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[lostbo0]

Stand-In Soldier

John Walker x Fem!Reader

Description: You come back to the tower after another shitty date with your loser boyfriend and John is there to make things right.

CW: Mentions of sex (no smut), cursing, cheating (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 2.4K

Your bag flew across the living room into a corner you didn’t care to look for. An inhuman grunt rang out as you threw yourself onto the large couch. You hadn’t thought your date would go exactly as planned; in fact, it was foolish to think so with your boyfriend. On top of being late and making you pay for half your meal, you left the bathroom to find him flirting with the waitress, tucking a 10 into her plunging neckline. She laughed giddily, running her manicured nails across his shoulder. You didn’t want to touch him for the rest of the night. The sex was mediocre anyway, nothing to write home about. 

You reminisced plainly with your face buried in the couch cushions. No part of you bothered to sugarcoat the harsh reality that your boyfriend was a dick. You met him not long after caving and downloading the most reputable dating app you could find that would hopefully not steal your IP address. Swiping a few times rarely got you past a cheap pickup line or the rare dick pick right off the bat. It was hard not to feel unwanted in the hopelessness of modern dating, all until Frank messaged you. Yes, his name was stupid, and yes, his mustache was most definitely performative and not a true reflection of his character, but in the fog of desperation, you agreed to meet up. He had miraculously paid for the first date, placing his overdrawn credit card on the receipt tray. After that, it drawled incredibly downhill. 

Most of the time, dates consisted of him playing his guitar at you, cooking a mediocre plate of dry chicken and rice (for the macros, he explained), and spending a dazzling eight minutes rubbing your pelvic bone and asking if you finished. Faking it became the go-to. You painfully feigned interest in his ‘blooming music career’, shoved down every piece of chicken with not a hint of even pepper, and of course, faked an orgasm to escape into the shower while he slept. That was where you would tap through your phone, snoop through his 3 in 1 soaps, and occasionally cry. 

It was tedious. Your friends consistently inquired why you didn’t just leave the loser, but it wasn’t like you had any more suitors sending calling cards. 

One night after your magical ten minutes, Frank passed out on his mattress on the floor (yes, no bed frame), and you snuck into the bathroom. It was dark, but a small mirror light illuminated just enough to see your reflection. You were still half clothed, t-shirt tugged lazily to the side, just barely covering your legs. You looked like hell. It had been ages since you had seen any sort of post-sex glow on yourself, and it seemed futile to hope for it. Your makeup was smudged and worn, and you started to feel bad for even putting any effort into it. Frank never noticed. 

You weren’t sure what overcame you in that moment that was so overwhelming, but overlooking yourself, all you could do was cry. It wasn’t a deep cry. No thick gasps or sobs came out of you, but even still, warm tears fell down your cheeks on their own volition. It was quiet, so much so that you could still hear Frank snoring in the other room. Frank. You didn’t want to be around him at that moment. You wanted to leave, to pick up your clothes and go home. This crying was just PMS hormones; you would be fine in the morning, but Frank was the one who picked you up. In the foreseeable future, you were stuck there. 

Leaning over the sink and clicking open your phone, your body moved by itself. Maybe you could call Yelena to pick you up, or perhaps Alexei’s father instinct would kick in and he would drive over to get you. However, even with all these ideas flying through your consciousness, your fingers still shakily crossed the screen to his name. 

John. 

You tapped along the screen without expecting a response; you just wanted to cast your line and see if you would miraculously get a bite. 

Not an emergency, but can you come get me? At Frank’s.

Your phone shut off with your tears. Starting to feel guilty for probably waking John in the first place, you wiped off your makeup and ran a shower. You took off the rest of your clothes and crawled into the shower you should probably be wearing shoes in. There was no soap, and to be honest, you didn’t want to touch his if it was there; you just let the water run over your cold skin.

Not ten minutes later, your phone buzzed with a text.

John: I’m outside

You two never talked about it again. It was months ago, and, to be honest, you were slightly embarrassed. Why in the world did you panic-text your friend (tower-mate?) to pick you up from your boyfriend's house like you had a bad sleepover? It was a silent agreement between both of you that you would never talk about it again. 

You rolled back onto your side on the couch, dress riding up that Frank didn’t even comment on, despite being brand new. You didn’t even bother to take off the heels that Val would inevitably be on your ass about. No “getting dirty shoes on brand new couches.” Val could suck your dick. 

In your moping stupor, you didn’t even hear the commotion in the kitchen. Lifting your head like an injured horse, you peered across the room to see John in his sweats and an old Army t-shirt. Based on his instinctive response, you could have sworn he felt your eyes on him. 

“Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.” He pulled a pot from the cabinet, shooting a small smile in your direction. His eyes combed over the rest of the couch. “New outfit.” 

“Well, at least someone noticed.” You smiled slightly for the first time that night. 

“What, that fucker didn’t notice again?” He turned towards the sink, filling the pot with water. Without looking up, he responded with a quick, “Sorry.” You doubted he really meant that second half. 

“It’s fine. I guess I kind of hoped he would notice the dress he’d hopefully be taking off.”

“I’m assuming he didn’t?”

“Well, my hair is still done, and my boob tape is in tact, so yeah.” You grinned through your jeering statement. “All I did was suck him off in the parking garage before he dropped me off.”

“What an asshole.” John’s voice grew more critical as he started up the gas stove. 

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not how you treat a woman.” He tossed back quickly. 

“I mean, it’s how HE treats a woman. Besides, he’s my boyfriend, I want to.” 

“Yeah but, I mean, think about it. When was the last time you came home with your hair and boob tape undone?” 

You laughed at the bluntness of his analysis. His face seemed to brighten at the sound of your laugh. 

“There she is.” He replied. 

You sat up, suddenly revitalized and making your way to the kitchen. “Cooking dinner?”

“Yeah, just chicken alfredo, nothing crazy.” He grabbed a fistful of pasta from the box. 

“That’s a lot for one.”

“I was makin’ extra. I know you like it. Besides, I’m assuming he didn’t feed you tonight?” 

“Just restaurant food I had to pay for.”

“Jeez.” He tossed a little extra into the pot. 

“Need any help?” You started to feel bad watching John cook the food all for you. Usually, you would step in and help Frank with most of it. He preferred to play his stupid guitar while you cooked. He single-handedly ruined ‘Slide’ for you. 

“I won’t tell you no, but you don’t have to.” His bluntness didn’t feel like chiding; in fact, it felt like the chivalry you hadn’t felt in ages. It was nice. “You can grab the spices.” His eyes drifted to the cabinet to the left. 

“Opening a spice cabinet feels good.” You joked, picking out the bottles of oregano and parsley. “Frank says food isn’t for enjoying.” 

John didn’t say any words, but his eyes said it all: an overwhelming distaste for your boyfriend. You loved cooking with John. It was such a stark contrast to your experiences with Frank. There was no yelling or shitty guitar covers to distract you from the long-lost camaraderie you had felt devoid of. John slow-cooked the chicken in a concoction of butter, garlic, and a multitude of spices you could only chalk up to southern cooking. The aroma in and of itself was enough to make your eyes water in anticipation. He skillfully created a sauce from scratch, reminding you that you had simply forgotten sauce could come from something other than a jar. You watched in awe, wondering if he might have been a chef before being a super soldier. It was somehow just what you needed to forget your shitty date. 

You were glued to his side by the time he was plating the dinner. The steam rose perfectly from the plates, twirling in a cartoonish swirl. 

“It smells amazing, John.” You bet he could hear the smile on your lips. 

“I know.” He grinned facetiously as he topped it off with a sprinkle of parsley and parmesan cheese. The smell alone made you want to cry with overwhelming joy, but the actual sight of a plate of food cooked with you in mind and heart sent you over the edge.

You leaned your body against him as you stood side by side, shoulders shaking with a strange mix of a laugh and a cry. You were prepared to reassure John that you were fine and just hopped up on stress and food euphoria, but that moment never came; He simply slid the plate towards you and rubbed your arm gently, releasing with a slight squeeze. 

You ate in silence. The occasional thank you fell from your lips as you inhaled the food in front of you. It was weird — almost intimate the way you ravaged the food in unison, satiating your hunger. What stopped you from doing this for so long? You answered your own question: you didn’t think you deserved it. No men were lining up to court you, and even when they did, it just ended up being Frank. There had to be a reason. There had to be something ordained to keep you from ever fully experiencing this kinship.

“Want a drink?” John scooped up the now-empty dishes bringing them to the dishwasher. 

“Sure.” You stood in the middle of the kitchen as he walked circles around you, going from the sink to wash the pot and the cabinet to grab glasses and some fancy bottle of whiskey. You thought for a moment that you could get used to this, but swiftly dismissed the idea.

“So,” John took a sip from his glass. “Bad date tonight, huh?” 

You raised your own glass to your lips, taking a long sip of the golden liquid. “It’s whatever.” 

“Stop sayin’ that.” He replied almost sternly. “It’s not whatever; half the reason you’re still in this mess is because you talk like that.”

“Like what exactly?” You looked at him incredulously, glass forgotten in your slack hand. 

“Like this is the best you can get. Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but Frank isn’t the baseline, he’s just an asshole.” His face quirked into that sickening smile that usually meant there was some truth in his chiding. 

“Well, sweetheart,” You began, muscles tensing under the gaze of his blue eyes. “He’s my boyfriend. The first in years, might I remind you. Maybe he’s an asshole sometimes, but everyone is.” Your tone grew stern.  “At the end of the day, he chose me and invested in me.” You could feel your throat start to tighten in that familiar way that meant you were about to cry.

“I just watched you cry because I put butter in your food.” John shot back, an unfortunate amount of truth in his voice. “That’s more investment than I’ve seen him give you in months.” He took a sip from his glass. “And it cost 98 cents.” 

You turned away, exasperated. Was he really doing this? Was he really going to pick apart your relationship as if he had any room to make that analysis?

“Why do you care?”

“I picked you up sobbing from his shitty apartment.” He spat out the words like he was holding them back. 

“Don’t…”

“I mean,” An exasperated hand ran through his messy blonde hair. “Fuckin’ hell, I wanted to tell you to dump him right there.” 

The silence fell thick over the room. You stared at him with a confusing mix of disappointment, anger, and acknowledgment; you didn’t know what shone through the most. 

“You deserve good food, and to get your hair and boob taped messed up once in a while.” His voice rose in conviction. “Hell, you at least deserve sex that lasts more than 8 minutes.” 

Your arms were crossed indignantly as you stared right through him. Through the misty haze of conflict, your eyes started to bead with tears. 

“I just,” You began. “I don’t know what to do.” A breaking confession fell from your lips. The moment the sobbing sound fell on John’s ears, he pulled you tightly into his chest. No words were spoken, no snide remarks of criticism passed between you two, he just—with the gentleness of a lover—held you tightly against him as you cried. You didn’t know when your sobbing subsided, but at some point in the seemingly endless time you stood wrapped in his arms, you could feel the damp spots you left on his shirt cease to grow any further. A small sniffle escaped you as you lifted your head up to look at him. ‘Warm,’ you thought, peering into his furrowed brow, taking all the time in the world to drop your gaze. As your gaze settled, two firm hands ghosted over your cheek and lifted you into a kiss. 

You took in a deep breath as his lips met your own, hands sliding across his body as if you were trying to memorize it. Your bodies seemingly melted into one another, curling along each bend of one another’s form. John pulled away first.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t-“ He swallowed hard. “You have a boyfriend.” 

“John,” You looked up at him, panting. “Forget about Frank.” 

His eyes glinted as if you had given him all the permission he needed. 

“Gladly.” 

Hope you enjoyed! Who knows, maybe I will do a part 2...

[lostbo0]

Nothing I Had Planned… (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: After four months of blissful marriage, you fear that new realities may introduce challenges you had not anticipated or prepared for.

Genre: Spencer x Fem!Reader, Angst with comfort, happy ending

Content: Mentions of pregnancy, periods, relationship doubt, nerds in love.

Word Count: 1.8k

~~~

The confession you had made that evening was not one marked of a particular grandiosity, and yet it grew a welling in your heart so strong, you felt as though you could fall in love a thousand times over.

your afternoon seemed to slip from your fingers, watching time crawl between the cracks of the blinds, sunlight dragging across the wall of your freshly inhabited living room. Spencer had not long departed to pick up forgotten work materials, insisting on your relaxation for the evening. You mindlessly clicked the remote button, eyes glossed over the tv you had no idea what to do with. Admittedly, you had hopes to escape the confines of your empty home for a small while, yet when you saw the sparkling glow of matrimonial duty glinting in Spencer’s eyes, you rescinded your desire at once.

The TV screen flashed with cop and forensic shows, too familiar to enjoy as you lazed about your unworn couch. You abandoned the idea of TV all together, instead walking to the bathroom, deciding that a warm shower might occupy your time. You shuffled through cabinets, hunting for a spare bottle of shampoo, when, behind nicknacks and more often used supplies, a small case of period products flashed across your vision.

When was the last time you had used one of these?

Your period had never been regular. In fact, it had been far from the word, but you had never missed one completely. At first, you thought that you had simply been “glowing with marriage” as Penelope suggested, your body not finding the time to worry about menstruation. In hindsight, the notion seemed silly to you, but at the time, all you could think about was the fact that you had married the love of your life.

Maybe a change in environment, you had foolishly told yourself a month ago. It just now struck you how long it had been.

Your mind did not immediately resort to conception. In fact, your hypochondria suggested more inevitable death than anything else. Yet, as you sat in the bathroom, shower long discarded, you began to wonder. A baby? It didn’t even feel possible. Of course it had been possible, but you had not even considered it to be a likely reality.

The idea of children had danced upon your tongue, slipping in to conversations laced with playful sincerity, but you never thought it to be a near future. Nothing in the past 4 months had even felt real. You just loved and danced and laughed and sent sparks flying, no consideration of permanent consequence. You found yourself dragged by a ghost of yourself towards the door, simply sliding on shoes and going.

~~~

You jammed the keys into the ignition, stalling for just a moment, hoping for a sign — for your period to magically start “haha you weren’t pregnant, really got you there!” Or perhaps waiting for an angel to descend, delivering the message that you were in fact not with child. But the angel never came. Not yet.

Street lines blurred across the windshield, reminding you to slow. All you could hear was your breath. No radio, no revving, no sirens, not even the rain on your window, just the inhale exhale of your lungs, breathing a silent plea. You weren’t prepared for this, and it scared you. All your life you had spent preparing: seven, the talent show. Twelve, state testing. Sixteen, SATs. Twenty-two, FBI training. Never once did you sit down, read a book, talk to a friend, talk to your mom even! The sound of your breath was loud. Louder, you thought, until it became rhythmic. A rhythm of no count, no time, it was filled with gasps and choking cries that mixed with the patter of rain crawling down the windshield. The line between raindrops and tears began to blur as your own tears pooled in your eyes and ran down your cheeks in hot puddles. You felt foolish — an adult woman crying at the result of her own actions. Yet you didn’t feel like the adult woman that you were. All you could see was a scared teenage girl, faced with the fear of a lifetime in front of her. But you didn’t have a parents to disappoint, not a boyfriend or a teacher, just your poor loving husband that you were scared to death of hurting.

Spencer was the only person who made you believe that the world still had some good left in it. He was the most gentle and tender hearted human you had ever laid eyes upon, and the idea that you could even scare him in any way, sent your stomach twirling like a centrifuge. You knew he loved children, that was not a fact lost on you, but you were also aware of the horrors you both faced each and every day you stepped into the bullpen.

Your entire line of work was comprised of lunatics and monsters and horrors beyond normal comprehension, and you were also well aware of how much of a danger it posed. Spencer had been kidnapped, Penelope had been shot and stalked, and every day you were afraid that you could be next. It almost felt selfish and wrong to bring a poor sweet child into your tainted world. How could you do that to something so innocent?

~~~

You parked your car with recklessness reminiscent of chasing an unsub as you set your vehicle spanning multiple parking spots. You slammed the door shut harder than you had wished, catching a glimpse of your swollen, red, and sordid face. The tears felt sticky on your fingers as you quickly wiped them away.

The fluorescent lights dug into your skin as you walked to the back of the drug store. You knew in your heart that no one there had a care in the world about what you were doing, and yet you had never felt so exposed. Aisles blurred together as you dragged yourself to the shelf, hastily grabbing the most expensive test you could find, hoping the price would reflect upon its accuracy. You checked out and made your way to the car, rain still beating, pooling in the pavement. The car ride back felt just as long as the arrival, thoughts speeding across your vision as quick as the road signs. How would he react when he saw you? How would he react when he saw the results? Would he hug you? Would he cry? Would he slide a hand into yours only to pull the ring off with the words “I’m sorry, I’m not ready?” You felt guilty for even considering it. That was the man that loved you, and he made the promise to love you, no matter what, so faced with these facts, why were you so scared?

~~~

The bathroom tiles were soaked with tears and rain water as you waited tirelessly for the minutes to drag by. No matter how warm your thermostat was set that morning, you couldn’t help feeling cold. These next few moments would decide your future for the rest of your life. But it wasn’t the moments that decided your fate, but the two prominent lines that spoke millions of words all at once. After all the crying you had done, you found it shocking that no tears rolled down your cheeks. In fact, you didn’t make a single noise. You were certain that you hadn’t made a sound. You didn’t know how long you sat there on the bathroom floor staring into your hands. You didn’t know when Spencer would return, but you wanted terribly for it to be soon. No matter how afraid you were of telling him, you wanted nothing more than to feel the familiarity of his arms around your body, building the warmth in your soul that you so desperately desired.

~~~

You were on the couch when Spencer came home. Hearing the door open, you shot up from your seat and stood there in the middle of the room, waiting for him to walk inside.

“My love, I’m home!” He paused where he stood when he saw you, seeing easily through your tight-lipped smile. “are you ok?” He dropped his bags and rushed to you, large hands holding your shoulders with gentle firmness.

“Yeah…” Your voice was quiet, hoarse from crying.

“Baby,” he moved a hand up to your cheek, heart pounding in hopes that you were ok. “Your eyes are red and puffy…”

“I was crying.” You laughed softly at your admission.

“Why sweetheart,” he brushed a thumb across your cheek, feeling dried tears soaked into your reddening skin.

“Um, well…” you wiped your face with your hand. You could feel the tears building in the cracks of your eyes and the familiar clenching of your throat. Spencer peered down at you with those sickeningly brown eyes, prodding for an answer.

“I’m pregnant…” The words scratched out in a whisper, you could barely hear the words yourself, questioning if you even spoke them. He only looked at you, unease growing in your stomach as you fear the worst. “I took a test and I know that sometimes results can be inconclusive but, my period is weeks late and I just-“

“I love you so much-“ His warm arms pulled himself to you, breaths coming out in choked gasps, hot air on your neck as he grasped your body. For the first time all day, you felt safe. A sigh fell from your lips like a waterfall, the tension releasing from your body in one choked out breath. You could feel your arms crawling up his body like a magnet, against your own will and at the same time exactly what you wanted. Your fingers grabbed at his sweater, pulling at the fabric in earnest attempt to hold him forever.

“I was so scared-I, I love you-“

“I love you too. I love you so much.” Your tears came out in hot puddles, soaking the shoulder of Spencer’s shirt. It was silly to even think that it mattered. His body engulfed you, tearing at the seams that held your fear in place, ripping apart any hesitation.

“I’m-I’m sorry I didn’t plan anything special to tell you, I just, I didn’t want to wait…”

“No, Sweetheart, this is perfect.” He pulled away from you, holding your face in his large hands. “You’re perfect.”

You could have spent an eternity basking in the comfort of his arms. In fact, you weren’t sure if any more words were spoken.The truth was, you hadn’t prepared for this. At the time, you hadn’t even wished it. And yet, in that small, careful, tender moment, you realized that if everything you hadn’t planned for turned out just like this, you would throw caution to the wind, following the tides of your love instead.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Requests are open if you have any ideas!

[lostbo0]

Meant to be Yours…

Summary:

In attempts to catch a crazed stalker intent on having you all to himself, the team sends you and Spencer into the field posing as a loving couple in hopes to draw out the unsub, and perhaps residual feelings as well…

Warnings:

Drinking, canon-typical violence, some minor cursing

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Minor angst with happy ending

~~~

“This unsub presents with OCD-like tendencies; when things don’t align with his idea of how they should be, he feels an overwhelming need to fix it.”

“And as we’ve seen…” Morgan paused to survey the room, “will even resort to violent means to do so.” You fiddled with your fingernail polish in the conference room as the rest of the team ran-down the details of the case, each clack of the clock sending your imagination further spiraling.

“This unsub has taken a particular interest in (y/n) and Spencer’s…” Rossi glanced at you both, eyes darting between you and Spencer in the mere split second that he stalled, “perceived relationship.”

“Previous letters that he has sent to the BAU state that it is ‘unnatural’ and ‘wrongs must be righted’”. You shifted in your seat, hoping that the movement didn’t reflect concern on your end. You didn’t want to send the impression that you could ever be flustered by such a social degenerate with nothing better to do than stalk and nefariously matchmake strangers in the name of order. You didn’t want anyone to know that you were even slightly nervous. But of course you were nervous. There were death threats on your door, a faulty pipe bomb in your bathtub, notes to the BAU that begged the question what psycho was so concerned about your relationship status as he would go so far as to murder other men as a way to relieve the hatred he felt for Spencer Reid supposedly “taking his place”? You had no other choice but to be nervous.

“Additionally.” JJ began, “ Our unsub has found particular interest in (y/n), whom he believes to be soulmates with and will go to extreme lengths to feel connected to.” She clicked at the remote, panning the screen through crime scene photos from earlier, men killed and dumped out in the open, supposedly so you could find them. You shuddered and turned from the images and Spencer took the time to ghost his fingertips over your knuckles, a gentle and common way he has learned to calm you down. You looked at him, yet filled with the impression of observers, you tore your gaze from his equally fixated eyes. Something about the moment felt so intimate, despite seeming so insignificant. He only touched your knuckles, rubbing his middle finger over your index joint, occasionally drifting down your tendon, yet it felt so exposing and wrong you had to pull your hand away. You shot him a quick smile, hoping to mend the disappointment.

"He has yet to appear in plain sight, however,” Morgan shifted his weight, “We are hoping that our plan will draw him out.” He turned his gaze to Hotch, as if to say ‘continue’.

“(y/n) will go out into the field accompanied by Reid.” Your heart leapt when he said it. “They will go to the club that our unsub has been said to frequent, disguised as a couple.” That really made your heart leap. It felt so silly, being more nervous about interacting with your best friend than going into the field with a crazy obsessed murderer, yet the words ‘Ried’ and ‘couple’ in the same sentence made you tense up quite a bit. “We are hoping that this will set him off just enough to make an appearance, giving us the chance to take him into custody.”

For the first time since you sat down at the table, you turned your body to look at Spencer. He was messing with his hands at the table, head down, fully engrossed in thought. You wondered what he was thinking about. You always did. You wondered if you made him feel the same way he made you feel, but you dispelled the thought as Hotch dismissed the team to began preparing for your sting operation.

~~~

The club was dark. You wondered how the unsub would even see you here, however, Rossi assured you that he would come and he would see you on a date with Spencer. Date. You sort of hoped it was real, and not a ploy to catch a killer, but you would take what you could get. You and Spencer were sat at the bar in the middle of the room, practically lit by a spotlight. It was almost too obvious. Spencer turned, knees hitting the counter due to his height.

“Are you nervous?” He internally cursed himself for the question. Of course you were nervous. A serial killer was after you. He just wanted to try and make you feel better in any way he could. You read his concern like a book.

“A little bit, I think so, I’ve never done this before.”

“Have a killer after you?”

“Be on a date.” The admission was slightly embarrassing, even in front of your best friend, but you were 22 and had never been on a date before. Maybe you should have been more adventurous in high school.

“Wait, how?!” Spencer raised his voice in genuine shock.

“What do you mean? No one wanted to date the weird kid in high school.”

“Yeah but, you’re so pretty!” He froze, praying you didn’t see the heat rise in his cheeks. You did.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No its ok! It just caught me off guard that’s all.”

“Say it again,” A muffled voice came across your ear pieces, you picked out that it was Rossi’s. You completely forgot that you were being listened to.

“What?” Spencer quietly responded.

“We have eyes on our unsub. He’s looking at you. We need him to hear you guys, so turn it up a notch.” You looked up at each other simultaneously.

“Got it thank you Rossi.” You touched your ear piece, passing it off as pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I-I mean you are really pretty, I just,” Spencer took this time to take a big sip of his drink at the bar table. You did the same. “It kind of surprised me that’s all.” He swallowed hard and you put your hand to his forearm, exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

“It’s ok, I’m gonna make it easy for you, hm?” You lowered your voice and looked up at him giving him a slight nod. He nodded in response, happy for you to relieve the pressure from him. You proceeded to unbutton your top an extra button, fluffing up your hair as you shrunk the gap between you two.

“W-what are you doing.” He whispered, his voice turning up in the end.

“Making it easy for you!” You looked up at him, doe eyes peering through your lashes as you rubbed his arm, a habit you had adopted years before, yet it never felt so intimate until now. Spencer took the hint as well, smiling gingerly, ghosting a hand atop your exposed waist, almost as if he were afraid of breaking you. He had also done this many times before, however you both felt something not so platonic rising within you.

“I wasn’t lying, when I said you were pretty,” His large hand cupped your waist, fingertips innocently prodding at your waistband. Your hand snaked up to his bicep, feeling your heart rate rise in your pulse. “I meant it.”

“Spence, I-“

“I did!” His eyes widened, his tell that said ‘I mean it’. “I see you every day at work and I think that you’ve just come from some beautiful night out with some guy way cooler than me.” Spencer grabbed a piece of your hair between his free hand, observing it with his fingertips. Following his lead, you pushed a stray piece of hair away from his dark eyes, feeling his gaze deepen.

“I can promise you Doctor, no man has ever taken me out for a ‘beautiful night’”. You could swear you saw relief in his eyes.

“It’s so weird to me. Your soft hair, your contagious laugh, the way that you are so considerate, the way that I can’t take my eyes off of you,” He surveyed your face. “How could someone not see how beautiful you are?” It was your turn to go slack-jawed, unable to pull your eyes off of the words leaving his lips.

“Spence, I,” You pulled your hand to his cheek. “I think you’re pretty too.” This was quiet. The unsub couldn’t hear your voice this low. This was for only Spencer to hear. Quickly and almost against your judgement, your bodies pulled together. It was painfully and at the same time beautifully slow; A speed that said ‘I know what I’m doing and I know what I want’. Your lips barely brushed against each other. Your eyes closed and the world was dark yet suddenly so full of light. He didn’t want to break you, or taint the beautiful innocence he felt on your skin, he thought, you were too good for it. Yet his body pulled him closer into you, lips moving in untroubled unison, a way that spoke volumes in the silence between you. You grabbed his face and pulled him closer, shutting out the world, shutting out the unsub, shutting out the observant breathing in your earpiece. You felt years of unspoken feeling poured into you, as his language began to ignore your setting.

“(y/n), Reid, He’s left the club and he’s angry, you need to pursue him.” Hotch’s voice dug into your ear as you and Spencer ripped yourselves away from each other. A look of regret was exchanged before you quickly exited the club.

~~~

It was much darker outside and your eyes tried their hardest to adjust to the sudden change in light. The dry dirt beneath you was kicked up as you and Spencer ran towards the unsub’s vehicle you were briefed on hours before. You let Spencer advance to the car as you watched the woods that sat just beyond the headlights. A good place for an unsub to hide you thought. Just as Spencer turned to give you the all clear, a swift arm wrapped around your neck and cold metal pressed against your temple.

“Drop the gun!” The unsub yelled and it stung your ears as you flinched. “I said drop the gun!”

“Ok, ok, Im putting it down ok?” You fearfully dropped your gun to the ground, feeling the reality of the situation set it. He kicked the gun away, eyes now moving to a horrified Spencer, gun poised to shoot.

“Put the gun down.” Spencer’s voice dropped into a deep, demanding tone of a person you had never seen before.

“You took her from me!” The unsub’s spit flew as he choked out more and more accusations. “I saw your little show in the club there,” his voice tensed. “I don’t take kindly to people disrespecting me like that.” Spencer cocked his gun, zeroing in on the unsub, waiting for a clear shot.

“She isn’t yours.”

“Reid, (y/n), is everything alright?” Hotch’s concern soaked through your ear piece as the unsub’s grip on your neck tightened.

“She’s mine you bastard!” The unsub shouted his foul cry.

“No she isn’t.” Spencer snapped. “What is her favorite color?”

“I’m sorry?” The unsub was clearly not keen on playing Spencer’s game, and you were equally confused and terrified.

“It’s light purple. Not plum, not eggplant. Light purple. See, you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her like you think you do.”

“I know where she lives you dumbass! I know all I need to know!”

“Please, any low level data miner can find someone’s address, but, you don’t know that she only wears her hair up when it’s over 75 degrees outside, and, every winter, she takes out a 5 year old pink sweater from grad school, because she doesn’t like to spend money on things she doesn’t really need.” You listened to Spencer draw out information you didn’t even recognize about yourself. “She also hates black coffee, hates Splenda even more, and wears socks without lines because they feel too weird.” The unsub’s grip loosened as you felt the gun on your temple falter.

“See, you think you know about (y/n), but the truth is, she will never love you, and the only rings you're going to see are the one’s around your wrist when they put you away.” The unsub paused and, in the split second that he faltered, Spencer snapped his gaze to your own, an unspoken nod, as you kicked the unsub’s shins as hard as you could, falling to the ground as the sound of a gun went off.

Your ears were ringing. You didn’t want to open your eyes or check your body for wounds. You wanted to wait as long as you could before seeing the difference between life and death dripping from your head, and yet, you were there. You were alive.

Spencer flung his gun to the ground throwing himself at your place on the dirt parking lot, trembling hands at your ears trying steady your shaky breath. You yelped as he touched you, pulling you into his arms rocking you back and forth as if to say ‘I’m sorry’, as if to say ‘I should have been more careful’, as if to say ‘I love you’.

“I’m here, It’s over now,” he whispered into your ear, grabbing your hands in his own. “Breathe, it’s ok, breathe,” You inhaled and exhaled on his cue as the team flooded in to handle the rest.

You didn’t know how long you sat there on the ground with Spencer. All you remembered were the soft kisses he planted on your tussled hair, and the warmth his body exuded in the cold autumn air. All he could say was ‘I’m sorry’, and all you could say was ‘Thank you’.

~~~

Spencer walked you back to the ambulance. They checked you out and, seeing no signs of injury, released you to go home. Spencer never left your side. You picked at your thumbs sticking out of the huge emergency blanket the medics gave you.

“I didn’t know you noticed all of that stuff,” You cracked out a quiet sputter of words from your swollen throat. “I barely ever did.”

“I guess it’s the profiler in me,” He stopped for a second. “Or maybe the fact that I just can’t take my eyes off of you.” He looked up at your red face. You could only laugh, a small, understanding breath that broke the tension between you. “I’m serious! It’s like, when you’re in the room I can’t focus, It’s like, like-“

“Like I can’t make myself act normal when you’re around,”

“Exactly,” You didn’t need words to speak what came next. A gentle hand on your cheek pressed icy fingertips into your jaw.

Spencer, you’re freezing! Come here,” You opened up your blanked, beckoning him to sit at your side. He rested his head on your shoulder, taking your hands in his own, slowly turning to place a gentle kiss on your temple. A warm, understanding kiss that said ‘I will never let a gun touch any part of you again, no one will hurt you’. You sat for a moment before Hotch took you away to take a statement. At this time, Rossi strode over to Spencer’s seat on the back of the ambulance.

“Good job out there.” He gave Spencer a knowing glance. “Keep protecting her Reid.” Spencer nodded eagerly.

“Of course sir.”

“Im serious. She was meant to be yours.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! It’s been a fat minute since I’ve posted any writing! I hope you enjoyed it, and if not… I don’t know, that’s just not my problem.

[lostbo0]

realizing that all the characters you’ve ever written were the same people in different fonts is a very humbling experience

[lostbo0]

pre-cast list anxiety goes hard

[lostbo0]

i love using tumblr for what twitter was created for

[lostbo0]

tell me why this big ass bug just no clipped into my windshield

[lostbo0]

if someone asks me what my type is, is it socially acceptable to say “sleeves rolled up to elbows”

[lostbo0]

i’m not exactly how to get a bunch of likes besides posting the most vague text post that can be applied to a variety of characters

[lostbo0]

sometimes when i feel sick, i like to go without medicine and tough it out like my ancestors. the difference is that they had tuberculosis and i have a tummy ache.

[lostbo0]

season 4 part 1: wow eddie is such a fun and neat character. what a quirky guy. funky little scrimblo.

season 4 part 2: well fuck.

[lostbo0]

i apologize for the person i will become if byler does not become canon

[lostbo0]

eddie when he comes out of the upside down

play this song NOW

[lostbo0]

pov: stranger things 5 is starting and we see that in the two day time skip, eddie is alive and kicking it in the upside down.

[lostbo0]

sorry, i can’t hang out. i’m too busy gaslighting myself into believing eddie munson is alive 💅

[lostbo0]

that two day time skip was INTENTIONAL to leave these “deaths” unknown.

and if it wasn’t….

it was shit

(who does fucking time skips anymore this isn’t 12 year old Twilight fanfiction)

[eternaldalmations]

ok so i was pretty upset with how they brushed off eddie's death with dustin being tge only one to even acknowledge it. like i would loved to at least see everyone's reactions to finding out. so i was upset. however. in my hopeful little brain ive determined that the only narrative reason for this is that he isn't really gone. at least, not entirely.

maybe jason calling him a vessel for the devil was foreshadowing.

[lostbo0]

this hit the nail on the head 👍