“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” - John Keating, Dead Poets Society.
Masterlist:
< enclosed is what I have written so far >
Criminal Minds < Spencer Reid >
Star Wars < Prequel Trilogy >
Wizarding World < Golden Era & Hogwarts Legacy >
Writing and Requests:
Who I write for (Requests are open).
I really appreciate feedback on my fics so please feel free to leave a comment!
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
me: missing my dragon age boys
me: gonna draw 'em all in one place
me: funny how there's one grumpy elf sandwiched in between two giant blonde fereldan chanry boys
me: but they are all warriors huh
me: i guess i just like warrior characters who are a bit unwell
me: ...
me: now that i think on it, that applies to more than dragon age, doesn't it...
"There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build--grow. Skyhold."
3/3 of my postcards for @dragonageannual 2026! deeply pleased to have had the chance to make a card for this special place, the hole-filled non-osha compliant fortress of all time 🏰⚔️
Doesn’t take a Profiler | Spencer Reid x GN!Reader
Summary: Reid returns to the bureau four months after his experience with Tobias Hankel. Reader struggles to understand his mindset, and finally talks to him on the jet.
w/c: 1,4k
Warnings: Mentions of Tobias Hankel & of Spencer being kidnapped, beaten and dr*gged. No dr*g use in the fic. Slight angst?
a/n: No use of Y/N. This is the first fanfic I've written in a while! This is also my first time writing a Spencer Reid fic, so I hope I was able to capture his character. Dialogue is similar to his conversation with Morgan at the end of Fear and Loathing (s2e16) but now adjusted with Reader :) I am really bad at writing summaries so I apologise.
Enjoy!
Criminal Minds Masterlist
Others Masterlist
“And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in.” - Jane Austen.
Every member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit has known evil, and the shadow it casts over the lives of many. It doesn’t take a profiler to see another’s troubles, whether it is work-related or financial.
It doesn’t always take a profiler, but profilers themselves tend to hide their own a little better than others.
But you notice, you always have.
You see the signs in Gideon. He hasn’t been the same since returning to the bureau, even after his medical leave, the weight of the deaths of those agents is heavy.
You see it in the ever-composed Hotch. Fragments of the horrors he has witnessed rarely reveal themselves in the cracks in his facade, but they are there.
You saw it in Elle, how she spiralled after being shot in her own home, how she left the bureau without saying goodbye.
Morgan’s arrest, and the BAU’s involvement in the case, revealed the traumas he endured in his past.
Now, you see the signs in Spencer.
Some like to say that time heals all wounds. The team knows how misleading that statement is. Time and again as profilers, you are all reminded how time is not always guaranteed to heal a person’s soul. Time is more akin to a scab that forms over an open wound. It makes the pain and memories easier to bear, but never fully goes away.
While the others in the BAU have had time to form scabs over their pasts, it seems time finds joy in prolonging even the tiniest relief for Spencer.
He is back in the bullpen after four months of medical leave. He has been back for a few days now, and you wish he wasn’t. This week has been unbearable. These statements may seem harsh, but Spencer’s been different.
He has been quiet, fidgety, only contributing facts to briefings and no longer sharing anything that would usually earn a “Focus, Reid” from Hotch.
The strangest thing of all is that he hasn’t spoken to you. Not at all.
Of course, in the initial period following the Hankel case, you tried to visit Spencer as often as you could, after work, on weekends, and even during lunch breaks when you could.
But even then, he’d been different, withdrawn. Eventually, you stopped visiting altogether.
The last time you saw Spencer before his return to work was two months ago. In the three years of working together, this has been the longest the two of you have gone without speaking.
But it makes sense - Spencer wants to be alone. If not, he would tell you, right? For now, he is keeping his distance and you are keeping yours.
-
“Staring will get you caught, Sugar,” announces a voice to the whole bureau as she stops beside your desk. Your gaze snaps away from Spencer, who’s currently at his desk and too engrossed in case files, to Penelope, who has just betrayed you. Well, that’s how you imagined she said it. Talking seems really loud after minutes of silence while willing your crush friend to look your way.
“I’m not staring.”
“Right, and I’m not your favourite technical analyst.” She grins and turns back toward her office down the hall. You follow closely.
“Pen, do you think he’s mad at me?” you blurt as she settles back down in her chair.
“Who, Boy Wonder? Mad at the sweetest agent in the BAU? Whatever for?”
You shrug, folding your arms over your chest. “He won’t talk to me, won’t engage in any conversations that I start and barely looks at me during briefings. He is either mad or… I don’t know why else he would be doing these things if he wasn’t mad.”
Penelope’s lips press together and she gives you a sympathetic look, but before any advice can be shared, Hotch appears in the door.
“Briefing in five.”
-
The case went as well as it could have. Terrance Wakeland was arrested for several homicides, and will be held accountable. The families of the victims have closure, and no more young girls will be targeted by the killer.
In the jet, the team has finally started to unwind.
JJ is on the couch, reading. Gideon in his usual seat is too. Morgan and Prentiss sit opposite each other, bonding over shared things they loved as children, while Hotch has a faint smile on his lips when he glances in her direction.
Spencer, however, is quiet. Not present. Cards are frozen in his hands. He does not look around at the others or even out of the window at the passing world below.
So, you slide into the seat across from him. “Spencer, you okay? Spence?” You have to repeat yourself before he hears you.
His gaze lifts. He blinks, startled. “Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for broadcasting it.”
You pause. His gaze has shifted back to the cards in his hands. They shake slightly, but you’re sure it’s just from the movement of the jet. “Spencer. I can tell something’s up with you. Talk to me… Are you mad?”
“What? No. I just don’t have anything to tell you,” is all he replies. These are the kinds of answers you received right after Tobias Hankel kidnapped him. I’m fine. There’s nothing to tell. I’m still here.
You murmur, “You forget I can tell when you’re lying, Spencer. I know you.” You do know him. Three years ago, you moved to Virginia, joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and everything changed. It may sound cliche, but you really did find your family in the team. And Spence is so much more.
“I can still do my job, all right?” He says, “I’m not gonna freak out.”
It’s the look you give him - the silent words that pass between you. He cannot lie to you, not for long, anyway. He has always felt this way, felt this need to tell the truth, to tell you everything and anything.
Spencer tells a lot of facts, and sometimes the others give him a look or say ‘Reid’ in that dismissive tone to make him stop. He knows why. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming when they are tired, stressed or on a case. He doesn’t hold it against them.
But you always listen. Maybe that’s why he answers you now. “It’s the crime scene photos.”
“...What about them?”
“It’s the dead girls in the leaves. And I know. I know we’ve seen worse, but for the first time, I know. I look at them and… I look at them, and I know what they were thinking, and I know what they were feeling right before…”
His gaze shifts between you, the cards he set on the table, and his empty hands. “It’s got me all messed up. I don’t know how to focus. I can’t do my job as well. So what do I do?”
You haven’t been through anything like what he went through. Haven’t been kidnapped, beaten or drugged because of your job.
What you do have is an understanding of your own experience. You understand what it’s like to imagine what happened, to picture what horrific things a person has experienced because that’s what you did when Spencer was taken. From the moment you were informed he had been kidnapped to the moment he was in your line of sight, you worried, thinking about what he was going through. Was he scared? Was he conscious? Was he alive?
You can’t imagine what it must be like for Spencer to be haunted by what happened, but you do know what it’s like to be haunted by the feeling of hopelessness, unable to undo another’s suffering.
You take a breath before answering. “That’s empathy, Spencer. We can’t change what happened to the victims who are already gone, but what we can do is do our jobs. We can be better profilers. Catch the UnSub responsible. Prevent what happened to victims from happening to others.”
Spencer remains silent, brown eyes looking into yours.
“And most importantly, you need to take care of yourself, Spence,” you murmur. “and don’t keep secrets.”
To that, Spencer appears surprised. You pick up the deck of cards on the table between you, and begin reshuffling them.
“For a genius, you’re not as subtle as you think.” You deal the cards for the two of you, and say, “I will find out what you’re keeping secret, even if it takes a while.”
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