farewell, a.

Poetize, poetize, go on and make your idyllic movie about freedoms long gone. It’s true that I love this life, that I think of the future without despair.

[farewellang]

an unspeakable of the oscar wilde sort (maurice 1987). she/her. eighteen. libra. tarot lover. knitter. writer. reader. feminist. bisexual. leftist. weird older sister. english is not my first language! my hopes are to write fics and thoughts, and to not let this down like i do periodically with my journal because of my migraines.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ now writing a spencer reid x oc fic!!! ☆ i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[farewellang]

i wish there was a musical about everything i have to study i would never have to study A DAY in my life

[baconpncakes]

It’s like Dr. House always said

[theheadmasterituals]

s.r. YOU SAID YOU LIKED MY HAIR, (so go ahead and touch it)

spencer reid x bau!reader ; fluff , r falls asleep, mutual pining, spencer is sickeningly in love

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ w. reader has hair wc. 1148

note ; i locked in so hard, i fear i'll never write as good as this again (you see what i did with the title eheheh)

Four pm. You stare at the near empty pot of coffee, gripping the handle of your snoopy mug in a way you're both ready to fill it up with coffee and unsure if you should be fueling up on caffeine so late in the day. (Though, it's not like you haven't downed cheap police precinct coffee at one in the morning before.) You turn away, wisely choosing the latter, instead opting for one of Garcia’s floral teas to help survive till the end of the day.

Six pm. The rush around you turns from focusing on work to going home, desk lamps turning off and elevators crowding up. The girls rush off for drinks, Morgan tagging along too despite Penelope’s nagging about it being a “girl's night”. However, in the end, she can't help but fall for his charming smirk and the thought of watching his sexy butt, as she’d say, on the dance floor.

Eight pm. You're sat at your desk, brows scrunched together while solving a sudoku puzzle, waiting for Spencer so you can walk to the metro station together—a routine you’ve somehow built over time. But when the lights shut off and Hotch finally leaves his office, and Spencer’s still elbow deep into the neverending pile of paperwork on his desk, you know you’ll have to break routine for the night (since by the time he leaves the metro’ll be closed).

You bid your boss good night, organizing your things when he shoots you a look and opens his mouth to comment about the time. But when the hallway lights turn off and elevator doors shut behind him, you lean back in your chair, staring at the boy beside you in a spiral of words and completely lost to time. You tap your fingers on your desk, deciding whether to just go home—to a warm shower and the bed you’ve been yearning to melt into all day—or to stay despite the furthest you’ll walk together tonight is the gate of the building before separating into taxis.

It's not surprising what you decide to do; you slide your chair across the gap and plop down next to him, but even the sudden warmth from your proximity to him can't stir the boy from his work. You sigh, your lips pouting slightly, and rest your cheek against your palm. How much paperwork is there that even Spencer, the genius who can read 20,000 words per minute, is taking this long? Derek and Emily must've slipped him some of theirs. (Which, to be honest, you’d considered doing too earlier, but you’d barely talked to him today and that only meant more work for him—not that it’d make any difference now, though.)

It was as if being close to him pulled you into this vortex he was in, where time passed slowly yet fast, yet never seemed to end. Your eyes trace the creases between his brows, how you wish you could just smooth them out with your thumb, his stunningly long lashes, the curve of his lips. You could almost see the swirling storm of words and thoughts behind his eyes; you’ve never seen him like this before, and as much as you dislike the lack of attention, now you can stare at him all you want without any hesitation.

Although, after a while, you couldn't help but get a little restless, which led you to you stealing the brick of yellow sticky notes from his desk. The yellow stained blue as you doodled whatever came to mind—rockstar kitties, bundles of flowers, stars with eyes and arms and legs. But soon enough even that became boring, and you missed watching his unchanging but endearing expression and glancing over every little detail of him.

You lay your cheek against your crossed arms on the desk, looking up at him and the way the light bounces off his face at this angle. You observe how the heights of the piles of papers and files have shifted, how he didn't even bother to push back the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face (which you fight the urge to tuck behind his ear for him). Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you take in his expression one more time so you can carry it with you into your dreams before they slowly droop shut.

His pen finally stopped, and when he looked up it felt like no time had passed at all. It was weird snapping out of such a trance. He lets out a sigh of relief as he stretches his arms, before noticing something in the corner of his eye—something awfully similar to the color of your shirt. He turned to see your sleeping figure, hair slowly falling from behind your ear and lashes casting shadows on your face. You look so peaceful, so pretty. He could look at you forever. Wait, would that be weird? Even if it is he still would.

But despite that his eyes drift to the sticky notes scattered across the corner of the desk you occupy, covered in flowers and animals and vintage cars (something you two bond over your shared love for). But one drawing in particular catches his eye: a cartoonish drawing of someone kissing a boy's cheek with a little heart in between them. It isn't labeled, but the boy's hair and clothes suspiciously match his, and the other looks just like you; he can feel the faint warmth creep up from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, and he can't help but smile just at the drawing itself.

His attention focuses back on you, and he notices the strands of hair have finally fallen across your face, which he reaches out gently to brush away without even thinking, almost like a reflex even though he's never done it before. He’s thought about it before though, and wishes he could do it all the time. His hand hovers just behind your ear, itching to run it through your hair soothingly, his lips tugging into a small, completely smitten smile as he wonders about a future where he could run his fingers through your hair as you lay next to him in bed. If Morgan or Emily saw this they’d never give him another day of peace again—Morgan would mutter something about how gone he is, and they’d tease him relentlessly every time he even thinks about looking at you.

He glances back at the pile of papers and files he needs to organize and put away, before back at you, hand still hovering kilometers above your head. He watches you longingly, not wanting to disturb your peace just yet, and moves to unbutton his cardigan. He slides it off and gently rests it on top of you, lingering just a little too long, before turning away to sort the mountains of paperwork.

masterlist

[coconutchiapudding]

criminally fine or whatever

[farewellang]

i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ☆ spencer reid series

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see chapter 4   |    see the series ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+  

5 the grudge 

☆ summary: when spencer comes home on a rainy day he gets to listen (overhear) to her most recently written song. cécile finally decides to talk openly about her past, allowing herself to vent to her roommate, while spencer has to deal once again with his oppressing guilt feeling.

☆ tags: fluff, little bit of angst if you squint, mentions of panic attacks, depression and suicide (like one singular mention), mentions of revenge porn, crying

☆ author's note: hiiiiiii im back! this chapter took so long to write also because my math final was killing me BUT we finally have it. ill admit im not so satisfied of it but i hope you'll like it anyway. a big thank you to miss olivia rodrigo for writing the song "the grudge" that - as you will notice - inspired cécile's past, this chapter and the ones to come!! as always, like and reblog if you enjoyed reading!!!

☆ word count: 2.6k

Spencer's black Converse stuck to the hallway floor, wet with rain. He shook his umbrella outside and set it in the holder. 

Suddenly, almost with the same rhythm as the little drops of rain that fell from the umbrella’s folds to the floor, he heard soft notes from a piano. Then a voice singing through the thin walls.

“I have nightmares each week about that Friday in May 

One phone call from you and my entire world was changed”

He had already listened to her sing, and it had always been beautiful, but it had never been so serious, so deep, so… sad. There was a kind of crack in every high note, like she was crying.

“Trust that you betrayed, confusion that still lingers 

Took everything I loved and crushed it in between your fingers”

Trying to make as little sound as possible, Spencer opened the door and left his bag at the entrance, as always. He took off his shoes silently and walked barefoot closer to Cécile’s open door. 

“And I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did

But I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it”

Spencer looked at her fingers dancing on the keyboard she had laid on her bed. He remembered her face when, some days before, she came home with that massive box and a massive smile on her face; she had just stated, “I felt inspired, and then my first paycheck arrived.” He couldn't help but chuckle at that. 

“My undying love, now I hold it like a grudge

And I hear your voice every time that I think I'm not enough

And I try to be tough, but I wanna scream

How could anybody do the things you did so easily?”

Oh, Spencer knew what this was about. He knew and wasn't supposed to know. James Peterson. 

“And I say I don't care, I say that I'm fine

But you know I can't let it go

I've tried, I've tried, I've tried for so long

It takes strength to forgive, but I don't feel strong”

Cécile fell silent and took a deep breath, while Spencer held his, still magnetically attracted to her singing. He didn't want her to notice him standing there before the end of the song. 

“The arguments that I have won against you in my head

In the shower, in the car and in the mirror before bed

Yeah, I'm so tough when I'm alone and I make you feel so guilty

And I fantasize about a time you're a little fuckin' sorry

And I try to understand why you would do this all to me

You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy

And I know in my heart hurt people hurt people

And we both drew blood, but, man, those cuts were never equal

And I try to be tough, but I wanna scream

How could anybody do the things you did so easily?

And I say I don't care, I say that I'm fine

But you know I can't let it go

I've tried, I've tried, I've tried for so long

It takes strength to forgive, but I don't feel strong”

A sob seemed to be on the verge of escaping from her lips, but they just trembled, and her eyes became glossy before she started singing again, this time in a higher pitch and a sadder tone. 

“Ooh, do you think I deserved it all?

Ooh, your flowers filled with vitriol

You built me up to watch me fall

You have everything and you still want more

I try to be tough, I try to be mean

But even after all this, you're still everything to me

And I know you don't care, I guess that that's fine

But you know I can't let it go

I've tried, I've tried, I've tried for so long

It takes strength to forgive, but I'm not quite sure I'm there yet

It takes strength to forgive, but…”

The last note lingered in the room for moments that felt like hours, then the girl straightened her back and looked up from the keys, only to see Spencer's usual flat smile and head tilted a little to the right. He looked like a puppy that had just destroyed a designer shoe: conscious of his action, but too aware of his immunity to actually care. 

“Spencer, you scared me!” 

“It's a great song, y’know? Did you write it?” he asked, ignoring her remark. 

She softly nodded and hid her ears under her hair, like she always did when she was embarrassed. Spencer had noticed it the first day, after his long ramble about her “profile”, and asked himself if she knew that it was totally pointless since the redness also radiated to her cheeks and chin. 

There was a moment of silence. Cécile looked at Spencer with her head tilted, uncertain in front of this sudden loss of words. 

“C’mon. Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“You know what. You want to ask me what the song is about.”

“Is it about that ex-boyfriend that you mentioned?” 

The girl laughed and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, right, I forgot about your genius, I-remember-everything-you-have-ever-said thing.” 

But he was not distracted by her witty remark, he still wanted to hear her answer, even if he knew perfectly what it was.

“You haven't exactly said a lot.” he said, biting his bottom lip, uncertain. 

“Touché”

“I'm sorry, I - I just… It was just a joke, Morgan always says they don't land.” 

“No, no, you're right. Really, it's just that -” her voice broke when she looked at him, at his brown eyes, like the ones of a doe, looking right back at her. She had to look down to her crossed legs on her bed to stop the tears. 

When she felt her eyes less watery, Cécile looked up and found Spencer still looking at her with his oh-so-gracious expression, with his brows in a worried frown, but with the look of a man that could wait forever. 

“It's just that, you know, I really, really thought that coming here I could pretend that nothing happened. I thought that Washington was far enough. But he's back! He's back and not just in my mind and I don't know what to do. Now I feel like I should pack and leave again!”

“Who is back, Cécile?” What a liar, he accused himself. Of course he knew, but he needed her to say that name so that he could feel that weight off his chest. 

“Him! My ex-boyfriend, his name is James, James Peterson.” 

There it was. Cécile didn't notice, her vision blurred by the tears, but Spencer let out a sad but relieved sigh. 

“What do you mean when you say he's back?” he asked, pretending once again. 

“I know that you've noticed, Spencer.” the girl said, recomposing herself and tucking her hair behind her ears, overwhelmed, “He texts me and calls me at least once a week and I go to the bathroom to cry. Doesn't take a profiler to notice.” 

Spencer felt guilty all of a sudden. He had always thought that it would be better to mind his own business and not ask, but now that Cécile was talking about it, he started to wonder if maybe he should’ve stepped up and asked. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” the boy asked, after a long, reflective silence. 

Cécile hesitated: she wanted to, really. But wouldn't Spencer start to see her differently, like the rest of the people that knew about this? Wasn't the aim of her move to have nobody know about what happened to her? The logical thinking she had put against every emotion to try and deal (unsuccessfully) with all her past was telling her that, no, she should respond with a dry “No” and send Spencer away, but… she was already crying and he was the only person that she trusted in the whole city right now. Her heart, pounding in her chest, started to tell her that Spencer was her friend and she deserved to let out some emotion sometimes. 

Now sitting on the couch, the two roommates seemed like patient and therapist: Spencer was sitting straight and composed, listening to every word, like he was taking mental notes in his mind (he was), and Cécile, finally vulnerable, was scrunched up against the armrest, a pile of tissues in her lap, talking non-stop, crying but finally happy to let those secrets out. 

“We were together for a little more than a year before I broke up with him.” she said, running out of breath. “He was perfect, you know? He was all that I ever dreamed of, when he wasn't angry, or jealous, or just completely absent because of his stupid football games. But I kept telling myself that those were just moments and I had my moments too, and that apart from our moments we loved each other so much: I was completely in love, like desperately.” 

Spencer nodded, those images from James’ Facebook appearing so vividly in his mind: his roommate, now sitting in front of him on the couch, kissing that black-haired boy in the campus park, in a slightly blurry selfie; their photos at Christmas; them hugging on the football field after a match, James tired and Cécile proud. They definitely looked like they were in love. 

“With time it became obvious: those moments weren't moments, they were James being James. The moments started to be all of our relationship, with some little sparks of romance, that made me cling to him like a child.” Her voice broke and Spencer scrunched his mouth in a sad and empathetic expression. “The funny thing is that I studied those things, I studied the psychology behind misogyny and toxic masculinity and manipulation and all those things, but still: when I had his behaviour in front of me all I could do was find excuses.” 

“One day, we were fighting - like our third fight that week - and it just became too much for me. I didn't even plan it and I regretted it the moment I said it but I just screamed <<Maybe we should just break up! You don't even love me!>>, and he got so mad I was scared he could hurt me that time: he started accusing me of cheating on him and that I was the one who didn't love him. But unfortunately I did, and I think I still do. - Oh God, this is so embarrassing!” 

The blonde girl let out a sarcastic laugh and said “Anyway, he really thought that I didn't love him and that I cheated on him since he decided to get his revenge.” 

Cécile started to talk more slowly, getting to the part she was ashamed of. Spencer tried to swallow the pit in his throat, before saying “What revenge?” and feeling like a big, fat liar. 

“The next day, a photo of mine - y’know what kind of photo: the kind that you send to people that you trust, the only people who should see it and who you know would never send it to anyone -” She was red in the face and she tried to cover it with her hair once again. Spencer tilted his head to the side in a slight frown, trying to look surprised. “anyway, that intimate photo was on every single student’s computer and cell phone. It started to go around so much that even professors started seeing it: the people who should have done something! The people who should have punished him! I could feel their eyes on me constantly, their judgment during lectures, in the hallways, in the library, during exams, even when I was alone, when nobody could see me, it was like I was being watched constantly.” 

All of a sudden the tears started flowing again; but this time, they were tears of rage and fear. 

And as much as he didn't want to think about it, the rage in those eyes resembled so much the one in Elle Greenaway’s eyes the last night he had seen her. 

Spencer didn't know what to do: he looked at her clumsy fingers drying her tears like the ones of a child that doesn't know how to express what they're feeling; in Cécile’s microexpressions there were so many emotions that even a great profiler like Spencer was having trouble. With a slow movement, he dried his slightly sweaty hand on his pants and placed it shyly on her leg, in sign of silent comfort. 

Cécile smiled forcefully and continued. “It got too much too quickly. I couldn't go to lectures, I couldn't take my exams, I couldn't leave the house: everywhere I went I felt naked, watched, examined. My friends turned their back on me when I stopped talking to them, but I am not going to blame them for that, I was impossible to deal with. I don't know how to explain not feeling safe even in the one place where you should always be safe, your own home. So, after two months of never leaving the house, panic attacks every day and losing all my friends, I decided it was time to leave. My family tried to stop me, but I could stay one more day in Chicago, or I think I would’ve ended up killing myself. I thought about it one time.” 

Spencer breathed heavily from his nostrils, sadness creeping in. 

“I am so sorry, Cécile. You're safe now.” He said, controlled, dry, like he did a million times to the victims that he encountered on his cases, but this time he didn't say it out of protocol, he did because he didn't know what to do. He said that because the only thing that crossed his mind was to start to cry and hug her and confess that he had searched her past because he couldn't mind his business. 

But protocol didn't seem to work either. 

“No! I'm not, Spencer!” She responded, yelling. “I thought I could be, but he decided to text me and call me and I'm so fucking scared that I don't even have the courage to block him!”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not! I'm scared and I hate myself because I keep finding excuses!” she continued screaming. 

Maybe protocol wouldn't work this time. So he tried the second option. With slow, almost unnoticeable movements, he got closer on the couch and hugged Cécile shyly, hands trembling and scanning for a reaction. 

For once, Spencer didn't think about the chemical reactions occurring or germs passed during embraces; he only cared about her sobs and screaming stopping. Breathing heavily into Spencer's sweater, Cécile slowly stopped trembling and noticed that her tears had stopped: for the first time in months she felt grounded, understood, finally safe. 

Spencer didn't know what to say, so he bit his bottom lip, holding back his tongue, scared to say the wrong thing again. Then, he just repeated, “I'm sorry.” 

Cécile lifted her head from Spencer's shoulder - disappointed to abandon that comforting smell of wool and coffee - to look him in the eyes. They weren't those grounding and sure eyes anymore that had looked at her before, when she was in her bedroom; these eyes were worried and sorry, really sorry. She stared at him so long she started to notice her own reflection in his glasses lenses. 

This time she was the one that could find the words.

“Thank you, Spencer.” 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

@hiddentattooodyssey @the-anarchist-public @cynbx @grassisalwaysgreener

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see next chapter ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ (link will be added) 

[esote-rika]

KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD

summary: Maybe practicing to kiss your fake boyfriend on your bed isn't the best idea, because now the image of him sprawled atop your sheets is burned in your mind and your lips ache to memorize the shape of his. contents: 2k words, FLUFF and a lil angst, prof!reader with glasses, no use of y/n, first kiss as a fake couple!!! first accidental make out too lol, Spencer Reid gets hard bc he wants you so bad, prof!reader finally recognizes her Desires™. a/n: to ppl who asked for their glasses to clink, next time i promiseeee. had to get this out of my system, hope you enjoy!!!

"This isn't stupid, right?"

"Is it conceited to say that the chances of two highly educated college professors doing something stupid are statistically quite low?"

You roll your eyes. Spencer can be so… Spencer-like, even in mortifying times such as this.

"That's a whole high intellect, low wisdom conversation waiting to happen that I refuse to entertain."

He grins, unrepentant. "It's not stupid."

"Like, it makes sense to get it out of the way, you know."

"Yes. Figure out what works for us, note it down so we'll remember." he replies, nodding along.

"Right. Establish boundaries. Well, make adjustments to the current ones and stuff." you glance down at the journal lying innocently beside you, opened to a new page with the word "Addendum re: Kissing" written on top.

Spencer's sat facing you, cross-legged and casual like this is no big deal, him on your bed. And maybe it's not. This isn't the first time he's sat across you after all, a spill of spindly limbs and shining amber eyes. Some traitorous part of you thinks, hopes, it won't be the last.

That might be acceptable, but the context is new.

"Okay, so how do we… you know," your hands flail uselessly.

"Kiss?" Spencer says. He tilts his head with a small, teasing smile, bares the line of his jaw and neck and oh maybe you shouldn't have suggested this in the first place. Maybe you should relocate somewhere less… personal. "Two people normally just get close enough to press their lips together."

"Don't make fun of me." You grumble.

"Sorry." He doesn't sound it. You watch him scoot closer, his knee touching your thigh. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Because you can, you know, back out." he gets serious quickly. His fidgeting stops and he rests a warm hand over your knee, "We don't actually have to do this, if you're not comfortable."

"I am!" you squeak, flushing at the pathetic sound. "I-I mean, I'm comfortable and I want to get it over with." you wince at how crass you make it sound, and curse the version of yourself from yesterday who came up with this idea. The one that panicked over an offhand comment from your best friend after you told her that yes I will be bringing a plus one, I'm actually dating someone right now.

Melissa had gushed on and on about how hot and steamy the honeymoon phase of a new relationship is.

You wouldn't know. This whole thing with Spencer is a farce, there's no phases to speak of. Just friendship—and lightly begrudging, on your part.

But of course, your brain had latched on to the words, spiraled at the idea that people expect a newly dating couple to act a certain way. And not that you want to bend to these arbitrary norms, but still. You don't want to be caught off guard.

So you'd suggested this. Practice, a trial, preparation.

On kissing.

And where else would be the most logical spot to practice than in your apartment? At the time, it seemed like a good idea. It's close, he's been here before, and it's private.

Now, you're starting to lose your nerve.

Spencer is still, like he's waiting for you to make the first move.

"You don't think I'm just trying to make out with you for the hell of it, do you?" you ask Spencer, teeth worrying your lower lip.

He laughs, soft and painfully endeared. "No. Although, I wouldn't be mad about that either."

You smack his hand off your knee. "Shut up."

"Okay." he's grinning. Hasn't stopped since you've started this conversation, actually. You're here, feeling raw and tender like skin on the verge of breaking, barely able to breathe, and he's grinning. Has the gall to tease you. "I get it though. It's less of a practice and more… doing it on our own terms. In a controlled environment."

You nod, deflating with relief. "Yes. And no one to witness us flounder around awkwardly."

"You really think I'm that bad at kissing?"

"I didn't say that!" You huff, then add, "Should I take my glasses off?"

"Are you planning to wear contacts to the wedding?"

"No."

"Then keep them on. You know, for realism."

You can't stop the soft giggle from escaping. "Right, yeah. Realism."

"Are you done stalling?" Spencer asks.

"I'm not stalling!" To prove your point, you shuffle even closer, the bed dipping beneath your combined weight. Immediately, it's dizzying. His scent is even more potent up close. Nutmeg and cedar and who knows what else, all you know is it's borderline intoxicating. Spencer's eyes are fixed upon you. On your lips, the pen in his hand carelessly tossed aside.

Your eyes follow the pen as it drops to the bed, but his hand curls warm and firm over your cheek and tilts your head up. He's much closer now, lashes shading his pretty brown eyes. Pupils blown wide as he holds you there and lets the moment linger.

Your nerves feel serrated, the brief spark of courage stretched torturously thin. You take the plunge before it snaps, close your eyes and bridge the gap.

It's awkward. Skin smushed against skin, clumsy and juvenile.

His lips are chapped. Even with your stiff, tight lipped peck, you can feel that, small bits of skin that tug and shift as he moves and kisses you back. Nothing more than a brush at first, a slow, warm thing that you can't help but melt into. Can't help but return, just as tender, your lips finally moving like shaping out a question. Testing waters and boundaries.

It's been years, embarrassingly, since you've kissed anyone, but muscle memory kicks in like a dying ember catching kindling. Your mouth parts and welcomes his tongue. Deepens it. Pushes into him where he's treading lightly.

A faint taste of mint clings to his lips, cool unbidden sharpness.

You hear him groan, feel slim fingers tangling into your hair as he matches your passion, and he's kissing you now, properly, deeply, the type of toe curling, movie-esque kiss you'd convinced yourself you don't want, don't need.

All those years of repressed emotions claws back to the surface, curling hot and raw low in your belly and between your legs. Some deep instinctual part of you knows he's done irreparable damage, cracked open something you thought you had ensconced under layers of ambition and self preservation.

Each slide of his lips weakens whatever fortress you'd previously thought impenetrable.

He kisses you again, and again, and again.

It's slow. Careful, like he's mapping your mouth, testing out the perfect angle of his palm to cradle the curve of your jaw. Different from any kiss you've had before. Deeper, more sure, despite the strange ambiguity of this relationship.

Faint sounds form and ascend from the back of your throat, sounds that he swallows before they take shape beyond your lips. Your own hands reach up, clutch a handful of his sweater. Beneath fabric and skin and bone, his heart pulses like it's determined to rupture straight out his ribs.

You find yourself wanting to feel more of that. Chest to chest, just to figure out if your hearts are as in sync as your mouths are.

You've moved without realizing. Closer, and closer still, until he's toppling back from your insistence, the physical weight of you burdened tenfold by the frightening gravity of your desire.

His hands leave your face in favor of steadying your hips. Fingers dig in, clinging too tight, too honest, not enough.

You feel teeth catch on your bottom lip, and you're not sure if it's a mistake or something deliberate, something heavy with meaning. You wonder if he means to repeat it.

It isn't meant to get this far.

The break is abrupt, strident, punctuated with a heady, wet sound, and the bitter disappointment of things parting too soon. Spencer's fully supine, blinking up at you on top of him.

You're nestled snug between his legs, staring down at the blurred edges of him. Your glasses have fogged, and yet there's so much of him everywhere. Lips saturated with each other, the firm, unmistakable press of his arousal against your stomach.

Fuck.

Neither of you speak. The silence curdles into something heavy and uncomfortable.

"Sorry," you blurt out, scrambling back for space, desperate to replace the silence with anything. "Sorry, that—um, sorry."

His hands fall from your body. Prop him back up to sitting, slow and methodological. He clears his throat. You notice, for the first time, how pink he's gotten.

He shifts his hips. Adjusts his pants. You keep your gaze on the now crumpled page of your journal, and pretend not to see.

Addendum re: Kissing.

What the actual fuck are you even supposed to write there now?

"So, that probably wouldn't be appropriate to do in public." Spencer says.

Your laugh comes out shrill. When you glance at him, he's smiling back, bashful, a little tense. But smiling.

"Absolutely not," you take your glasses off, wipe the foggy residue away and welcome a sharper world, "I'm sorry, seriously. I feel like I attacked you."

"I've been attacked many times, but attack by kiss is very new to me, so thank you."

"Spencer."

The pink creeps up his ears, down his neck.He clears his throat again. "It's all right. I'm sorry too, for, you know… enjoying it too much."

"It's fine, at least I know I haven't gotten bad at it," you say, reaching for the pen which had miraculously survived the impromptu make out session and hadn't rolled off the bed, but find that you're still blanking on what to write. You look at him again, "I'm very much out of practice."

"I couldn't tell," he pats a hand over his sweater, smoothing down where you've clung as if that would somehow erase the fact that you had just been on top of him, tongue deep in his mouth. But he tries to redirect focus, perhaps for your sake, by taking the journal. "So what have we learned?"

"That we're really good at it?" That you want to do it again. That you've missed it. That your body isn't as immune to this as you had thought.

You expect a laugh, but Spencer gives you a look that suggests perhaps his thoughts aren't so far from your own.

You squirm, burning under his gaze. You roll the pen over to him, willing your heart to stop racing and your lips to stop tingling. You want to crawl under the covers and hide. You want to lean over and kiss him again.

He scribbles something on the page, and it takes you a moment to decipher as it's upside down from your perspective.

No making out in public or private.

"We already had that in the original." You point out.

"And then promptly broke it." He underlines the sentence twice. Under it, he adds, No kissing with tongue, and your gut twists sharply in disappointment. You want to throw up.

Lastly, he writes keep kisses brief.

"There," he turns the journal, "I don't think there's anything else, but tell me if you have any suggestions."

You pore over it like you haven't already decided the entire page is an insult. Your glasses slip down your nose and Spencer pushes it up like it's reflex, and it's all very distressing. The kiss, this strange robotic focus you've both decided to hide behind, and now these rules.

You shrug. "Um, maybe we should make it… nice? Enjoyable? There's no reason we should be like, weird and stiff about it."

Spencer nods and add that. His voice is low, hoarse when he says, "But not too enjoyable. Wouldn't want a repeat of earlier."

"Exactly. Of course not." You lie.

Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed! next part More prof!Spencer x prof!reader fics here.

[farewellang]

i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ☆ spencer reid series

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see chapter 3    |    see the series ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

4 the team

☆ summary: it's friday night and the bau is invited to dinner at spencer's, where they meet his new roommate: it ends up being a night of revelations and new friendships (basically: cécile meets the team)

☆ tags: fluff, mentions of alcohol, morcia baiting

☆ author's note: short short chapter but i think its cute. i'm really sorry that you had to wait so long for a chapter so short but i promise that the next one will be worth it. tell me what you think and don't forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed reading !!

☆ word count: 1.6k

“Aren’t you excited to meet her?”

Penelope was adjusting her lipstick in Derek's car’s rearview mirror while he was looking at the road, pretending to be mad at her for making him wait when - more than an hour and a half ago - he had gone to pick her up.

“I just hope there's something left to eat when we get there,” Morgan answered, committing to the bit but not managing to keep a straight face.

“Oh, come on! I was getting all pretty for you.”

Morgan let out a deep laugh and turned the music volume up, still listening to Penelope's rambling about how exciting this dinner was going to be.

When they arrived, they were welcomed by the face of a pretty nervous Spencer, who gave a quick hug to both of them and disappeared into the kitchen. The whole team was already there: Gideon, Hotch, and Haley were standing by the window talking, glasses of wine in hand. Emily and JJ were in the kitchen, where they were talking with Cécile, trying not to distract her too much while she was cooking.

The kitchen table was set: Spencer had laid his newest light-blue tablecloth, and Cécile had taken care of the rest, setting all the plates and cutlery and even making little placeholders for every guest. While doing so, she had asked “Is this too much?” exactly 7 times - Spencer had counted - and he had always responded “Not at all, don't worry.”

The whole house, actually, was decorated with Cécile’s creative touch: candles on the bookshelf, fairy lights on the balcony, and flowers on the coffee table. A record was playing in the background: jazz, Cécile’s choice - of course - from Spencer's limited collection.

After leaving their light jackets on the hanger at the entrance, Morgan and Garcia joined the team. Penelope didn't waste any time before assaulting Cécile, while Morgan commented on the view from the living room with Gideon, Hotch, and Haley. Seeing the two blonde girls talking, both with their colorful tops and contagious laughter, was like seeing the same person in a slightly different version.

“Hi! I am so happy to meet you! Spencer has talked so much about you, I started thinking that I lived with you, too.” Garcia said, joining the girls in the kitchen. “I'm Penelope.”

“I heard a lot about you all too, actually! I was really looking forward to this dinner. I’m Cécile.” Cécile held out her hand to shake, but Garcia went immediately in for a hug. The girl was surprised fir just a second, but then welcomed the hug, smiling at this blonde girl she felt like she already knew.

The four girls talked quickly and continuously about Cécile, her studies, her time in the city, and what it was like to live with Doctor Spencer Reid, only stopping to laugh and sometimes give a stir to whatever was in the pot on the stove.

Cécile was the last one to sit at the table, right after Spencer.

She was going up and down the kitchen, picking up food and beverages that everyone thought were going to break the table in half with their weight. When she finally sat, she looked proud and exhausted, but she looked at Spencer with happy eyes and said, “Bon appétit” in her perfect accent.

“Oh, God, this is awesome.”

“How did you do that?”

“Honey, this pie is amazing; I need the recipe.”

The dinner seemed to be a great success. Cécile was laughing at all those compliments while covering her red ears with her long blonde hair, trying to hide her embarrassment from a room full of profilers. Spencer looked at her in amusement, his nervousness finally gone, happy to see the people he loved most at the same table with a person he cared for a little bit more every day that went by.

And he was too in the moment, for once, to notice it, but his team was really proud of him, too: Emily kept eyeing Hotch, smiling, when Spencer made a funny remark with Cécile, or when he got into one of his rambles and the blonde girl next to him responded with ease. They were all so happy to see him finally be himself.

“So, Cécile, Reid said we're celebrating something.” Hotch said, interrupting a moment of silence, his hand intertwined with Haley's on the tablecloth.

“He’s surely celebrating: I got a job, which means I can actually start to pay rent every month.” Cécile responded

Everyone let out a soft chuckle, and Morgan nudged Spencer, laughing.

“Well, that's exciting, where-” Penelope was interrupted by a mobile ringing on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, that's mine, sorry, sorry.”

Cécile quickly got up, leaving her napkin on the chair. Spencer’s eyes followed her, like always when he sensed something was wrong: he had like a tingle for problems.

The screen on her dark blue BlackBerry read “Do Not Respond!!”. And Cécile knew you should always listen to your past self, especially when you're at dinner and your ex calls and you suddenly feel like you're going to throw up. She immediately turned the phone off, cursing under her breath, and returned slowly to her seat, trying not to show that her legs weren't holding her up.

“Is everything alright?” Spencer asked, his body totally turned to Cécile

“Yeah, yes, just my mom; I can call her later,” she answered breathlessly. “What were you saying, Penelope?” she then said, a smile on her face and her hand filling her glass with wine.

One glass became two, and then three.

The call was a distant memory, as distant as the kitchen counter that looked miles away from the table. And she could feel the sadness and anxiety growing more and more distant as Spencer picked up the dessert from the fridge and as Penelope went on with her story: Cécile wasn't following well, but all she knew was that it was funny and it was about Spencer.

“Poor Spencer was so afraid of the dark that when I called him, I could hear him trembling. He's so cute!” Garcia said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he lowered the cake Haley and Hotch had brought onto the table.

“FBI super-extra-agent-doctor Reid is afraid of the dark?” Cécile asked her, choking on her own words because of her laughter.

“There's no need for you to laugh like that: 3 out of 10 people - around 29 percent - in the whole world are scared of the dark. It’s clinically known as nyctophobia or achluophobia.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bet that's the reason why I had to find you this cutie, to make sure that there are no monsters under your bed.” Garcia said, winking and pointing at Cécile with her thumb.

“What?”

“Spencer didn't tell you? He is a genius and all, but give him a computer and he goes crazy! I was the one to manage the advertisement on the forum and to respond to your message for the house.”

“That's why it looked like you totally forgot how to text! You were so sweet on the forum, and then it looked like I was receiving a telegram!” Cécile accused Spencer, “A night of revelations, this one.” she then added, smiling to her new friend.

Towards the end of the night, the house was almost empty again: Hotch and Haley had gone home - the babysitter was waiting for them -, Gideon had gone too, saying he wanted to get up early the next day; JJ and Emily stayed a bit later, but, a little after eleven, they had said goodbye, yawning and dragging their heels on Spencer's floor.

At midnight, Cécile and Penelope, already best friends, decided they wanted some more dessert, and they were very concentrated, to say the least, on the delicious cake and gossiping.

On the balcony, Derek and Spencer enjoyed the chilly spring air and talked quietly.

“So, you two are really becoming friends, I see.”

“Yeah, she's- she's great, yes.”

“Yes, she is. I like her, y’know.” Morgan affirmed, looking through the window to look at the two women sitting on the sofa and talking like they had known each other for ages.

“I like her, too”

“I know you do”

“Morgan, I don't really see where you're going.” Spencer said, following Derek's eyes towards the girl.

“Oh, yes, yes, you do, Genius. Don't worry, you just have a little drool here.”

“That's not true, stop it!”

“Whatever you say, Pretty Boy.”

But Spencer knew that maybe, maybe in a small part of him, there was that feeling Morgan was talking about. He knew, as he watched Cécile drunkenly laughing and rambling with Garcia, he knew as he watched her hugging her and Morgan when they said goodbye, he knew as he watched her dragging her feet, tired, all around the kitchen while clearing the table.

In those moments it came to him that Morgan was a great profiler.

Around 1AM, finally in the car, Derek let out a sigh and looked at Garcia, who was still waiting for his opinion on the night, but, most importantly, on Cécile.

“Well, she's cool. I like her.”

“Spencer definitely does.” Penelope responded, a smirk on her face.

“It’s like sharing a brain, you and me. I always knew you were made for me, baby girl.” Derek answered, looking in her eyes, before they both burst out laughing thinking about poor Spencer’s crush on his roommate.

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

@hiddentattooodyssey @the-anarchist-public @cynbx @grassisalwaysgreener

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see next chapter ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ (link will be added)

[girllblogging777]

𝜗𝜚 "how's your head ?" reader x "i've been told it's pretty good" spencer reid

his head was pounding.

thump, thump of his heart beating behing his ribcage and blood rushing in his veins. he couldn't bear it anymore, not when the minutes had turned into hours that had turned into days, and spencer's brain had now forgotten what it felt like to live without a headache.

small and fragile under your touch, he'd refused your affection at first. a dark room was all he needed, paired with silence that contrasted with the loud throb reverbating inside his mind.

"i really think you should get an MRI scan," you expressed worriedly with your hands framing his face. the coldness of your touch offering a feeling of relief.

it wasn't enough, he needed to get inside his head and physically extract the ache that had infested him. or to detach from his own body perhaps,a feeling you were usually good at giving him.

"i think," he grumbles dryly "you shouldn't matronize me. i'm used to it, i'll be fine."

"and i think, genius. you wouldn't do this to your mother" reverberated against his lips when you leaned down to give him a soft kiss.

he met you halfway, chasing you too eagerly for someone in such suffering. hand on your waist, yours in his hair tugging at the curls on the nape of his neck, his lips parted as a signal to deepen the kiss. you could only oblige.

the pain he felt was still there, incessantly nagging him.

when you pulled away to take a breath, giggling agaisnt him, he could feel your breath mingling with his. "are you sure you're okay, i thought the migraine was bad."

groaning against you, he kissed you again.

relief, relief.

you sounded like calm music, felt like a warm embrace. you would solve the intricate puzzle he was, accept the inaccessible parts of his dark, dark mind.

you pulled back when his grip got too tight. "spence... i'm serious. how's your head ?" he didn't stop kissing you, leaving little pecks al over your face.

"i've been told it's pretty good"

surely the migraine made him delirious.

you tilted your head in curiosity, the heat of the moment lingering in the air. from the lack of sleep, blood vessels had bursted in his eyes and still, the hazel shade mesmerized you.

"mean. and gross, reid" you declared with a threatening finger pointed towards him. he could only look up, puppy gaze silently asking for a remedy until you tought.

"also, i think i should be the judge of that."

another look, more intentional this time. a kiss, tongues colliding, and a headache long forgotten, replaced by another ache between your thighs.

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[farewellang]

i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ☆ spencer reid series

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see chapter 3    |    see the series ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

4 the team

☆ summary: it's friday night and the bau is invited to dinner at spencer's, where they meet his new roommate: it ends up being a night of revelations and new friendships (basically: cécile meets the team)

☆ tags: fluff, mentions of alcohol, morcia baiting

☆ author's note: short short chapter but i think its cute. i'm really sorry that you had to wait so long for a chapter so short but i promise that the next one will be worth it. tell me what you think and don't forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed reading !!

☆ word count: 1.6k

“Aren’t you excited to meet her?”

Penelope was adjusting her lipstick in Derek's car’s rearview mirror while he was looking at the road, pretending to be mad at her for making him wait when - more than an hour and a half ago - he had gone to pick her up.

“I just hope there's something left to eat when we get there,” Morgan answered, committing to the bit but not managing to keep a straight face.

“Oh, come on! I was getting all pretty for you.”

Morgan let out a deep laugh and turned the music volume up, still listening to Penelope's rambling about how exciting this dinner was going to be.

When they arrived, they were welcomed by the face of a pretty nervous Spencer, who gave a quick hug to both of them and disappeared into the kitchen. The whole team was already there: Gideon, Hotch, and Haley were standing by the window talking, glasses of wine in hand. Emily and JJ were in the kitchen, where they were talking with Cécile, trying not to distract her too much while she was cooking.

The kitchen table was set: Spencer had laid his newest light-blue tablecloth, and Cécile had taken care of the rest, setting all the plates and cutlery and even making little placeholders for every guest. While doing so, she had asked “Is this too much?” exactly 7 times - Spencer had counted - and he had always responded “Not at all, don't worry.”

The whole house, actually, was decorated with Cécile’s creative touch: candles on the bookshelf, fairy lights on the balcony, and flowers on the coffee table. A record was playing in the background: jazz, Cécile’s choice - of course - from Spencer's limited collection.

After leaving their light jackets on the hanger at the entrance, Morgan and Garcia joined the team. Penelope didn't waste any time before assaulting Cécile, while Morgan commented on the view from the living room with Gideon, Hotch, and Haley. Seeing the two blonde girls talking, both with their colorful tops and contagious laughter, was like seeing the same person in a slightly different version.

“Hi! I am so happy to meet you! Spencer has talked so much about you, I started thinking that I lived with you, too.” Garcia said, joining the girls in the kitchen. “I'm Penelope.”

“I heard a lot about you all too, actually! I was really looking forward to this dinner. I’m Cécile.” Cécile held out her hand to shake, but Garcia went immediately in for a hug. The girl was surprised fir just a second, but then welcomed the hug, smiling at this blonde girl she felt like she already knew.

The four girls talked quickly and continuously about Cécile, her studies, her time in the city, and what it was like to live with Doctor Spencer Reid, only stopping to laugh and sometimes give a stir to whatever was in the pot on the stove.

Cécile was the last one to sit at the table, right after Spencer.

She was going up and down the kitchen, picking up food and beverages that everyone thought were going to break the table in half with their weight. When she finally sat, she looked proud and exhausted, but she looked at Spencer with happy eyes and said, “Bon appétit” in her perfect accent.

“Oh, God, this is awesome.”

“How did you do that?”

“Honey, this pie is amazing; I need the recipe.”

The dinner seemed to be a great success. Cécile was laughing at all those compliments while covering her red ears with her long blonde hair, trying to hide her embarrassment from a room full of profilers. Spencer looked at her in amusement, his nervousness finally gone, happy to see the people he loved most at the same table with a person he cared for a little bit more every day that went by.

And he was too in the moment, for once, to notice it, but his team was really proud of him, too: Emily kept eyeing Hotch, smiling, when Spencer made a funny remark with Cécile, or when he got into one of his rambles and the blonde girl next to him responded with ease. They were all so happy to see him finally be himself.

“So, Cécile, Reid said we're celebrating something.” Hotch said, interrupting a moment of silence, his hand intertwined with Haley's on the tablecloth.

“He’s surely celebrating: I got a job, which means I can actually start to pay rent every month.” Cécile responded

Everyone let out a soft chuckle, and Morgan nudged Spencer, laughing.

“Well, that's exciting, where-” Penelope was interrupted by a mobile ringing on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, that's mine, sorry, sorry.”

Cécile quickly got up, leaving her napkin on the chair. Spencer’s eyes followed her, like always when he sensed something was wrong: he had like a tingle for problems.

The screen on her dark blue BlackBerry read “Do Not Respond!!”. And Cécile knew you should always listen to your past self, especially when you're at dinner and your ex calls and you suddenly feel like you're going to throw up. She immediately turned the phone off, cursing under her breath, and returned slowly to her seat, trying not to show that her legs weren't holding her up.

“Is everything alright?” Spencer asked, his body totally turned to Cécile

“Yeah, yes, just my mom; I can call her later,” she answered breathlessly. “What were you saying, Penelope?” she then said, a smile on her face and her hand filling her glass with wine.

One glass became two, and then three.

The call was a distant memory, as distant as the kitchen counter that looked miles away from the table. And she could feel the sadness and anxiety growing more and more distant as Spencer picked up the dessert from the fridge and as Penelope went on with her story: Cécile wasn't following well, but all she knew was that it was funny and it was about Spencer.

“Poor Spencer was so afraid of the dark that when I called him, I could hear him trembling. He's so cute!” Garcia said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he lowered the cake Haley and Hotch had brought onto the table.

“FBI super-extra-agent-doctor Reid is afraid of the dark?” Cécile asked her, choking on her own words because of her laughter.

“There's no need for you to laugh like that: 3 out of 10 people - around 29 percent - in the whole world are scared of the dark. It’s clinically known as nyctophobia or achluophobia.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bet that's the reason why I had to find you this cutie, to make sure that there are no monsters under your bed.” Garcia said, winking and pointing at Cécile with her thumb.

“What?”

“Spencer didn't tell you? He is a genius and all, but give him a computer and he goes crazy! I was the one to manage the advertisement on the forum and to respond to your message for the house.”

“That's why it looked like you totally forgot how to text! You were so sweet on the forum, and then it looked like I was receiving a telegram!” Cécile accused Spencer, “A night of revelations, this one.” she then added, smiling to her new friend.

Towards the end of the night, the house was almost empty again: Hotch and Haley had gone home - the babysitter was waiting for them -, Gideon had gone too, saying he wanted to get up early the next day; JJ and Emily stayed a bit later, but, a little after eleven, they had said goodbye, yawning and dragging their heels on Spencer's floor.

At midnight, Cécile and Penelope, already best friends, decided they wanted some more dessert, and they were very concentrated, to say the least, on the delicious cake and gossiping.

On the balcony, Derek and Spencer enjoyed the chilly spring air and talked quietly.

“So, you two are really becoming friends, I see.”

“Yeah, she's- she's great, yes.”

“Yes, she is. I like her, y’know.” Morgan affirmed, looking through the window to look at the two women sitting on the sofa and talking like they had known each other for ages.

“I like her, too”

“I know you do”

“Morgan, I don't really see where you're going.” Spencer said, following Derek's eyes towards the girl.

“Oh, yes, yes, you do, Genius. Don't worry, you just have a little drool here.”

“That's not true, stop it!”

“Whatever you say, Pretty Boy.”

But Spencer knew that maybe, maybe in a small part of him, there was that feeling Morgan was talking about. He knew, as he watched Cécile drunkenly laughing and rambling with Garcia, he knew as he watched her hugging her and Morgan when they said goodbye, he knew as he watched her dragging her feet, tired, all around the kitchen while clearing the table.

In those moments it came to him that Morgan was a great profiler.

Around 1AM, finally in the car, Derek let out a sigh and looked at Garcia, who was still waiting for his opinion on the night, but, most importantly, on Cécile.

“Well, she's cool. I like her.”

“Spencer definitely does.” Penelope responded, a smirk on her face.

“It’s like sharing a brain, you and me. I always knew you were made for me, baby girl.” Derek answered, looking in her eyes, before they both burst out laughing thinking about poor Spencer’s crush on his roommate.

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

@hiddentattooodyssey @the-anarchist-public @cynbx @grassisalwaysgreener

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see next chapter ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ (link will be added)

[farewellang]

i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ☆ spencer reid series

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see chapter 2 | see the series ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

3 the guilt

☆ summary: spencer investigates on cècile's past, but he immediately regrets it. despite that, the two roommates seem to grow close in their first month of living together. spencer gradually feels like he could start to live and bear his secret.

☆ tags: mentions of revenge porn, misogystic language, spencer is such a cutie and over thinks every action (my man), fluff fluff a lot of fluff, (tell me if im forgetting something and please teach me how to tag things)

☆ author's note: we're back with the long chapters! i think this is my best written chapter so far so please don't let this down, i really love it. they are my babies!! dont forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed reading and tell me what you think ;) +++ do yourselves a favour and listen to there but for fortune my fav songof all timeeee

☆ word count: 2.5k

Spencer Reid had read a lot of psychology books and knew what guilt was really well: for example, he knew that, when understood as a collection of basic emotions, guilt is composed of self-directed anger, sadness for the victim, anxiety, and fear. Still, while Garcia was typing on her keyboard to search for Cécile Jones’ past, he couldn't quite place what he was feeling. Was he really guilty of something? Or was he just worried about what he might find?

“Okay, let's see: Cécile Jones, former student at Chicago University, really good grades but her attendance records have some faults: she stopped going to university, like at all, three months ago.”

The blue light from the computer monitors emphasised the hard and concentrated look on Spencer’s face.

“Yeah, she told me she had problems. Look, she filed a report against another student, open it.” Garcia nodded and clicked on the page. 

Everything about this was making Spencer feel more and more uneasy: Penelope was speaking like she did when researching criminal records of potential suspects and he was totally playing that game too. 

“James Peterson, she accused him of harassment but it doesn't seem like they did anything. Let's see who this Peterson is…” Garcia said, as she typed his name into Facebook “Of course, they don't do anything…if it's your boyfriend.” 

Penelope scrolled through James’ Facebook profile: photos and photos of him and Cécile kissing or hugging on campus, at holiday, at the park. Under every photo hundreds of comments from their friends and family telling them how cute they looked together. 

“I need you to look for more, Garcia, look for forums, chatrooms. She was happy: I'm not saying this isn't serious, but she wouldn't have changed universities just because of this. I’m telling you something else must've happened.” Spencer said, frustrated. 

The blonde woman typed quickly on her computer, making it impossible for her friend to follow what she was doing on the monitor. It was only obvious when she opened (illegally) a chatroom and messages from two months ago talking about Cécile appeared. James seemed to be the protagonist of the conversation. 

Having taken control of Garcia’s black mouse (causing an annoyed reaction from her friend) and scrolling quickly in the chat, Spencer understood they were talking about the day that he and Cécile had broken up: James was really mad, Cécile had broken up with him and he accused her of cheating on him. His friends were just trying to comfort him, in their weird and full of toxic masculinity ways: telling him she was a slut and that he was better off without her, since she was pulling him down. 

Spencer felt uneasy reading those things about his roommate, things that probably she didn't even know were said in a private chat. He suddenly felt nauseous looking at the screen and thinking about Cécile going about her day, probably at university, while he was reading her ex boyfriend’s messages: that guilt feeling again.

His heart definitely dropped when, scrolling with the mouse, he got to a photo he definitely shouldn't have seen. He looked away as quickly as he could, while Penelope took control of her mouse again and scrolled down to remove the image from the screen. Now he would never get rid of that feeling, ever, he was sure. After slowly raising his head, he read the message that James sent after the photo. 

Jamex82: this is what that slut sent me last week. I bet she still liked me back then 

“Oh, that poor, poor girl.” Penelope said in a sad voice, closing the tab and looking at Spencer “This is the football team group chat, there are like… 100 men.” 

Spencer looked defeated and was shaking his head in his thoughts. He couldn't even imagine what Cécile had to go through and now he understood why she didn't want to tell him anything: like Morgan said, she wanted to forget it, to leave it all behind. Now he knew that what he felt was guilt: he wasn't supposed to know those things, he wasn't supposed to even look for them and he certainly wasn't supposed to see that picture, not even for half a second. He now felt like he was one of those men in the group chat. 

He regretted everything about his decision. 

“Reid? Are you okay?”

“Yea- Yes, No! I mean, now I know what it was, but Morgan was right, I shouldn't have done it.” Spencer talked so fast that Penelope couldn't keep up with him “I have to go now. Thank you, Garcia.” 

And he left the office grabbing all of his things, not giving his friend a chance to say a thing. 

The light was almost gone when Spencer took the metro home from work. His head was still spinning and his chest full of that now familiar self-directed anger, sadness for the victim, anxiety, and fear. He took a deep breath when he opened the door and greeted the empty living room shyly. 

“Hey! I'm in the kitchen!” Cécile yelled from the other room. 

Leaving his things on the floor, he joined her in their kitchen, where he found her sitting at the table, revising her lecture notes. He watched her with sad eyes, remembering what he had seen: good, he thought, now he also saw her as nothing but a victim. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, breaking his silence. 

“Yes, yes! Sorry, just a long day at work. I think I'm going straight to bed.” 

“Oh, but I've made dinner for the both of us. That's okay though, we can put it in the fridge.” Here it went again, guilt, like a punch in Spencer's stomach. While he was there going through her business, she was here making dinner? He was never going to survive this. 

Without looking her in the eyes, he sat at the table with her, telling her he had changed his mind, and thanked her for cooking. They ate in silence, given the exception of brief comments on the delicious pasta and how their day went. 

Cécile thought it was weird: in the few days she had known Spencer he had been shy, but always very talkative with his fun facts about whatever they were eating, or doing, or seeing. But Cécile also thought that she would be weird too, if she had to look at serial killers and corpses all day, so she let it go: they were only getting to know each other and she felt like she didn't have the right to ask that much about his private life. She had noticed that behind Spencer 's shyness, there was sweetness and kindness and also humour - Cécile wondered what it must be like to be his friend: if he was always so sweet and caring with everyone, but closed in himself at the same time. 

After dinner, Spencer got up and washed the dishes while Cécile cleaned up the table from her books. 

“It's like my first night here: I cook, you wash the dishes.” Cécile said, a smile on her face. 

“Yeah, you cook really well, I definitely don't mind if we make a habit out of it.” Spencer responded, trying to be conversational. 

“I don't mind either. Goodnight then." She smiled, hands full of books, and disappeared into her room. 

Spencer was left alone in his kitchen, like he used to do when he came home to an empty house after a case: sitting at the table, head in his hands, his mind spinning before deciding it's time to go to bed. He sat there for a long time, reflecting on guilt, trust, fear, and all the emotion that he read about so many times and that he spoke about so many times in his career but now understood fully. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

The soft morning sun entered through the windows as Spencer sat in one of the chairs in the kitchen, a Rubik's cube in his hands. Matter of fact, seeing him sitting in the same chair where Cécile had left him the previous night and looking at the dark circles around his eyes, one would think he hadn't slept at all. 

Well, he did, for two or three hours. He had spent the rest of the night in a self-loathing wake, thinking and thinking about that picture and about everything he had done wrong. After he saw the sun rising from his bedroom window he decided to get up and make some coffee, careful not to wake up his roommate. 

When, around seven o’clock, he heard Cécile’s alarm go off, he unconsciously started holding his breath. He knew he could live with the secret, he just didn't know if he could live with the guilt. Even if he and Cécile were basically two strangers, Spencer felt like he had betrayed her. 

"Good Morning! Why are you up so early?” said the object of his reflection, stopping in her journey towards the bathroom to get ready. 

“I guess it's a habit. Do you have to study a lot?” asked Spencer 

“You don't even understand.” the blonde girl said dramatically and closed herself in the bathroom. 

Spencer wasn't used to sharing his weekends, but he got used to it pretty quickly: he stayed on the couch, his arms hugged around his long folded legs, and resolved the cube around 50 times; then he started reading Tolstoy. Cècile definitely wasn't in the way: basically lying over her computer, she never said a word and studied the whole morning, letting out a sigh every now and then. 

After lunch, Cécile had gone out to buy some coffee - she couldn't survive the exam season without her stash, she had said, closing the door. When she returned, Spencer seemed to have a surprise for her. 

“Hey, look what just came in the mail” 

“Oh! My! God!” Cécile screamed, throwing the grocery bag on the floor, “my baby!!!”

Spencer couldn't hold his laughter, looking at his roommate hugging her guitar case like a long distance family member. In the time of an “I missed you so much” and an “I am so happy”, Cécile had already forgotten about her exams and coffee and Spencer had temporarily forgotten about his overthinking and watched her, smiling. 

“Well, you have to play something now” He said 

“You’re such a flirt! What do you want to hear?” She answered with her typical charm.

“You decide, your favourite song.” 

Cécile smiled and played a bit with the tuning pegs, trying to tune the guitar. After some time - during which Spencer decided to explain how a guitar could untune itself if it remains untouched - Cécile started playing some notes (some tuned notes) and hummed, which shushed Spencer. 

“This is the first ever song I learned. Joan Baez.” She said. 

Then she started playing and after some minutes she started singing shyly, red in the face, too aware of Spencer’s eyes watching her. 

Her voice was beautiful, deep but high at the same time. Spencer didn't know what kind of voices he liked - he really only listened to classical music - but her voice seemed perfect. It was perfect because of those sporadic imperfections that made it real. 

When the last notes of “There but for Fortune” played, she lifted her eyes and smiled, letting out a soft breath. Without even noticing, Spencer was clapping. 

“It has been a while. I didn't do it justice.” She said, embarrassed, as she put it the case again. 

“No, no, you're really good. I like this song "

"Well, Joan Baez is the greatest musician of all time.” 

And just like that, Cécile started a two hour conversation on history of music. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

The weekend passed, and then a week, and without even noticing Spencer started to think he could live with his secret. Talking with Cécile was easy and fun, he felt like himself in a way he never did. 

One night, they stayed up until three AM because Cécile had an exam and Spencer had offered to help her revise but ended up giving her a whole lesson on macroeconomics, since she kept yelling at him she didn't understand. In the end, Spencer arrived late at work, but, thanks to the boy’s tutoring, Cécile got 97/100 on that exam. 

When, sometimes, she played the guitar softly, in her thoughts and with that concentrated expression she always did (with her tongue kind of sticking out), Spencer found himself wishing she started to sing. He had even asked Garcia to download the song on his MP3 for him - he refused to do it himself like the good technophobe he was - so that he could listen to it sometimes, and think about that day. 

Then there was the day Cécile finally got a response back from the diner she had sent her curriculum to. She was so happy to finally have a job: she jumped and screamed from excitement and hugged Spencer, who was left startled by this reaction. 

Her dream was finally coming together: a house, university, a job, some friends even (apart from Spencer) that she met at uni. 

But. There was always a but, and - Cécile knew - Spencer had noticed. The texts didn't stop that night. James continued with his usual mood-swinging behaviour, texting her that he missed her, then that she deserved what had happened. 

Cécile wondered what she could have done to deserve all of that, to deserve her past following her around wherever she went. 

He didn't text often, just enough to give her the time to think he had stopped, and then he will start again. At every buzz of her BlackBerry, her heart stopped for a moment, and her roommate seemed to have the power to catch every one of these reactions. 

“So, I was thinking we have to celebrate your employment” he had said the day after their first hug, entering the house. 

Cécile looked uneasy: she was sitting on the sofa, looking at her mobile again, like she did most of the time those days, and her hand was resting on her heart, like if she had to catch her breath. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Oh! Yes! Hi! Sorry, I didn't even hear you. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should celebrate the fact that you got the job at that diner and I thought that, since we have the complete weekend off at work, I could invite my colleagues over to dinner so you'll meet them. They always say I never invite them and I already talked to them about it and they were more than happy to come.” Spencer said, deciding not to mention the fact that her hand was still trembling around the phone. 

“Yeah, I like the idea! Let's celebrate the fact that you'll finally start to get rent from me!” 

Spencer laughed and texted Morgan that the dinner was set for that Friday. With a smile on his face, he got in the kitchen and started cooking something for the two of them, for once. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

@hiddentattooodyssey @the-anarchist-public @cynbx

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see next chapter ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ (link will be added) -> i think you're gonna need to wait for that one

[lizlemondyke]

as it gets warmer let's all remember the two most beautiful accessories a girl can have this summer are hairy legs and a bunch of bruises from bangin around

[farewellang]

i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed ☆ spencer reid series

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see chapter 2 | see the series ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

3 the guilt

☆ summary: spencer investigates on cècile's past, but he immediately regrets it. despite that, the two roommates seem to grow close in their first month of living together. spencer gradually feels like he could start to live and bear his secret.

☆ tags: mentions of revenge porn, misogystic language, spencer is such a cutie and over thinks every action (my man), fluff fluff a lot of fluff, (tell me if im forgetting something and please teach me how to tag things)

☆ author's note: we're back with the long chapters! i think this is my best written chapter so far so please don't let this down, i really love it. they are my babies!! dont forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed reading and tell me what you think ;) +++ do yourselves a favour and listen to there but for fortune my fav songof all timeeee

☆ word count: 2.5k

Spencer Reid had read a lot of psychology books and knew what guilt was really well: for example, he knew that, when understood as a collection of basic emotions, guilt is composed of self-directed anger, sadness for the victim, anxiety, and fear. Still, while Garcia was typing on her keyboard to search for Cécile Jones’ past, he couldn't quite place what he was feeling. Was he really guilty of something? Or was he just worried about what he might find?

“Okay, let's see: Cécile Jones, former student at Chicago University, really good grades but her attendance records have some faults: she stopped going to university, like at all, three months ago.”

The blue light from the computer monitors emphasised the hard and concentrated look on Spencer’s face.

“Yeah, she told me she had problems. Look, she filed a report against another student, open it.” Garcia nodded and clicked on the page. 

Everything about this was making Spencer feel more and more uneasy: Penelope was speaking like she did when researching criminal records of potential suspects and he was totally playing that game too. 

“James Peterson, she accused him of harassment but it doesn't seem like they did anything. Let's see who this Peterson is…” Garcia said, as she typed his name into Facebook “Of course, they don't do anything…if it's your boyfriend.” 

Penelope scrolled through James’ Facebook profile: photos and photos of him and Cécile kissing or hugging on campus, at holiday, at the park. Under every photo hundreds of comments from their friends and family telling them how cute they looked together. 

“I need you to look for more, Garcia, look for forums, chatrooms. She was happy: I'm not saying this isn't serious, but she wouldn't have changed universities just because of this. I’m telling you something else must've happened.” Spencer said, frustrated. 

The blonde woman typed quickly on her computer, making it impossible for her friend to follow what she was doing on the monitor. It was only obvious when she opened (illegally) a chatroom and messages from two months ago talking about Cécile appeared. James seemed to be the protagonist of the conversation. 

Having taken control of Garcia’s black mouse (causing an annoyed reaction from her friend) and scrolling quickly in the chat, Spencer understood they were talking about the day that he and Cécile had broken up: James was really mad, Cécile had broken up with him and he accused her of cheating on him. His friends were just trying to comfort him, in their weird and full of toxic masculinity ways: telling him she was a slut and that he was better off without her, since she was pulling him down. 

Spencer felt uneasy reading those things about his roommate, things that probably she didn't even know were said in a private chat. He suddenly felt nauseous looking at the screen and thinking about Cécile going about her day, probably at university, while he was reading her ex boyfriend’s messages: that guilt feeling again.

His heart definitely dropped when, scrolling with the mouse, he got to a photo he definitely shouldn't have seen. He looked away as quickly as he could, while Penelope took control of her mouse again and scrolled down to remove the image from the screen. Now he would never get rid of that feeling, ever, he was sure. After slowly raising his head, he read the message that James sent after the photo. 

Jamex82: this is what that slut sent me last week. I bet she still liked me back then 

“Oh, that poor, poor girl.” Penelope said in a sad voice, closing the tab and looking at Spencer “This is the football team group chat, there are like… 100 men.” 

Spencer looked defeated and was shaking his head in his thoughts. He couldn't even imagine what Cécile had to go through and now he understood why she didn't want to tell him anything: like Morgan said, she wanted to forget it, to leave it all behind. Now he knew that what he felt was guilt: he wasn't supposed to know those things, he wasn't supposed to even look for them and he certainly wasn't supposed to see that picture, not even for half a second. He now felt like he was one of those men in the group chat. 

He regretted everything about his decision. 

“Reid? Are you okay?”

“Yea- Yes, No! I mean, now I know what it was, but Morgan was right, I shouldn't have done it.” Spencer talked so fast that Penelope couldn't keep up with him “I have to go now. Thank you, Garcia.” 

And he left the office grabbing all of his things, not giving his friend a chance to say a thing. 

The light was almost gone when Spencer took the metro home from work. His head was still spinning and his chest full of that now familiar self-directed anger, sadness for the victim, anxiety, and fear. He took a deep breath when he opened the door and greeted the empty living room shyly. 

“Hey! I'm in the kitchen!” Cécile yelled from the other room. 

Leaving his things on the floor, he joined her in their kitchen, where he found her sitting at the table, revising her lecture notes. He watched her with sad eyes, remembering what he had seen: good, he thought, now he also saw her as nothing but a victim. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, breaking his silence. 

“Yes, yes! Sorry, just a long day at work. I think I'm going straight to bed.” 

“Oh, but I've made dinner for the both of us. That's okay though, we can put it in the fridge.” Here it went again, guilt, like a punch in Spencer's stomach. While he was there going through her business, she was here making dinner? He was never going to survive this. 

Without looking her in the eyes, he sat at the table with her, telling her he had changed his mind, and thanked her for cooking. They ate in silence, given the exception of brief comments on the delicious pasta and how their day went. 

Cécile thought it was weird: in the few days she had known Spencer he had been shy, but always very talkative with his fun facts about whatever they were eating, or doing, or seeing. But Cécile also thought that she would be weird too, if she had to look at serial killers and corpses all day, so she let it go: they were only getting to know each other and she felt like she didn't have the right to ask that much about his private life. She had noticed that behind Spencer 's shyness, there was sweetness and kindness and also humour - Cécile wondered what it must be like to be his friend: if he was always so sweet and caring with everyone, but closed in himself at the same time. 

After dinner, Spencer got up and washed the dishes while Cécile cleaned up the table from her books. 

“It's like my first night here: I cook, you wash the dishes.” Cécile said, a smile on her face. 

“Yeah, you cook really well, I definitely don't mind if we make a habit out of it.” Spencer responded, trying to be conversational. 

“I don't mind either. Goodnight then." She smiled, hands full of books, and disappeared into her room. 

Spencer was left alone in his kitchen, like he used to do when he came home to an empty house after a case: sitting at the table, head in his hands, his mind spinning before deciding it's time to go to bed. He sat there for a long time, reflecting on guilt, trust, fear, and all the emotion that he read about so many times and that he spoke about so many times in his career but now understood fully. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

The soft morning sun entered through the windows as Spencer sat in one of the chairs in the kitchen, a Rubik's cube in his hands. Matter of fact, seeing him sitting in the same chair where Cécile had left him the previous night and looking at the dark circles around his eyes, one would think he hadn't slept at all. 

Well, he did, for two or three hours. He had spent the rest of the night in a self-loathing wake, thinking and thinking about that picture and about everything he had done wrong. After he saw the sun rising from his bedroom window he decided to get up and make some coffee, careful not to wake up his roommate. 

When, around seven o’clock, he heard Cécile’s alarm go off, he unconsciously started holding his breath. He knew he could live with the secret, he just didn't know if he could live with the guilt. Even if he and Cécile were basically two strangers, Spencer felt like he had betrayed her. 

"Good Morning! Why are you up so early?” said the object of his reflection, stopping in her journey towards the bathroom to get ready. 

“I guess it's a habit. Do you have to study a lot?” asked Spencer 

“You don't even understand.” the blonde girl said dramatically and closed herself in the bathroom. 

Spencer wasn't used to sharing his weekends, but he got used to it pretty quickly: he stayed on the couch, his arms hugged around his long folded legs, and resolved the cube around 50 times; then he started reading Tolstoy. Cècile definitely wasn't in the way: basically lying over her computer, she never said a word and studied the whole morning, letting out a sigh every now and then. 

After lunch, Cécile had gone out to buy some coffee - she couldn't survive the exam season without her stash, she had said, closing the door. When she returned, Spencer seemed to have a surprise for her. 

“Hey, look what just came in the mail” 

“Oh! My! God!” Cécile screamed, throwing the grocery bag on the floor, “my baby!!!”

Spencer couldn't hold his laughter, looking at his roommate hugging her guitar case like a long distance family member. In the time of an “I missed you so much” and an “I am so happy”, Cécile had already forgotten about her exams and coffee and Spencer had temporarily forgotten about his overthinking and watched her, smiling. 

“Well, you have to play something now” He said 

“You’re such a flirt! What do you want to hear?” She answered with her typical charm.

“You decide, your favourite song.” 

Cécile smiled and played a bit with the tuning pegs, trying to tune the guitar. After some time - during which Spencer decided to explain how a guitar could untune itself if it remains untouched - Cécile started playing some notes (some tuned notes) and hummed, which shushed Spencer. 

“This is the first ever song I learned. Joan Baez.” She said. 

Then she started playing and after some minutes she started singing shyly, red in the face, too aware of Spencer’s eyes watching her. 

Her voice was beautiful, deep but high at the same time. Spencer didn't know what kind of voices he liked - he really only listened to classical music - but her voice seemed perfect. It was perfect because of those sporadic imperfections that made it real. 

When the last notes of “There but for Fortune” played, she lifted her eyes and smiled, letting out a soft breath. Without even noticing, Spencer was clapping. 

“It has been a while. I didn't do it justice.” She said, embarrassed, as she put it the case again. 

“No, no, you're really good. I like this song "

"Well, Joan Baez is the greatest musician of all time.” 

And just like that, Cécile started a two hour conversation on history of music. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

The weekend passed, and then a week, and without even noticing Spencer started to think he could live with his secret. Talking with Cécile was easy and fun, he felt like himself in a way he never did. 

One night, they stayed up until three AM because Cécile had an exam and Spencer had offered to help her revise but ended up giving her a whole lesson on macroeconomics, since she kept yelling at him she didn't understand. In the end, Spencer arrived late at work, but, thanks to the boy’s tutoring, Cécile got 97/100 on that exam. 

When, sometimes, she played the guitar softly, in her thoughts and with that concentrated expression she always did (with her tongue kind of sticking out), Spencer found himself wishing she started to sing. He had even asked Garcia to download the song on his MP3 for him - he refused to do it himself like the good technophobe he was - so that he could listen to it sometimes, and think about that day. 

Then there was the day Cécile finally got a response back from the diner she had sent her curriculum to. She was so happy to finally have a job: she jumped and screamed from excitement and hugged Spencer, who was left startled by this reaction. 

Her dream was finally coming together: a house, university, a job, some friends even (apart from Spencer) that she met at uni. 

But. There was always a but, and - Cécile knew - Spencer had noticed. The texts didn't stop that night. James continued with his usual mood-swinging behaviour, texting her that he missed her, then that she deserved what had happened. 

Cécile wondered what she could have done to deserve all of that, to deserve her past following her around wherever she went. 

He didn't text often, just enough to give her the time to think he had stopped, and then he will start again. At every buzz of her BlackBerry, her heart stopped for a moment, and her roommate seemed to have the power to catch every one of these reactions. 

“So, I was thinking we have to celebrate your employment” he had said the day after their first hug, entering the house. 

Cécile looked uneasy: she was sitting on the sofa, looking at her mobile again, like she did most of the time those days, and her hand was resting on her heart, like if she had to catch her breath. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Oh! Yes! Hi! Sorry, I didn't even hear you. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should celebrate the fact that you got the job at that diner and I thought that, since we have the complete weekend off at work, I could invite my colleagues over to dinner so you'll meet them. They always say I never invite them and I already talked to them about it and they were more than happy to come.” Spencer said, deciding not to mention the fact that her hand was still trembling around the phone. 

“Yeah, I like the idea! Let's celebrate the fact that you'll finally start to get rent from me!” 

Spencer laughed and texted Morgan that the dinner was set for that Friday. With a smile on his face, he got in the kitchen and started cooking something for the two of them, for once. 

︵‿⊹︵‿୨♡୧‿︵⊹‿︵

@hiddentattooodyssey @the-anarchist-public @cynbx

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ see next chapter ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ (link will be added) -> i think you're gonna need to wait for that one

[farewellang]

its the third night in a row i've been studying all night i'm starting to hear voices wish me luck

[maybethistimemegz]

Criminal Minds - One Quote per Episode ↳ s10e20 - A Place at the Table

[farewellang]

spencer reid series ☆ i wanna share an apartment, a room and a bed

☆ summary: spencer reid decides to rent his guestroom to a university student and she becomes the most interesting topic in his apartment. we all know that when spencer reid's curiosity is sparked nothing can stop him, but what happens if he starts to feel something else for this girl?

☆ pairings: Spencer reid and Cécile Jones (spencer reid x fem!oc, rommates, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining)

☆ status: IN PROGRESS!!

chapter 1 the guestroom

chapter 2 the tears

chapter 3 the guilt

chapter 4 the team

chapter 5 the grudge

chapter 6 the nightmares

chapter 7 the crush

chapter 8 the lies

&more

☆ tags: rommates!au, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, spencer reid x fem!oc, season 2, in a universe when tobias hankel doesn't exist (im lazy), glasses reid, tw revenge porn and misogynistic language/behaviour (not from spencer) + nightmares and panic attacks, fluff, minor angst, (im deciding whether im comfortable with writing smut)

tags will be added if needed as the story goes on + every chapter has its own tags

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ read, main character, cécile jones' description!! ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+