but it wasnât that simple, no, nothing ever was.Â
âIâm still wearing my clothes from yesterday, weâre both late, and sharing a ride. You know exactly what everyoneâs going to think. Oh, god. Lucyâs going to ask me how the sex was, and Iâm not going to have an answer.â You groaned, this time it being your turn to hold your head in your hands.
He raised an eyebrow at you. âYou could always lie,â he suggested. âOr find out and tell your friend the truth,â His eyes said. You must have been imagining it. There was no way he would be looking at you like that right now. When all you had presented to him as of late were problems to be solved. First, the car. Now this.Â
âI donât like lying.â You whined. âThere has to be something we can do. Like- you could call a taxi?â That wasnât an option. It was rush hour in LA. A taxi was out of the question. You cringed at the thought of the implication, the unprofessionalism- all of it.
âI need to go change.â He said suddenly. Naturally, this drew your attention to his clothes- and to your surprise, you recognized them. Same teal sweater, dress pants, and a purple tie. Which meant that he hadnât changed either before getting into bed. Now, there were two logical explanations for this. One, he had merely forgotten to change, which, given the quality of his memory, was unlikely. Two- well. Youâd gotten into his bed and heâd crawled in beside you, simple as that.Â
In an act of what you could only describe as pure cowardice- you elected to go with the first option.
To protect your already aching heart.
You needed the one thing that life never gave for free- time.
Tick.
Tock.
a/n: hii! if you made it to the end, congrats!! we're now 13k words into genius!reader. please comment and reblog (also tell me any and all genius!reader ideas you have) as it really helps me stay motivated!! love you all. <3
Thinking of Ratio with a female s/o but with the personality/backstory of Shinosawa Hiro from Gakuen Idolmaster! So reader is a genius at a lot of studies that involved her brain and graduated in science major when she's young but afterwards she purposely decided to pursue a career in something physical that she's bad at (Hiro's case is an idol, but you can pick anything) because she wanted to experience working hard for her dreams and not taking the easy path, but the way reader expresses it might've been sounding like a masochist in all its right.
I'd like to see your take on it!
âThe harder the battle, the sweeter the victoryâ
Summary: Ratio is deeply intrigued by his partner, a brilliant young woman who has chosen to step away from intellectual pursuits and challenge herself in physical disciplines, even though sheâs not naturally gifted in them. Despite her genius in science, she deliberately chooses a path full of struggle and failure, finding joy in the growth that comes from working hard at something difficult. Ratio, who values mastery and efficiency, admires her tenacity but finds himself puzzled by her desire to struggle.
Tags: Ratio x Female!Reader, Intellectual x Struggling Genius, Established Relationship, Genius!Reader, Physical Struggle for Growth, Mutual Admiration, Slow Burn, Romantic Tension.
Ratio stood at the window of his study, deep in thought, his hair falling over one eye as he contemplated the latest data in front of him. His eyes scanned the complex equations with an intensity that could rival the brightest stars. Yet, despite his intellectual brilliance, there was one thing on his mind that consistently eluded him.
You.
His brilliant, enigmatic partner. His equal in intellect, if not surpassing him, yet youâlike himâhad a particular kind of brilliance that didn't quite align with the norm. You werenât merely driven by the thirst for knowledge; you sought something else entirely. Something that, to him, was still a mystery. It had all started when you, a certified genius in science, chose a path that left many baffled.
Where others expected you to continue a career in research, becoming a figure of recognition in your field, you chose instead to embark on a journey of physicality, something youâd never excelled at. He remembered the day you told him about your decision. It had been a casual conversation over coffee, but the conviction in your voice had caught him off guard.
âIâm tired of the easy path,â you had said, your voice as soft as it was resolute. âI want to experience what itâs like to fail, to struggle. To work hard for something, rather than having everything handed to me on a silver platter.â
He had been unable to hide his confusion. âBut... why?â
You had smiled, a strange gleam in your eyes. âBecause... I find joy in things that donât come easily. Iâm no masochist, Ratio, but I believe thereâs something valuable in pushing past the limits of oneâs comfort. In fact, Iâm quite looking forward to it.â
And so, you had chosen to pursue a career as a professional dancer, a path that required discipline, coordination, and physical graceâeverything you had not been born with. He had watched, sometimes in awe, as you tackled each practice with a mixture of determination and, what he could only describe as, delight. He knew the truth: you thrived in adversity. It was almost as if failure was your driving force.
As always, Ratio had been caught in your orbit. Despite the frustrations he experienced seeing you struggle in your pursuit, there was an undeniable admiration he held for your tenacity. You were no longer the perfect student or the prodigy who walked through every challenge with ease. No, you were something more: a mystery, a riddle he couldnât quite solve.
On one occasion, you had returned to the apartment after an especially grueling rehearsal. You were drenched in sweat, but there was that same spark in your eyesâburning brightly, full of satisfaction, even in the face of exhaustion.
âThat was awful,â you had said, falling onto the couch beside him. âI felt like I was going to collapse halfway through. But... I think I might have learned something new today. Something that will help me improve tomorrow.â
Ratio raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from chuckling lightly. âYouâre... something else, you know that?â He reached for his cup of tea, his eyes studying you with a mixture of concern and admiration. âYou work so hard, and yet you constantly talk about the satisfaction of failing. I have to admit, I donât fully understand it.â
You smiled, stretching your arms as you reclined back. âMaybe you donât need to. You know how much I love to learn, Ratio. But what good is learning if you only do whatâs easy? Itâs the struggle, the moments when you feel like giving up, that shape us into something better.â
He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had always been so focused on mastery and achievement, on knowledge and efficiency. But you... you were driven by something different, something intangible. It was as if your brilliance only found true purpose when it was matched with your determination to grow in areas you were weakest.
He couldnât help but admire your dedication, even as he feared that you were pushing yourself too hard.
âThatâs your way of thinking,â he murmured, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. âBut let me ask you thisâare you really enjoying it? Or are you just addicted to the feeling of pushing yourself beyond your limits?â
You shrugged, still lying on the couch. âMaybe itâs both. I guess I wonât know for sure until Iâve reached the end. But thatâs part of the fun, isnât it? Not knowing where the struggle will take me.â
He couldnât argue with that. There was a certain allure to your mindset, a magnetic pull that kept him coming back for more. Despite his own cold, calculated nature, you had managed to draw him into a world where failure was celebrated, where the beauty of growth existed in the very act of trying and falling short.
It was a world that, despite its challenges, seemed to hold its own kind of wisdom.
âI canât say I fully understand you,â Ratio admitted, standing up and walking over to you. âBut I do admire you, even if it means I have to watch you fail... again and again.â
You sat up, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. âItâs not failure if youâre learning from it, Ratio. Itâs just... progress in disguise.â
He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his expression softening. âI suppose Iâll have to learn to accept that.â
And as the two of you sat together, surrounded by books and scattered notes, the dance of knowledge and struggle continuedâa dance where two brilliant minds, though different in their pursuits, found their way through the complexities of life, side by side.
Based off the maze runner movies because iâm in a reading slump right now and I donât want to actually read. Thomas and reader have been friends and partners since birth, and they both have had huge impacts on the maze. Reader is first glader, leader, and a runner.
title from cave townâs song this is home (to listen to it. Itâs legendary)
fem!reader/ stated that you go by she/her pronouns and in shape to be a runner
Aiming for 7 parts
prologue 0.7k
I canât really think right now in this place 2.4k
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tags: no they donât kiss, yes it will happen, no not any time soon, i am far too impatient for a real slowburn, so i guess this is.. Flirting but without doing anything about it???, theyâre already so in love, jfc SLOW DOWN, lots of yearning to come, spencer reid is a yearning yearner who yearns, no tim!!!
trigger warnings: literally none. this is pure fluff. edit: mentions of a dead body??
wordcount:Â 3.3k
a/n: felt cute, might delete later (no seriously this was so hard to write i cant)
commenting etiquette, nexalune masterlist
One thing youâd learned about Spencer was that he took his coffee sweet. So sweet, in fact, that you were surprised when it didnât turn to mush after he dumped all the sugar in. After watching his process a few times, youâd finally gotten the courage to ask him why. Heâd rattled off statistics about higher productivity, sugar consumption leading to a higher life span, ect. Ect. Youâd watch his mouth move as he spoke, wondering how that coffee would taste on his lips. Wondering if youâd ever get to find out.Â
You did, in fact, find out, albeit not through the means you wanted.Â
â
It was a cool morning, one where you felt particularly confident. The winter breeze had played with your hair as youâd walked from your car to the parking lot, wearing your new clothes. Youâd gone shopping on the weekend with Lucy, and youâd picked out a brand new outfit. Black, wide-leg dress pants, and a red shirt that actually looked good on you. You looked great. You felt great. For once, none of it came crashing down when you walked through the door, and into the LAPD.Â
Spencer was hunched over some papers, probably new evidence, or something. You didnât care. His scrunched up face was absolutely adorable. His hair was carefully tucked behind his ears, just asking to be ruffled. A lone coffee mug sat beside him, one that had probably long since gone cold.
You allowed yourself to stare, for just one more moment. Imagine what it would feel like if all that attention was fixated on you.Â
âThis is weird,â he said, probably not realizing he was speaking out loud. You gave a little chuckle.
âNo, seriously,â he continued. âYou need to check this out.â For a second, you were floored. Heâd actually noticed you were there? There was no hello, no good morning, just him, fitting you into his life, his work- like youâd always been there. Like you were the one thing that had been missing, and he was adapting to put you right where you belonged. And somehow, that place was somewhere near him, if not beside him. (You didnât dare think that outright, though.)
Then you thought about how stupid that sounded. Why would he want you to be that piece? What did you have to offer? How were you the best option?
âYou noticed I came in?â You asked softly.Â
He lifted his head to look at you, his face full of confusion. âOf course I did,â he said. âHow could I not?â
âHow could I not?â Youâd know since you were young that you were nothing extraordinary. You wondered why he seemed to think that you were.Â
People didnât notice you. Not really. They took one look at your intelligence, decided that you must be too much, too cocky, too strange, too different. But it wasnât like that with Spencer. He slid you into his life like heâd known you since forever. You were used to being noticed in a way that equated to being discarded.Â
This wasnât like that.
He didnât stop looking at you.
âYou got a new shirt.â He said. How did he know? Why did he know?
âHow did you-â
âWell, you seem happier than usual, which could be associated with having new things, and Iâve never seen you wear a shirt like that. Or that colour. Itâs not your usual.â He stated it like it was nothing, like the fact that he noticed- and remembered- your usual style- was nothing at all. Was to be expected, in fact.
You were afraid that, if you didnât date him, youâd end up alone forever. Unfortunately, this very moment altered your standards forever.Â
âI recognize patterns. In the few weeks Iâve known you, youâve never worn red. Not a single time. So, I figured you got something new.â
You just stared.Â
âIt looks great on you, by the way. Red really goes with your eyes.â
You were going to kiss him. That was it, all it would take. A few compliments, and you were the sugary mush at the bottom of a coffee cup.
âNow, you should see this.â He said, so simply, so innocently, like he was unaware of what he had just done to you.
Yeah, right.
â
You werenât sure if that counted as a point or not. To be fair, neither you nor Spencer had exactly defined what made an interaction a point. There had to be some sort of criteria. Maybe, that had been a half point? Did the two of you even want to add half points? This was entirely much too nonchalant for you. You considered yourself to be incapable of scenario appropriate reactions when in the midst of an obsession. And right now, your obsession was him. In an entirely professional manner, of course. Totally workplace appropriate.
You twirled the slip of paper youâd been given yesterday in your hands. It was a few days old, that much was clear from the wear and tear it had clearly suffered. Perhaps he had it in his pocket? For that long? You imagined him, sitting at his shitty motel desk, scrawling down what the score would be if he managed to render you speechless during your next interaction. Practising what heâd say, what heâd do, how heâd do it. As you imagined where his hands would go, you wondered if he always knew what to do with them. He seemed like he did. So confident.
Spencer- 3
You- 1
â
You remembered that you had a job to do. You have a job to do. You canât afford to both look at Spencer and drive the car, youâll crash. Though it might be worth it if it meant you got to look at him right before you died.Â
You were driving to the house of the woman who found the first body. She moved to a smaller town about a week after she finished with all the police interviews. âFair enough,â You thought. If you hadnât already seen many, many dead people, you supposed you might move away too.
Suddenly, your four hour drive felt like nothing. As long as he would talk to you the entire time, youâd be fine. More than fine, actually. Wonderful.
Something small, something deep down inside you was screaming at you, screaming âthis is where youâre supposed to be. You belong here.â
âSavour it.â
â
Much to your dismay, the woman who had discovered the first victimâs body had nothing to say. Through tears, sheâd explained how sheâd come in for her morning shift at the conjoined coffee shop, only to discover a dead man. Sheâd seen absolutely nothing but a beaten body.Â
You were far from the police station, too far to walk. You and Spencer had taken your car, which you knew to be.. Finicky. It had a mind of its own, you supposed. And right then, it was surely telling you to fuck off.Â
You tried for the third time to get the engine started, but to the surprise of no one, it failed yet again. You sighed softly, turning to look at Spencer.
âIt wonât start,â you said. âIâve tried everything. Honestly, Iâm not surprised,â you said as you shut the door, âthis happens all the time.âÂ
âItâs alright, we can just-â
You wondered if the universe hated you. Genuinely, did life itself have it out for you, if not, then who (or what) did, because what the fuck was this.
The light January snow (not snow, really, just.. very cold rain) that had been slowly but surely melting into a heavy rainfall, had now begun to pour. It was almost as though the heavens had just given up on holding back. Rain splattered all around you, quickly turning what had been a dirt path into a road of mud.Â
Like a sliver of sunlight peeking through the dark clouds, Spencerâs eyes landed on you. Maybe it wasnât so bad. After all, he did look extremely cute with his hair plastered to his face.Â
Then, the wind blew those clouds right back to cover the sun- in the form of a particularly loud boom of thunder. From the sound of it, it wasnât anywhere near far enough away. So, there you were. Soaking wet (and not in a fun way), shoes covered in mud, standing in the rain like an idiot.Â
It was Spencer who broke the awkward silence between you two.Â
âThe stormâs not even a mile away.â He said. He paused for a moment, not quite looking you in the eyes, but not looking away from your face either. âWe have a 0.16 percent chance of getting struck by lightning.â
âOkay,â you said. âSo we need shelter. Itâs too cold to stay here, and my carâs fucked.â
Once you two had made your way off of the small dirt path, the first building you saw was a run-down theatre. It looked like it had been operating since the 1800s, if not longer. Quickly, you both ducked inside.Â
You noticed the poster on the wall. The movie was to start at 4:15- it was now 4:05. Great. Enough time to get snacks, and watch the movie. âJust to wait out the storm,â you told yourself. âNothing more.â You wished it could be more. Logically, you knew that he was into you, lots of the people you dated had been. That was in the beginning, before they actually got to know you. When they did, they left, and you didnât exactly blame them. You were annoying, clingy, all the things they didnât want. Too much, not enough, too boring, too energetic, pulling back and forth, mutilating your personality, just because you wanted to fit. Like a square block in a triangle hole. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldnât make yourself slip in. So, you cut off pieces of you. Finally, you fell through. But when hands tried to pick you up, they got splinters from your un-sanded, rough, unclean edges. Still not enough. Never enough.
âTwo tickets for the Sound of Music, please.â You said. Your voice was firm, confident. Outside you knew what she was doing. Inside you was a disaster.
âWould you like the couples discount, dear?â The little old lady behind the counter asked.
âOh, no- weâre not a-â you both stammered, and you quickly dropped Spencerâs hand. In your hurry to get to shelter, you hadnât even noticed that youâd grabbed it. You felt him tense up beside you, almost like he didnât want you to let go. Like he was about to reach for you and take your hand back. Almost.Â
âWeâre not a couple, maâam. Just- uh. Coworkers. Kind of.â He said. Quickly, you nodded in agreement.Â
âAh.â she winked at you. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. She didnât believe you. You probably werenât nearly as discreet as you thought you were with your affections for Spencer. âSure you arenât, dearie.â
You noticed that she gave you 20% off your tickets. The couples discount. Well, it was cheaper, you werenât about to argue with spending less money. You glanced towards Spencer. Surely, heâd noticed it. Surely, he was opening his mouth- to remind her that you were not a couple.Â
Instead, he intertwined his fingers with yours again, and walked with you to pay for the tickets.
â
The Sound of Music had been your favourite movie since you were five years old, just beginning to learn how to sing. Technically, it was a musical, but you counted it anyway. You got to your seats just as the familiar tune that came with the opening credits began to ring out into the otherwise empty theatre.Â
As Maria began to sing, you felt Spencer whisper something to you. You barely were able to catch it, but you were glad that you did.Â
âDid you know that this scene had to be redone multiple times? Julie Andrews kept getting knocked down by the helicopter that they used to film the overhead shots.â You did, in fact, know that. It was nice that somebody else did too.Â
You returned his fact with your own question-but-not-because-I-know-you-know. âDid you know that there were ten Von Trapp children, not seven, and that the real Maria was hired to be a tutor for one of the children? She wasnât actually a governess.â
âAnd,â you added, âMaria and Georg were actually married eleven years before their escape from Austria.âÂ
The slightly crooked smile on his face told you everything about what the next one hundred eighty four minutes- adding ten, of course, for the intermission, would look like.Â
âThe Sound of Music is actually one of the most famous movies with an intermission,â Spencer said. âIt was quite common in the sixties to add intermissions to any movie that was over two and a half hours.â
It seemed like he had read your mind.Â
âOf course. Other examples include: Lawrence of Arabia, Funny Girl, and Cleopatra.â You replied.
 It only took fifteen minutes and twenty two seconds before Spencer continued talking.Â
âThe real Captain Von Trapp was twenty five years older than Maria,â he whispered.Â
âThere wasnât a real Liesl Von Trapp, though,â you said, a bit louder than you meant to. You would have cringed if it werenât for the fact that the theatre was empty.Â
âShe was based on the oldest daughter, Agathe Von Trapp. Their personalities were quite different too. Agathe was shy and quiet, whereas Liesl is portrayed as outgoing, and, if I may, boy crazy.âÂ
When Maria began introducing herself as the governess, you were reminded of another fact. âJulie Andrews was actually worried about being typecast as a nanny, especially after playing both Mary Poppins and Maria. However,â you continued, pretending to be unaware of the fact that Spencer wasnât looking at the screen anymore. He was watching you, the way your mouth moved, how your hand twitched when you got excited. Noticing all the things about you that you probably didnât even see yourself.
âShe said in an interview that she hoped her performance in the Americanization of Emily would show people that she could act well in non-nanny roles.â
He nodded along, acting as though the information was fascinating, though you knew it was nothing new to him. Heâd probably read thousands of articles and interview transcripts about the movie already.Â
âAnd,â he whispered, leaning in closer to you than probably necessary, âJulie Andrews kept giggling during the confession scene in the gazebo. She said that she couldnât keep a straight face, because the lights kept acting up and making strange noises. It wouldnât stop, so director Robert Wise decided to film the scene in silhouette, with the lights off.â
You thought for a moment, again, electing to ignore the weight of his hand resting on top of yours. âYou know, Christopher Plummer absolutely despised the movie. In fact, he hated it so much that he decided to call it âthe Sound of Mucusâ, because it was just so sappy.â Spencer considered that, nodding his head. The puzzled look on his face only served to make you fall in love with him even more. âI read about that.â He said.
Your conversation lulled into another comfortable silence.
Twenty more minutes flew by. During which, your head came to rest on his shoulder. âTo make it easier for him when he has something else to tell me,â you told yourself, but both of you knew that was bullshit.
You didnât lift your hand, though. Or your head.Â
When the opening melody of âSixteen Going On Seventeenâ began, so did Spencerâs whispers. âDuring this scene,â he said, âThe actress for Liesl- who was twenty one, by the way, definitely not sixteen- fell through the glass of the gazebo and hurt her ankle. If you look down,â he pointed towards the actressâ leg, and you felt the absence of his warmth much more than you wouldâve liked to admit. â-you can see that sheâs actually wearing a bandage covered with makeup to hide the injury.â
âI canât see it,â you lied. âShow me.â You turned to face him, your eyes landing on his. You could still see some of the caramel colour in them, even in the darkness of the theatre.Â
His hand grasped yours, and he raised it up, up, pointing exactly at the bandage. âSee it now?â He asked, his voice barely audible above the music. The heat of his hand was what youâd really been aiming for. Silently, you begged he wouldnât let go. Silently, he obliged.
âYeah, I see it.â You replied.Â
The rest of the movie continued like that. But, you noticed one thing above all. He didnât move his hand off of yours again. Not once.
---
When it ended, because of course, all good things had to come to an end, you were relatively dry, and for the most part, the rain had stopped. The little old lady behind the counter was still there when you walked out of the movie room, still smiling that same smile. You chose to ignore the feeling of Spencerâs fingers, still intertwined with yours, suddenly heavier in your hand than they were before. You hated it when people were right in their assumptions about you. You immediately shut that down, though, because she hadnât been right. You still werenât a couple, that had yet to change. Yet.Â
Of course, Spencer was too busy rambling about how âthe real Maria and Captain Von Trapp didnât actually love each other, and the movie is neither geographically nor historically accurate, because-â to notice her gleeful but also rather condescending staring.
âLook, Spence,â you said, interrupting his rant. He turned his head to look to where you were pointing, which was at a small shelf with merchandise from the movie. âWe should get something. Like a souvenir.â Quickly, you realized (9) what that insinuated. That this was real, and- albeit unconventional-, a date.Â
If he came to the same realization, it didnât show up on his face. Instead, what came to rest where youâd assumed a small frown would be, was a smile. âWe should,â he agreed, and the two of you made your way over to that same small shelf.Â
You ended up leaving the theatre with matching grins and matching figurines.
---
Spencer found that you had taken up all four corners of his mind. It was a thought that had come to him about two days ago, when he was listening to another one of your voicemails.Â
Youâd been talking about wanting to perform a social experiment, but not having anyone who would volunteer. It was then that he realized it. Heâd do anything you wanted him to if you so much as said the word. Heâd volunteer. Heâd strip himself of every negative experience heâd ever had, bear his heart for you, raw and bleeding.
Terrifying was the only word he could use to describe it. In the two weeks youâd known each other, you already had him wrapped around your finger. If things continued this way, he wondered how long it would take before he became a lovesick disaster.Â
Heâd offered to drive back, as it was dark, and you looked absolutely exhausted.Â
Spencer had one hand on the wheel. The other was still wrapped with yours. You squeezed it once, twice, like you were making sure he hadnât disappeared. He never would. Heâd stay forever if you wanted him to.
He wondered what it would look like if he could actually stay here. If there werenât 2,633 miles between you at any given moment. He imagined that it would be soft and sweet. That there was a future if you tried, though he wouldnât dare dream of it. Too soon, too little time.
If only he could let himself have this one thing. You were his to have, youâd made that much clear- but he didnât have enough time to actually love you properly.
Tick tock. Time is running out.Â
a/n: hope you enjoy! Please reblog and comment, it helps me continue writing AND makes me happy. I love every single person who reads this.Â
tags: no floof, sad, sad, sad, no yearning, sad, sad, sad, misogyny
trigger warnings: reader has mommy issues!!!, self-deprecation, (she doesnât think sheâs good enough for spencer), readerâs mother is a bitch, miscommunication, tons of self-hatred, ect ect.Â
wordcount: 2.8kÂ
a/n: we have fully descended into angst territory. good luck. let the games begin.
commenting etiquette, nexalune masterlist
The car ride to the station was silent, silent in a way you hadnât expected. He refused to meet your eyes, and you werenât particularly inclined to meet his either. Your hand stayed cold, of course, and empty.
The wind whistled in from the windows. Youâd cracked them, just a little, in hopes that heâd seek you out. He didnât. In an effort to be discreet (and warm again) you rolled them back up. Youâd left your coat back at the station, too, so there was that to think about.
Also the fact that he wasnât talking to you. One thing youâd learned about the man was that he was talkative. To an extreme. When he wasnât speaking, he often bore an expression of longing to do just that. Talk. Heâd never exactly been voluntarily wordless with you before.
This wasnât a good silence. It was uncomfortable and indescribably wrong. So, of course, you decided to break it.
âWe should probably talk about what happened.â You offered, your tone flat. Clinical. So as not to scare him, obviously. You definitely werenât hurt by his actions.Â
âThereâs nothing to talk about,â he said. âYouâre not upset, Iâm not upset, this is fine.â
Fine. So he thought that ignoring you was fine? Deliberately changing both his body language and presentation towards you, in order to feign indifference was fine? First, he abruptly left bed and went to get changed. That was understandable, he was probably embarrassed or uncomfortable. Then heâd stopped talking to you. Okay, great! You could handle a little bit of silence, so you were good there. But thisâ him pretending that it meant nothing, that what happened didnât even deserve a shred of recognitionâ was too far.
If it was so fine, then he definitely wouldnât care if you did it too.
â
Ignoring Spencer was hard. During the past two weeks, heâd been your outlet. The person who would listen when you needed to bounce ideas off of someone. Without that, you feared youâd go insane. And so, in a fit of what you could only describe as genius, you decided to write down your ideas until you spoke to him again.
Hour one yielded a simple scribble: You.Â
Hour two gave you a few sentences: I think this means you get another point. I canât stop thinking about you, and itâs driving me crazy. I want to
You decided to stop after that. Too close to the truth, too raw and sensitive to be put anywhere but scrawled across your bleeding heart. You also needed to prepare for the Lucy Lecture you were definitely going to receive soon. You estimated that sheâd get fed up with waiting for you to come speak with her first. Sheâd seek you out and dig her claws in. Sheâd probably tie you up if she had to. You sighed, allowing yourself to spin around in your desk chair for a moment.Â
You knew that there was some sort of attraction between you. You doubted heâd stick around if he didnât think you were pretty. You just wanted some clarity. If he was just using you to sleep with you, you deserved to know.
You couldnât see Spencer being cruel like that.Â
A soft buzz against your thigh and a light coming from your pants pocket quickly snapped you out of your daze. You slid your phone out from the depths of a rather shallow, fabric-y hell, and placed it on the table in front of you like it was a bomb
The name on the cracked screen made you want to cry. Mother. Youâd instructed her not to call you at work, but like all your other boundaries, she perceived that rule as optional. âIâm your mother for crying out loud!â You remembered her indignant yelling. âIâm allowed to call my daughter whenever I want!â Â
And because your spine was as strong as a bowl full of jello, you picked up. You tried to keep some of the pure exasperation out of your voice, lest you cause another screaming match. You were sure that some of your colleagues still felt sorry for you because of the things sheâd shrieked last time. Not Tim, though. He hadnât been there when it happened. You wondered if it would change his opinion of you.
âHello, mother.â You finally said, some of the defeat you tried to hide seeping into your tone.Â
âWhy, hello! Itâs been so long since weâve seen each other.â You knew that voice. You knew it well. You remembered being a naive twenty year old, convinced by the very same voice. You knew what she was about to say, too. In fact, youâd made a mental bingo card for this exact situation. âFamily helps family,â âI fed, clothed, and housed you!â âI raised you, and this is how you repay me?â âI brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.â (though sheâd stopped that when you told her youâd report it to the police as threats against an officer.) âIâm your mother, and you canât even do one thing for me?â (it was never one thing) âYouâre such an ungrateful child.â (you were an adult. Youâd been an adult for half a decade now.) âJust wait until I tell your father! Heâll have a field day with this disrespect!â âDo you even love me?â (your least favourite.)
You decided to end things early. âCut the bullshit, mom. What do you want?âÂ
She dropped the act instantly. âWell, since youâre single, and living alone.. I figured youâd have some money to spare. Plus, you know, you have so many connections with the police. And now the FBI!â The delight in her tone made you sick. Everything she did made you sick. Youâd tried to go no-contact with her so many times, but she always cried and told you she was sorry. That sheâd change. She never did. But she was your mother, how could you leave her? How could you do that to family?Â
You supposed that sheâd trained you well.
âWhy on earth would you think that, mother. Come on. Since when do I have money to spare?â You asked. You could lie. You could tell her that Spencer was your boyfriend, and maybe sheâd leave you alone. You were still mad at him, though. Then again, heâd never know. It would purely be for your benefit.Â
âBecause the FBI is in town!â She said it like sheâd made some kind of clever deduction. Like the FBI being in LA raised your salary, or something. Knowing her, that was exactly what she thought.Â
âThat doesnât mean anything, mom.â You were this close to burying your head in the nearest pillow and screaming. Yes, that included the decorative ones. Yes, you were that desperate.Â
âWell, I need you to absolve my tickets. You know how the police are. I think theyâre targeting me. Jerald still works for them, so he must have told them to pull me over!â She declared, like she wasnât the worldâs worst driver. She couldnât even parallel park, for fucks sake. Sheâd been on the road for over twenty years. Plus, Jerald had retired six years ago. Sheâd broken up with him at his retirement party to get back with your dad. You felt your face get hot with embarrassment, even though there was no one in the room with you.Â
âJerald is retired, mom.âÂ
âHe could have still told them to target me!â Her voice was getting higher now, angrier.Â
âI promise you, no one is targeting you. Everyone at the station loves you.â An absolute lie, everyone hated her for breaking up with Jerald at his retirement party. You hated her for that too, though youâd been forced to defend her actions at the station when it happened. Maybe that was why Tim didnât like you. Heâd been the only one who heard you âreassuringâ her when you escorted her out after she made a scene. You hadnât exactly wanted to, but you were still living with her at the time. You couldnât risk losing shelter over a breakup.Â
âMom, Iâm not absolving your tickets. If you want to fight them, go to court. Iâm not going to break the law and risk my career because you canât drive properly.â You were done. Done with the conversation, done with her antics.. everything.Â
âWhy not? You can afford it, I know you can. You live alone. Family helps family, you know.â Ding ding ding! Bingo! You win the game!
Now, you had two options. Either tell her no, and have her call you every day for the rest of the week, or tell her that Spencer was your boyfriend.
You opted to go for the second.
"Mom,â you lied. âI have a boyfriend. I canât pay your tickets for you.â
You could hear her shock through the phone, maybe silent celebration? Rage?Â
âOh. Well.â No congratulations? That was strange, even for her. âI doubt it will last, so you should still pay them.â
What could she possibly mean by that?
âMom,â you said slowly. âWhat- what are you talking about?â
âItâs nothing to be ashamed about, sweetie.â She said in a saccharine tone that made you want to claw your eyes out. You delved down into the anger, ready to pull it out, launch it at herâ
But there was nothing there. Just sadness, and fear.Â
Sad that she thought so low of you, scared that she was right.
âYouâre just soâ you know what Iâm saying.â
âNo,â you said darkly. âI donât. Care to explain?â
âSo you. Youâre smart, but youâre not very⊠feminine, if you know what I mean.â She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. âMen want a real woman who can cook and clean, you know. Not a police officer whoâs too smart for her own good.â
That hurt. Out of anything sheâd said to youâ that hit you right where it was supposed to. Your heart.
It wasnât in your head, then. Of course Spencer was pulling back. You were too much, too smart, not naive enough. Not good enough. You never would be, so why did you even bother trying in the first place? It all probably meant nothing to him the whole time. This morning was his way of telling you that he was done.Â
She just kept talking, because she hadnât destroyed your self-esteem enough, apparently. âItâs not a bad thing!â How? How was being made to be alone not a bad thing? âSome people are destined to end up in relationships, some people arenât. You chose your career over a husband. Itâs basic biology, sweetheart. Men like sweet, soft women.â She gave a little chuckle, laughing at a joke that hadnât been made. Nothing about this was funny. Nothing at all. âYouâre not that.â
âWhat else am I, mom?â You asked. If she noticed the harshness in your voice, she didnât comment on it. Â
âWell, youâre brash, thatâs for sure. Very.. square.â Each word felt like a shard of glass in your heart. Of course you were. Someone so smart shouldnât be so stupid. He could never actually want you.
You remembered the softness of his touch, now permanently stained with this revelation. (12)
âI mean, Iâm not sure Iâd be able to put up with you if you werenât my daughter!â
You thought that your heart was about to stop. An oxymoron, definitely, but that was how it felt. The world stopped moving, clocks ceased ticking, everything parted ways to make way for those words.
What hurt the most was that she was right. Everyone around you only tolerated you because they had to. Lucy was your colleague, your mother was your mother, Spencer was your temporary coworkerâ every positive relationship youâd ever had could be chalked up to proximity.Â
Youâd always had friends. But your relationships had always relied on you. If you didnât text, the other person never reached out. If you stopped talking, no one tried to include you. Conversations revolved around everyone else. You were a background character, a footnote in the storyâ no one worth noticing, and certainly not worth keeping you around.
You couldnât do this anymore. You couldnât keep listening to her say these things about you, no matter how true they may be.Â
So, you ended it. âI have to go,â you said, your voice wobbly. Trying to hold back a flood of salty tears.Â
âWhy? Iâm just telling the truth, thereâs no need to be dramatic about it.â She said plainly, like sheâd been talking about the weather instead of how unloveable you are.Â
âMom,â you said, harsher this time. âI have to go.â
âThereâs no need to be so aggressive, âIâm just-â
You hung up.
You heard Lucy knock on the door, but you didnât want to answer her. You knew she wanted the details, but you had nothing to give her. There wasnât anything between you and Spencer anymore, there couldnât be. It was impossible. Your mother showed you that much.
Square.
Too much.
Brash.
Too smart.
Not feminine enough.
Heâd been right to ignore you this morning. Time didnât matter anymoreâ it never had.Â
Tick.
You smashed the clock, eager to see the bits scatter across your mind.
Tock.
â
You were walking to the bathroom when you heard it. Tear stains down to your neck, you froze. Timâs voice. And Spencerâs. They seemed to be talking. Curiosity took over, and you crept closer, sure to be as silent as you could be. Spencer was engrossed in the case file, and watching him made your heart flutter a little. More tears. Why couldnât you just sever ties with him and move on? You hadnât even known each other for that long. Your heart couldnât take looking at him anymore. You were about to turn away, continue your journey for tissues and a meeting with Sargent Gray to send you homeâ when you caught your name on Timâs lips.
Spencer didnât even look up. You felt another pang of sadness shoot through your body. You didnât even know why youâd thought he liked you in the first place.Â
âFor a genius, you can be pretty stupid.â More of your motherâs words, more shards of glass.
âSomeone told me that you two came in together this morning.â Tim started. Spencer didnât even look up. Did he really have such little care for you? â-and our genius isnât exactly being very talkative today.â Spencer nodded.
âLucy wanted me to ask you if you like her.â Tim said.
âThis is it,â Â you thought. You could barely breathe. This was the moment youâd find out if your mother was right or not. Your heart was pounding, your brain spinning with possibilities upon possibilities. Would he say yes? No? Maybe? âSheâs a fucking bitchâ? (Your dadâs words this time. How wonderful.)
He still didnât look up.Â
âNo,â he said. âI donât.â
Everything stopped again. This time, you felt the world of safety youâd built around yourself collapse. Your heart fully shattered. This was it. Heâd been stringing you along the whole time.Â
And Bradford, Tim fucking Bradford, had the nerve to laugh. Actually laugh. Laugh at your misfortune, your misery, laugh at all of it. Laugh because you were so stupid. So gullible. So worthless.Â
âReally? He scoffed. âOf all people, I thought you would. Guess I was wrong.â
You couldnât keep listening after that. You just couldnât. You were about to scream, and that wouldnât do you any good.
Maybe your mother was right. Maybe some people just werenât made for relationships, no matter how badly they wanted them.
â
You spent fifteen minutes sobbing in the womenâs bathroom. When you walked out, eyes puffy and skin blotchy, you remembered feeling like you were in a haze. You talked to Sergeant Gray, made up some excuse that you couldnât recall.
Youâre not sure how you got home. Oh well. Your keys are in your pocket, and your carâs in the parking garage. What more could you want?
You were watching something on TV, something mindless. You didnât want to think. All you wanted was to pass out and never have to look Dr. Reid in the eyes again.
You thought about the night you spent together, and your chest ached. The movie. The everything. How important it was to you, and then about how worthless it had probably been to him. God, he was probably wishing the whole time that he could get rid of the crazy chick who was obsessed with him. You glanced back at the screen, wishing that this hadnât happened. That you could go back in time and take it all back. The notes, the flirtingâ the almost kiss and the night wrapped around each other.
Nothing. Nothing. It all meant nothingâ it had to mean nothing, you didnât think youâd survive if it meant anything to you now.Â
You fell asleep numb, cold, and alone.
Painstakingly alone, just like you always would be.
Just like you deserved.
a/n: originally, in fallacy, spence overheard reader saying that she had a boyfriend when she was talking to her mom. and reader overheard spencer saying that he liked someone, and she assumed it wasn't her. i could have done much worse /j.
as always, please comment/reblog w your thoughts if you enjoyed. thank you for reading this <3
tags: timmy turner turns around, spencer reid has a grand realization, general despair!, spencer is not a giver upper, reader is depresso espresso, timothy is⊠a good person??? gasp! spencer and his urgency lmao, a teensy bit of yearning, sad
trigger warnings: angst, sadness, general despair, reader is feeling like shit. tim bradford is⊠there, slightly ooc tim bradford, miscommunication
wordcount: 2.7k (i promise iâll get back into my 3k groove guys i swear)
a/n: evaluate whether you do or donât want to kill me at the end of this. Iâll wait. comment your stance on my alive-ness before and after you read this fic!
commenting etiquette, nexalune masterlist
The voicemails stopped coming after that. Spencer didnât know why. You hadn't spoken to him in three days. Three days. He wasnât even angry, just.. empty. Not empty in the way he usually was, but empty like something had been taken from him. Logically, he knew you had every right to pull away. After the case was over, heâd be gone. Youâd likely never see each other again. So, like heâd told himself before, your absence made perfect sense.Â
If it made perfect senseâ if he could comprehend and decode it so easilyâ then why was he still upset?
It seemed that, even with all his genius, Spencer Reid couldnât grasp the concept of not wanting to feel alone again. He didnât like it, heâd gotten used to the comfort and warmth your presence provided. Why youâd abruptly stop was.. Confusing, to say the least, even if he got the motivation behind it.Â
But that wasnât really it, was it? No, there was something deeper. If you simply wanted to cut any intricate emotional bonds before his departure, youâd be cordial. Not close, just⊠like two planets orbiting the same sun. Occasionally brushing by each other, saying hello, and moving on.Â
This was different. Youâd deliberately frozen him out completely, and he didnât know why.Â
Which, of course, meant heâd have to try to find out.Â
â
He started with trying to speak to Officer Chen. All she did was give him a look, one he knew very well. One he actively despised, because no, he didnât know what he did. Occasionally, you have to tell people how they made you upset before they can fix it!
Spencer wanted to scream. Genuinely, just yell until he couldnât anymore. No one was giving him any answers, you hadnât been to the station since Wednesday morning. Youâd even left early on Wednesday because you were sick. Now, it was Friday, and he had neither seen you nor heard any answers. Heâd tried calling you over the weekend, but quickly found that youâd blocked his number. It hurt him a lot. He didnât know why you were treating him like thisâ like you never even cared in the first place.Â
He supposed he hadnât given you a reason to care. But in the grand scheme of thingsâ god, he really thought there was something there. Something in the way you looked at himâ how you spoke around him. The things youâd both dared to each other. He had hoped then that it amounted to somethingâ that it mattered to you. Apparently, it didnât, but that wasnât going to stop him from trying to find out why.Â
If not to fix whatever had gone wrong, then at least so he could have closure.Â
â
You were wallowing in misery when you heard a knock at your door. It was late, far too late for anyone to be coming around. Which meant one thing: work was wondering where you were. Since youâd woken up that morning with your eyes practically glued shut (they were that puffy), you thought youâd put it into the system, but then again⊠in your sleep-deprived state, maybe you hadnât.Â
You opened the door to reveal none other than Tim Bradford. In civvies. Looking at you with a mixture of pityâ and absolute rage? You couldnât tell, youâd left your glasses in your bedroom when you woke up. (Youâd even watched TV without them onâ how tragic.)
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, you cut him off.
âShut up, Tim. If itâs about work, I donât want to hear it.â You were still crying. You couldnât stop. Instead of getting angry with you, or yelling at you, or telling you to just âdo your jobâ, he⊠stayed there? At your door? With a box of tissues? âLeave-â you took a deep breath. âLeave me alone.âÂ
âNo. Thatâs not what this is about.â he said firmly. âYouâre upset, and itâs going to start affecting your work. I need to know why.â Ah. So that was what he was worried about. Work. All he ever worried about was work, and honestly, you were fucking sick of it. Sick of him pushing you around.Â
âIs that it?â You asked, your voice high and volatile. âWell, Officer, if thatâs why you came here, you can exit stage left. I donât need superficial comfort right now.â
He paused and took a deep breath. âI know we havenât exactly⊠gotten along very well.Â
You laughed bitterly, scrubbing your eyes like that would fix your broken heart. âThatâs the fucking understatement of the year,â you said. He paused, glancing at you incredulously.
âI havenât been exactly nice to you either.â He continued, the tone of his voice beginning to stray into uncertain territory. It wobbled a little, but for a moment, it sounded like he was about to apologize.
Tim Bradford had never apologized to you in his life.Â
âAnd⊠well. I should probably explain myself.â He rubbed his neck, the gesture a glaring sign of just how uncomfortable he was.
âLast year, uh. Shit really hit the fan in my life, and Iâve been taking it out on you. Thatâs not cool. And, uhm. Iâm really sorry. Itâs not an excuse or anythingâ I just thought that you should know.â His eyes seemed to be having an intense staring contest with the welcome mat outside of your apartment.Â
You stared at him, unsure if you could be any more shocked.
âDid Lucy tell you to do this?â You asked, sniffling a little. You knew how stupid you looked, but frankly, you werenât exactly in a state to give multiple fucks. You allowed yourself to give one, though, so you tucked your hair back behind your ears. There. One fuck given about your state of mind and body.
âIâ not really. It was my idea.â His hands now sat awkwardly at his sides, like he was unsure of what to do with them. âI just asked her how I should say it.â
Oh. Well. Fuck that, fuck this, fuck life, actually, because everything sucked so much that it made his apology the sweetest thing youâd heard in the past 48 hours. Since you seemed to be incapable of regulating your emotions, it just made you cry harder.
âHeyâ wait, did I say something wrong? Are you okay?â Both the concern for you and the fact that he wasnât blaming you for having feelings was what fully opened the floodgates. Theyâd only been open a fraction, and this was what unleashed the full weight of everything youâd been keeping bottled up your whole life.Â
âAre you okay?â
In a perfect world, you wouldâve said no. But this wasnât a perfect world, no, it was full of broken glass and lost time and love that never even existed in the first place.
Everythingâ all of the emotion that had threatened to spill was pushed back inside you. Somehow, all of that circled and twirled in your mind, swishing around to form the words, âYeah, Iâm okay.â
He looked at you like you were crazy. Maybe he was right.
Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again. Kind of like the codfish scene from Mary Poppins, though the thought of Julie Andrews shoved another stake through your battered heart. âFuck you, Spencer.â you thought, because you were sure youâd never be able to watch The Sound of Music the same way ever again. All youâd be able to think about would be his hands, his voice, everything heâd said but never meant. Even the lady at the cash had seen it, for fucks sakeâ it had been real to you, and to everyone else. Just not real to the one person who actually mattered.
Dr. Reid.
Maybe you really werenât destined for relationships.
âYou donât look okay,â Tim noted. âWhat a fucking observation!â You thought.Â
âReally? Wow, with those deductive skills, you should be promoted to detective!â You said sarcastically. He thought for a moment, tilting his head upwards. That wasnât like Spâ Dr. Reid, who always looked down when he was thinking. You preferred not to think at all, especially right now.
âOkay. I deserved that.â He decided. You shot him another look. âMore than that?â He asked. You nodded. âMuch more.â You said.
âUh. Do you want to order food and talk about it?â Tim sounded so kind. So⊠different. This wasnât the harsh, annoyed man you knew. This was the version of Tim that Lucy admired.
âDepends,â you sniffled again. âAre you going to make fun of me?â
âI- no, of course not.â He sounded. He didnât get to be offended. He didnât get to be an asshole to you, then act like one apology would fix everything. It wouldnât.Â
âYouâre not allowed to be offended by what I think of you. Youâve treated me like shit the entire time Iâve known you, and I did nothing to deserve that.â
He seemed to consider your point of view. âYeah,â he said. âOkay.â
âBut yes,â you caved. You couldnât resist food, especially not now, when you felt like garbage. âI want food. Pizza. As much sodium as you can get me.â Tim didnât know how much sodium a person could have. âSpencer would know.â Your brain said, but you shut that down. You werenât going to let yourself think about him in any sort of positive light whatsoever. âHis name is Dr. Reid now,â You chided yourself. âSo thatâs what we call him.â
After Tim finished ordering pizza, he sat down on your couch. It was clear from his posture that this was all very new to him. You wondered if heâd be able to hold himself back from trying to find a solution to all your Doctor Reid problems. You hoped he could.
âSo,â he said. âWhat happened?â
You told him everything. About the movie, the night spent together, every little detail that you could recall spilled from your lips, splattering out into the space between you like paint to a canvas. By the end of it, you were crying harder than youâd cried in a long time.Â
In a lapse of judgement, you decided to tell him about your mother, too. About the things sheâd said. And, like an absolute idiot, you told him how it made you feel. âHe probably thinks Iâm manipulating him,â Â You thought.Â
âAnd then,â you hiccuped. âI heard what he said when you asked. That he- that he didnât even like me.â
âSo,â you continued, your voice still shaky, âall of that meant absolutely nothing. All of it.â
Tim didnât say anything. You werenât sure he knew what to say.Â
When the pizza came, he gave you a pat on the back, $20 (âTo buy something that would make this disaster worth it,â he had said,), and promptly walked out the door.
You ate alone, still crying, but at least you felt a little bit better.
â
Spencer was making coffee when the doors of the police station flew open. âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â He ignored the voice at first, assuming it wasnât for him. Quickly, he found out that he was wrong when a firm hand hit the counter next to him. He turned, only to see the man beside him was none other than Officer Bradford.
âWhatâs wrong with me?â He asked. âI should say the same thing about you. What you said the oth-â
He held up a hand, and Spencer paused. Not out of obedience (heâd never do that for this man), but rather⊠curiosity.Â
âYouâve screwed up now, Doctor.â He said, giving Spencer a bitter (and condescending) laugh that he didnât appreciate.
Spencer cocked his head to the side. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou seriously havenât noticed that sheâs ignoring you? Arenât you supposed to be a genius?âÂ
âIâ I am, but whatâ how do you know that?â He asked. If someone had spilled about his predicament concerning you, he really hoped you hadnât heard it yet. He really didnât want to sound like some obsessed creep.
âLook, I might be an asshole sometimes, but thatâs my job. You crossed the line. What you didâ was absolutely disgusting. Donât expect her to talk to you again. I wouldnât if I was her.â Spencer opened his mouth to speak, to defend himselfâ to tell this man that he was completely lost.Â
âWhy do you care?â Spencer asked, but what he really meant was, âwhatâs going on? WHY IS NOBODY TELLING ME ANYTHING?â Â âDonât you two hate each other?â
âOh, so just because we donât like each other means Iâm not allowed to be upset? You donât get to treat people like shit just âcause youâre smart, Doctor. Thatâs not how this works.â
Spencer took a step back, absolutely bewildered. But his sudden confusion did not seem to deter Bradford.Â
âYou,â he said, punctuating the word like that would make Spencer understand what this was aboutâ âyou acted like you were fucking in love with herâ hell, you actually went on a date!â and then you turn around, and tell me you donât like her. Well, asshole, good fucking luck getting her back, because she heard every bit of it. I hope youâre happy.âÂ
âWhat,â Spencer said slowly, his voice deep. He leaned towards Officer Bradford. â-the fuck are you talking about.â
âOn Wednesday!â He exclaimed, his voice exasperated. âI asked you if you liked her. You said no. She heard us. She heard all of it.âÂ
âAgain,â Spencerâs voice was cold. âI donât know what youâre talking about. I would never say that, becauseââ he paused for a moment, unsure if this information was something he should reveal to the officer. âItâs not true.â
âWell, you did. Now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions.â He crossed his arms over his chest. Spencer was sure that it was just to seem more intimidating. âWell,â he thought. âThat doesnât exactly work on profilers.â
âWhen did this happen?â Spencer asked. âBecause I amââ he paused for a moment, calculating. â-89% sure that I did not say that.â
âYou really donât know?â Bradford paused for a moment, obviously assessing whether he thought Spencer was lying or not. âIt was Wednesday morning. You were reading something, and I came in to ask you about why you came in together that morning.â
He⊠wow. Spencer didnât even remember that conversation. âI neverâ oh shit. Shit.âÂ
âYeah, you finally realize that you fucked up? Well, itâs too late for that now.â He started to turn away, but Spencer wasnât done.Â
âNoâ no.â Spencer rubbed his eyes. âI have to go.â âI wasnât actually listening to you. I donât know what you said.â Â Spencer thought. There was no way that Bradford was going to actually believe him, they barely knew each other, every interaction they had consisted of him putting you down and then Spencer putting him downâ and youâd told him all about everything youâd shared. ââ hell, you actually went on a date!â â ââ hell, you actually went on a date!â â ââ hell, you actually went on a date!â â
Instantly, he knew. You thought of the movie as a date.Â
Heâd thought the same thing too, but he hadnât told you because of how youâd reacted when you woke up in his bed the next morning. He thought that youâd realized that he was (for lack of a better word), a loser nerd and decided you wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe your heartbeat that night wasnât a coincidence. Maybe heâd lost his only chance at making this something realâ time be damned.Â
The words swirled around his mind, with him trying to grasp at them like straws. Quickly, he pulled his car keys from his satchel and made his way to the parking lot. Before he got there, though, he realized that he didnât know your address.Â
He remembered something from a few weeks ago. Youâd sent him another voicemail that night, when youâd gone out with Lucy. In it, youâd been ordering a taxiâ and you gave the driver your address.
Spencer didnât even need the GPS for directions; he knew the city roads like the back of his hand.Â
And so, off he drove, into the night, praying to any god that would listen that he wasnât already too late.
a/n: btw you have permission to kill me bc of this cliffhanger. as always, pls reblog and comment your thoughts if you enjoyed. thanks for reading! <3