Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You (Spencer Reid x Female Reader)
The Intern and Spencer think they can hide what they actually are to a team of profilers. Spencer thinks he can hide the fact he loves her from a team of profilers
Warnings: a mention of Maeve...
There were some things in life Spencer knew didn’t necessarily need to be told to the team. That weird encounter he had with that rude, middle-aged woman at the grocery store, the mild financial ruin his obsession with books was putting him in, the fact that whiskey was starting to grow on him.
Oh, and the fact that he was sleeping with the intern Emily had hired a few months ago.
Yeah, that was something he was fully convinced he wouldn’t ever be telling the team.
To be frank, sleeping with Y/n was not something he had ever anticipated when Emily introduced her ninety-three days, three hours, twelve minutes, and six seconds ago.
Not to be specific.
Falling in love with Y/n was not something he had ever anticipated when they first broached the topic of their attraction toward each other all of sixty days, five hours, two minutes, and eight seconds ago.
Um, also, not to be specific.
It had happened rather quickly if Spencer remembers correctly. And he always does.
He remembered the smile she had flashed him from across the bullpen as Emily introduced her by name. He remembered the way her hair fell over her shoulders and the way her sweater draped over her body. He could also never forget the sound of his name on her lips when she hesitantly clarified what she should call him.
“No need for Doctor Reid.” He had smiled at her, “Spencer’s fine.”
She nodded, “Duly noted.”
Part of him would later wonder if that moment was when he had fallen for her, if he really believed in love at first sight. As she laid on his chest, a rare moment where they got to be alone, his mind thought over that first interaction. It was like he had craved for her to say his first name, like they were two people who had known each other for forever. He wanted to know her forever.
She stirred on his sheets, turning over on his bed so her back faced him. He rubbed a hand over her back before sitting up and slipping on the pants she had thrown over the bed a few hours before. His feet padded across the hard, cold floor to his kitchen where he poured himself a glass of water. He could slightly see her from his stance in the kitchen, the door to his bedroom open so he could see the mound of sheets she laid beneath.
He loved having her here, loved having her in his bed. Sexual or not. He wanted intimacy with her, the domesticity. The sight before him gave him that.
And he loved her.
And he should probably tell her.
That was a feat within itself. How could he tell the woman he’d met three months ago that he was in love with her? How could he tell the woman twelve years younger than him that he was in love with her? Was he this kind of man? Who dated women eons younger than him?
Although, that was unfair to her. Yes, she was factually eons younger than him, but intellectually, he had never met someone who challenged him more. Mentally, he never felt like she was younger.
And he was in love with her. And he couldn’t fight it, couldn’t try and talk himself out of it. He just was.
He couldn’t believe he had ever thought he would be satisfied with a no-strings relationship, especially with her. Slowly and gradually, they had crossed over the line of being friends with benefits to a full-fledged couple. And now Spencer was in love with her.
“Spence?” She said softly. He could see her body roll over on his bed, her form sitting up as she looked around.
He walked over to the door, “I’m right here. I was just getting water.”
He tried not to look at her bare chest as the sheets of his bed fell from her, even though he had seen them countless times before.
She looked at him suspiciously, “Why aren’t you asleep? It’s…” She glanced at the clock on his nightstand, “4 AM.”
He chuckled and sat down beside her, “We both know sleep is foreign to me.” He eyed her as she laid back down on him.
“You don’t sleep when you’re stressed about something. You don’t just not sleep.” She pointed out, leaning her head up to catch his eyes.
He tensed, “I’m just worried about work. Lots of paperwork.” He sipped his water and she sat up.
“Spencer Reid.” She said lowly, like she was his mom.
Spencer just rolled his eyes at her playfully, “Y/n, I’m fine. Just go back to sleep.”
She huffed, staring at him for a moment before sagging, “You can talk to me, you know.”
Ah, the familiar warm feeling in his chest.
His hand ran over the back of her head, down her back, and then rested on the small of it, “Sleep, baby. I’m sure we’ll be getting a call soon with a case.”
She drummed her fingers against his chest, “Okay, fine, but…”
She trailed off and he smiled at her, “I will talk to you if I need to. I promise. I know you’re there.”
Seemingly satisfied with his words, she closed her eyes and nuzzled into his neck, “I am.”
He squeezed her hip and kissed her forehead before she was falling back asleep and Spencer was continuing the trainwreck that was his brain.
–
Y/n was bouncing into the roundtable room, holding God knows how many coffees in her small hands. Spencer stood up.
“You need help?” He asked her, trying to mask the softness in his tone.
She halted, motioning her head to the files in her other hand. He gently took them from her and she smiled at him, a sparkle in her eye that made him want to kiss her silly.
Her smile stayed on her face, but the sparkle disappeared when she turned her head to start passing the drinks to the other members of the team.
“Black, no sugar or cream,” She chirped, setting the cup down in front of Rossi, “Splash of cream,” Y/n smiled at Tara, “Two sugars,” JJ, “More cream than sugar” She breathed out as she set the cup in front of Emily.
And then with a sense of finality, she pushed Spencer’s cup across the table to him, “Sugar with a splash of coffee”
Her joke landed, but only with Spencer. A boisterous laugh left his chest, one that wasn’t warranted for such an average joke. The other team members smiled at the comment, but at his reaction, Rossi shot a look at Emily.
The two shared a moment before Penelope was launching into the case description.
Spencer’s throat tightened.
–
Y/n listened to the quick conversation between the team and could barely keep up. Something about aggression, devolving. She understood the main point, but how they were all getting there was unclear.
She bit her lip as Emily instructed her to write it all down, to make sure they could have detailed notes for paperwork later.
She had pride. Lots of it. And Y/n was not close to loosening the reins on that at all. She tried to follow the conversation, but it was like trying to follow Calculus.
She failed that class.
When they dispersed, she shuffled over to Spencer. He was reading through the victim’s journals, trying to see if there was a connection to her and the other women. He must’ve sensed her approaching because he looked up and set the journal down.
She sat beside him and passed her notes over to him, “Can you please help me understand how you guys got here? It was all so fast”
He glanced down at her paper, seeing the scribbles indicating she had been hurriedly trying to follow it all and then the lack of words indicating she had failed in doing so.
He nodded, “Yeah, of course,” He started essentially recounting the entire conversation by memory, much slower this time, and her hand wasn’t aching from trying to get it all down.
Mindlessly, his hand found its way to her back, rubbing lightly in order to soothe her stress. Neither of them noticed, so habitual and normal in its entirety.
It wasn’t until JJ was sitting down before them, eyeing Spencer’s outstretched arm behind her, that he withdrew it.
“Did you get all that?” He coughed, clasping his hands together in his lap.
She nodded quickly, standing up, “Yeah, thank you, Doctor Reid.”
The name came out quickly, trying to sound professional, but it only made it worse. JJ perked up, knowing Y/n hadn’t called him that since that first day.
Her gaze shifted to Spencer as Y/n scurried out of the room and she leaned forward, “Spencer…” She said tantalizingly
He gulped, “Yeah?” His eyes went back to the journals.
JJ chuckled, “You’re not as secret as you think you are.”
Spencer’s head snapped up, “What?”
She grabbed the papers she was looking for and began walking out of the room, sparing him no second glance, “What?”
–
There was a part of Emily that hated the words that were about to come out of her mouth, knowing what she fully knows now. But, then again, there was a case and there was a serial killer and there was a priority to solve it no matter what.
“We need someone to go undercover in the Unsub’s hunting ground.” She said, staring at the board and not daring to look at Spencer.
He looked at her, the distance in her gaze told him everything he needed to know, “Are you- Are you sure?” He murmured, hands wringing together.
She nodded, “Yeah, I am. It’s the only way we can draw him out.” She moved out of the room, Spencer in tow, and reached the rest of the team, “Y/n, we need you to go undercover.”
It was like a punch to Spencer’s gut and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of her.
Her gaze flickered with confusion and then slight fear, “But, I’m an intern? I’m not trained for that yet?”
Emily shook her head, “I can override it because you’re the only one that fits this Unsub’s type. Nonetheless, if you aren’t comfortable, you can deny it.”
Hope rose in Spencer’s throat before it died because he knew Y/n, he knew her well. No matter how afraid, she wanted to show she could be on this team.
“No need. I can do it.” She clipped and he actively saw her push away her uncertainty.
His jaw clenched and his stomach churned and.. Well, he loved her.
–
“Can I do it?” He approached Emily softly, “Can I prep her?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it. “Yes,” She nodded, “You can.”
Spencer turned quickly on his foot, but Emily’s hand reached to grab his arm. “Spencer,” She sighed.
“Yeah?” He asked, antsy on his feet to get to Y/n.
“You know she has to do this. You know I had to order it.” She said definitively, but there was a small part of her that was scared he was annoyed at her for it.
Even so, Spencer cleared his throat, “This doesn’t involve me.”
She chuckled, “Yes, it does. You and I both know it does.”
Her words, ever so soft, struck a chord in his chest and he stopped thinking for a moment, “You…”
“Yes, I know. It’s hard not to.”
He deflated, “Oh.”
“And I’m not mad.” She smiled, “As Unit Chief, I’m annoyed at the amount of paperwork I’m going to do, but I’m not mad. As your friend, I think she’s good for you.”
He smiled, “As your agent, I think sending her out into the field is the right decision. As her…” He nodded his head like she knew what he was trying to say, “I’m so mad at you.”
She patted his arm, “I’ll buy you dinner then.”
He nodded, “If you insist.”
–
Spencer strapped the vest on way too tight and Y/n almost doubled over. “Jesus,” She choked, “It isn’t a corset, Spence.”
He chuckled, “I just want to make sure it’s on snug.”
When he pulled back to give her a once over, his heart ached. His eyes softened and he looked around, no one to be found. He pulled her into him, his arms around her tighter than the vest.
“Please be safe.” He pleaded softly, squeezing her like she was a lifeline.
Her hands ran through his hair softly, “I will be. Don’t worry.”
The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall out and enter her orbit. Still, he hesitated. He couldn’t screw it up, he didn’t want to throw her off.
Sensing his stress, she rubbed a hand over his jaw, “In an hour or two, we’ll be right back here and all of this will be over.”
He huffed, “I know, but…”
I won’t be able to live with myself if you never know.
His mouth opened and it formed the shape to omit the sounds, but it was too late, too slow. Rossi was bursting into the room, making them jump apart, and murmuring about Y/n needing to leave now.
He practically dragged her out of the room, talking to her quickly about what to do if she found herself in a bad situation.
And Spencer stayed there. His feet planted on the ground, hands in his pockets, and words on his tongue, in his teeth.
Right there.
–
“Can I just say…” JJ trailed off as her and Spencer sat in the unmarked van, watching the monitors closely. Spencer hadn’t taken his eyes off the camera on Y/n the entire time.
“Mhm?” He murmured.
“At what point did you two think you could actually keep it all from a group of profilers?” JJ laughed.
Spencer groaned and sat back in his chair, “Well, I thought I was capable of camouflaging it. I am a profiler too.”
This made JJ howl with laughter and Spencer frown. She waved her hand around, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you, but I mean… Come on, Spencer. You’ve never once been good at keeping your cool around that girl.”
Once again, his head snapped to hers, “What do you mean?”
She smiled, “You’ve always had a crush on her.”
He just gaped at her, “No…”
Another eruption of laughter.
Spencer was starting to think he should bring up how she hid Will from the entire team for ages.
“Spencer,” She leveled him with her gaze, “Laughing at all her jokes, going out of your way to make her job easier, staying late when you didn’t have to to help her finish paperwork, and keeping her favorite granola bars in your bag… we all knew.”
He gasped, “you knew about the granola bars?!”
She rubbed a hand over her forehead, “Yes, of course we did. Middle-aged, fat police officers in rural Alabama and Kansas don’t just keep those bars on hand for a quick snack at the station.”
Now, it was his turn to rub a hand over his forehead, “Well, I- She- Yeah, whatever.”
The two went silent for a few moments before she was speaking again, this time a bit gentler.
“Do you love her?”
The words hung in the air like a mean reminder. He should’ve told her.
His eyes glanced back to the monitor, his beautiful girlfriend with a drink in her hand waiting for a serial killer. What a life he found himself leading.
“Yes.” He whispered.
She rubbed a hand on his shoulder, “That’s good. You deserve that. You deserve someone who stays.”
A bile rose in his throat and he coughed. His mind went to Maeve and the tragedy that was her in the midst of all the other tragedies in his life.
Although, his mind also went to Y/n. And apparently everyone knew she wasn’t a tragedy. If anything, she was the marking of an end to the string of tragedies he just could somehow never escape.
–
Rossi set his briefcase down on Spencer’s desk, warranting a jump from Spencer.
“What’s up?” He muttered as he set his pen down. Paperwork was always a hassle after a case closed. When Y/n was left a few hours before, Spencer had almost clawed his eyes out with the need to just ditch all the paperwork and go home to her.
Rossi pulled up a chair, “We need to have a little chat.”
Spencer chuckled, “Okay…”
Rossi cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the desk, “We aren’t going to tiptoe around this. You love Y/n.”
There was a beat and then, “Yes, I do.”
Rossi gave a curt nod, “And you haven’t told her yet.”
Spencer tensed, “How do you know that?”
“I've had a lot of love in my life,” Rossi chuckled, “Lots of marriages and lots of loving women. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the look a woman gives off when she’s waiting for you to say it, wanting to see if you love her the same way she does. I’ve been on the receiving end of it.”
Spencer nodded, too in his head to come up with a response.
“There isn’t much to this conversation other than you need to tell her.” Rossi concluded, sitting back in his chair to gauge Spencer.
He just cleared his throat and shifted, “What if- Uhm, what if she’s not there yet.”
Rossi stared at him, “That’s the only fear?”
Spencer nodded.
Then, a clap of Italian hands and Rossi’s briefcase being snatched before he was standing up and walking away.
Spencer shot up, “Where are you going?”
Rossi chuckled, “What an easy conversation.” He turned around to stare at him, “Get out of your head, kid. Don’t overthink it. Go off the look she gave you when you left bed this morning.”
With that, Rossi turned back around and walked out of the bullpen. Spencer blubbered to himself about how pointless that was until the look she gave him this morning when he got out of bed flashed in his mind.
All sad eyes with hands that reached for him to come back.
Oh.
Oh.
Paperwork could wait.
–
His feet took three stairs at a time as he ran up the stairs to her apartment. The words were so close to launching from his lips and he felt like he was suffocating on them.
When he reached her door, he took a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
A knock.
Feet pattering and her sweet voice, “Be right there!”
A door knob turning and then her smiling face.
“What are you doing here?” She laughed.
Soft hands reached for him, landing on his arms as he let his hands rest on her hips. Soft eyes, soft words, soft hands.
“Spence?” She smiled, cupping his jaw.
His eyes went soft, as they always did for her, and then,
— based on this song <3 even though title is title of another song ;)
where bau!fem!reader, Spencer Reid, and the bau deal with a case very close to home for reader.
word count: 5kish
a/n: i wanted to try to write something with a little more story line!! thus, this was born. it’s mostly angst because i fear that’s my forte, but there’s a little fluff and implied smut, as is my typical route <3 also wanted to mention i’m not from the town in this fic, but i am from the midwest, somewhat close to there! enjoy!!
warnings/tags: 18+ for dark themes and implied intimacy which reader cries after bc this case is a lot, referenced childhood neglect for reader, reader has trauma but she’s working on it, typical canon-level violence and dark content for criminal minds, case fic, season 10ish Spencer, spencer and reader are dating <3, Spencer is absolutely in love with reader (as he should be!), no use of y/n
- ✩ -
Cheery and bright December has molded into a bleary January, and it’s on one such morning that Penelope, dressed in an - almost garish, but who’s Spencer Reid to complain? - orange and yellow dress, to ‘combat the gray’, as she chirps, tells him they have a case. With three teen girls, all already found dead. Wincing, because he never understands why these local police forces wait until there’s multiple people dead when’s it’s clearly serial, he follows Morgan to the briefing room.
When he glances back to see if you’re coming, he finds your desk vacant, chair pushed in and files in a tidy pile, as is your nature. Frowning, he hurries to catch up with Morgan, only to find you already sat, all the color washed from your face, as Hotch discusses something clearly serious with you.
Then again, everything is serious with Hotch.
Before he can sit by you, at least to provide some comfort, Kate finds that chair, and Penelope is starting the presentation, her voice quiet, tight, as it always is when the cases make her a little more on edge.
“We are sending all of you lovely crime fighters to the small, and less lovely, town of Constantine, Michigan.”
Oh. So that’s why Hotch was seemingly deep in conversation with you.
That’s where you’re from.
“Three girls—“
She flicks through the pictures and their names, and you look absolutely sick to your stomach. Spencer fights the urge to walk to your side of the table and take your hand - you just look so scared. Taking a deep breath, Penelope braces herself to just force out the next part.
“—have been found dead just outside of town, dropped along a river that runs right along there.”
Morgan’s brows furrow, as Penelope taps through the images of the crime scenes, clearly thinking.
“This guy is bold. Dropping these girls at night is a precaution, sure, but small town like that, right by those houses, he’d get noticed.”
Rossi nods, while all Spencer can do is look at you and your tense shoulders and the way your jaw is clenched.
“He’s obviously a local. And doesn’t care if these girls get found. Sure, they’re clearly concealed some—“
He glances up at the pictures, of the teen girls wrapped in weeds and river mud,
“But he isn’t taking major precautions. I wonder why.”
Hotch nods, at each of their deductions, before he uncrosses his arms, glancing down at you before he speaks.
“Either way, three girls in 3 weeks, with the cooling off period decreasing, we need to get there soon. Wheels up in 30, no less.”
As the briefing room clears, Spencer’s at your side without pause, his palm resting against the cotton of your turtleneck, against tight muscle.
“Angel, you know you don’t have to work this case.”
You shake your head immediately, although he notices you don’t stand, hands still gripping the table in front of you with enough force to whiten your knuckles.
“I need to. I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Plus, if there’s any way I can be of more help, since I know the area and the roads, it’d almost be wrong not to help, right?”
“Hey, breathe. I know. But Hotch already told you that you should sit this one out, didn’t he? And you told him no.”
One small movement of your head, and you finally meet his eyes. His heart twists - the apprehension in them is clear.
“I told him whatever memories this drudges up for me doesn’t compare to the lives I can potentially save. That makes sense, right?”
The hand moves from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair from your face, thumb soothing down your cheekbone, a cold contrast to the warm flush of your skin.
“It does, angel, it does. But if you feel-overwhelmed, or too anxious, or even just a little off, please, let—“
“I’ll be fine. I can visit my hometown without having a mental health crisis.”
You didn’t mean to snap, cut him off. Sighing, you swallow thickly and look away.
“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that-that I should be able to do this.”
“Should and can are two different things, my girl. You’re not weak, you-you couldn’t be. Trauma has literal physical consequences for the brain, such as making your amygdala hyperactive. Additionally, reduced activity in your prefrontal cortex can lead to—“
Letting him ramble soothes your nerves, just enough, as the two of you head to the jet. The nearly two hours of flight, where the team discusses the crime scenes and the potential profile, doesn’t have you saying much. Once, JJ asks what you think about the murder weapon, a knife, and how it relates to the unsub’s feelings about these girls. Spencer jumps in when you meet the blonde’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights look, claiming you ‘didn’t sleep well last night’ and just ‘need some time to wake up.’
In a plane full of profilers, no one believes this, of course. Rossi and Morgan’s eyes both say, you’re kidding, Reid, while JJ and Kate both sigh in tandem. Flashing Spencer a ‘thank-you-so-much-I-love-you-endlessly’ look, you then open the case file again, heart in your throat.
And your most integral organ doesn’t leave its spot in your throat when you land, and drive down a bit south to your destination, January here even more blech and dull than January in Quantico. As the SUV holding you, Spencer, Morgan, and Kate makes its way down 131, your eyes are glued out the window at the familiar landscape.
Lifeless cornfields, decorated only with gray snow and currently useless irrigation systems. Green-brown grass peeks through certain spots, and for a majority of your drive, the only buildings you pass are houses with a shutter or two missing, dirt coating the sides, shingles missing in sections, blown off by wind. The soft despair and growing hopelessness of this land is not lost on you. It never was.
As Morgan brings the vehicle into town, he grimaces, taking in the small, falling apart homes and once-was businesses.
“This is dismal, huh? I wonder how long until this place is a ghost town.”
Spencer doesn’t miss your soft sigh, or the way your fingers twist around the deep navy edge of your FBI windbreaker. When both SUVs park outside the local police station, he sets his hand on yours, just for a second.
I’m here. I’ve got you, angel girl. I love you.
Heading inside is at thankfully a somewhat new experience, at least at first - you’ve never been inside this police station, not even when you lived here. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are already inside, and what you hoped for - that no one would recognize you on first glance - turns to be a foolish pipe dream.
“Aren’t you Paul’s girl?”
One of the officers asks, his eyes narrowing once they land on you. Suddenly, it seems like every body in this damn tiny precinct is turned your way, and you gulp down your insecurities, trying to stand tall and not turn and dash right back out that door onto salted sidewalks and into winter slush.
“Yeah. I am.”
Quiet confirmation on your part leads to surprise on your teams’ faces - sans Hotch and Spencer, of course - and a mixture of bland dislike and ambivalence amongst the officers in the room.
“Thought so. Look at you, all high and mighty. FBI, huh? I for one, would have never guessed—“
“That’s enough. She’s my agent, on this case, and you are to have no other issues with her. Am I clear?”
You thank any deity that’s listening for Hotch and his firm command, ending that officer’s insults. If he knows your dad, who knows what else he knows, and right now, you don’t want to talk to any of these men, let alone your team, who are bound to have a slew of questions.
“Kate, Morgan, I want you two to head to the morgue. Look at the wounds and see what you can add to our profile. Rossi and I will head over to the crime scene and look around. JJ, Reid, I need you to interview our victim’s families, see what we can learn about these girls.”
As half the team heads to the SUVs, you turn to Hotch, confused.
“Hotch, you didn’t tell me where I’m going.”
The unit chief sighs and glances around before turning back to you.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with. I can send you with Morgan and Kate, if you want?”
You shrug, still feeling people’s stares like sniper’s lasers, and meet Hotch’s eyes.
“Yeah, I could. I-I also thought I should go home. See my parents, I don’t know. They might have seen something valuable.”
Dark brows raise, and his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
“If you go, take Reid. It won’t do any good to go alone.”
As much as that makes you cringe - how little does he think you can handle? - you also know, at the bottom of your heart, that he’s right. That going home after all this time will do nothing but put you right back in that headspace you clawed your way out of not so long ago.
“I’ll go with Kate and Morgan. Thanks Hotch.”
He nods, and you shoot Spencer a quick look of I’m okay before you jog to catch up with your selected teammates for the day. As you climb into the SUV, both of them turn to look at you, questions in their eyes. Biting back a groan, you keep it short.
“I grew up here. Got out first chance I got. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Kate looks sympathetic, and Morgan nods, soft.
“Yeah. I get that. No pressure. If you wanna talk about it ever, I’m all ears.”
Tension eases out of your muscles at Morgan’s words. Your drive to the coroner is next to silent, but as you look over the girls, covered with those white cloths, you let your mind dip into profiling mode; removed, and carefully curious.
“One stab wound, straight to the heart, no defensive wounds. That precision implies that they were unconscious when he did this.”
You muse, as you take in the colorless, innocent face of the girl in front of you.
Did I know her? Or her sister? Brother?
“There’s no marks from being restrained, either, so he had them knocked out before he did anything.”
Maybe I know their parents.
Morgan nods, looking at another one of the victims.
“They all have abrasions on the back of their heads. Enough blunt force trauma, that would knock them out.”
“He must of got what he wanted, and then disposed of them so the secret- died with them.”
Kate adds quietly, and you and Morgan both look unwell, for differing reasons. It’s not quick enough that you can drive back over to town, even though you’re dreading seeing those officers’ faces again.
Thankfully, what you see first when returning is Spencer’s face, and you make a beeline for him, as he stands by the tiny map of the - your - town. Resisting the urge to cry out the last few hours of feelings into his sweater vest, you instead take his hand, subtle, you hope. Concern immediately floods his features, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.
“Hey, you okay? Typically, you’re the one reminding me of HR’s policies regarding interdepartmental relationships and uh, ‘PDA.’”
“Mhm. One stab wound, straight through the heart. Victims knocked unconscious beforehand, which means the unsub can’t subdue them unless they’re out first.”
The hand holding yours climbs to your bicep, fingers smoothing over the crinkly fabric of your windbreaker. He hears your checked-out tone, and knows he’ll help bring you back out of the fog later.
“Makes sense. That lines up with what Hotch and Rossi learned too. Apparently, these girls walk home from school, and this guy, whoever he is, offered them rides home because of the weather. That’s all anyone has seen, but no one has a plate number yet or any good description, just, ‘tan sedan.’”
It’s not him. God, stop it, it isn’t. Lots of people drive those cars.
Nodding, you turn to pull away, go find Hotch, presumably, give the profile, but the fingers latched in your coat tighten.
“Hotch told me that you want to go visit your parents. Is it because of the case, or—?”
“Why did he tell you that?”
Groaning, you turn back to face him, clearly just itching to give this damn profile and go hunt this unsub.
“Because, angel, he knows that you would be better off if I go with you. You know that. Besides, I’ve-well, I’ve never met your parents, and as your boyfriend—“
Spencer’s ears turn the slightest shade of rosy, and you grin, barely,
“-I’d like to. Okay?”
Screw this and his sweet smile and his puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah. After the profile, I’ll go see my parents. And you can come. I guess.”
Before you can hardly think, the seven of you have gathered in front of a small group of cops. Chin held high, you stare just over their heads, and the back of the room, where a dusty clock is hung.
“Our unsub is a 40-50 year old male who lives in the area, and probably has for a while. He manages to secure his victims by offering rides to teen girls, from the high school, back home, to help them avoid walking home in the cold weather.”
Hotch starts, voice calm and sure, and then Spencer chimes in.
“Based on our geographical profile, he definitely lives in the area, and close to the St. Joe river, where he’s dumping the bodies. He has to be able to walk them there, so no one sees his car.”
“That’s why he’s picking smaller girls. So he can lift them and carry them a short distance. Additionally, so there’s less chance of resisting. He might stalk these victims beforehand, but, since this is such a small town, and he’s a local, he might already know what time their parents get off work.”
Derek explains, arms crossed, until Kate adds her piece.
“He could also be using some ruse to take them back to a garage or basement he has. Once he has them subdued, he doesn’t appear do anything else - just stabs them through the heart, ending things quickly.”
“He could be using these victims as substitutes for a girl he holds resentment for. Perhaps he feels like he’s been wronged in the past, and he’s taking out his anger.”
Rossi finishes, as the team nods along. Thank God Hotch said you didn’t have to say anything.
“Based on the acceleration rate of these kills, we guess he’ll attempt another soon. However, please don’t do anything more to make it known that we’re here - it could cause him to panic, and flee. Thank you.”
JJ tells the officers. The entire profile runs through your head on a loop, all consuming - local, 40-50 year old man, tan car, stabbing, dumped by the river, clearly confident, barely contained rage - so much so that you don’t even see Hotch coming over to you, and say your name.
“The rest of the team is going to do some interviews with potential witnesses at the high school, and look at men that fit the profile. I figured you could use this afternoon to visit your parents, with Reid.”
Discomfort pools in your stomach. Teeth catching on your chapped bottom lip, you nod, trying not to sound ungrateful - because you’re not, not really, just anxious as hell.
“Yeah. I-that’s fine. I’ll have Spencer drive us over, or I can walk, or—“
“Take a car. It’s chilly, and I don’t need either of you sick. If they’re not proving helpful to our investigation, you can always leave.”
He’s giving you an out. If you feel like you’re drowning, you and Spencer can swim right out, and Hotch knows that you need it. Nodding again, you tug your jacket tighter and nod.
“Thanks sir. I’ll- thank you. If they don’t have anything to say, we’ll go help somewhere else.”
That’s how you and Spencer end up in a squad car, with him behind the wheel - “I can drive, I can, just let me, okay, beautiful?” - and you let him, because you honestly feel like you could lose your lunch at any moment. Hands twist in your lap, and, it’s mere minutes of quiet until the tires of the car sink into the mud that’s your parents’ driveway.
Spencer almost jumps when you immediately speak, ending the silence.
“I don’t want to do this. I can face serial killers of every variety, but I can’t go in my childhood home.”
You stare out the windshield - the house hasn’t changed. The front still needs a power wash, the siding almost gray instead of white, and that one shutter is still hanging loose, barely there. Dead grass is visible through the browning slush that once was fresh snow. Vaguely, you realize that your parents gave your swingset, which sat rusting and paint peeling for years, to your neighbors. But you don’t live here anymore - and it never really felt like home, anyways.
“This is ridiculous. I need to just go in. I’m being stupid-“
“Stop it.”
Spencer interrupts, quiet, but firm. It stops your self-deprecating spiral, at least. Your eyes stray over to the mailbox, which is nearly fallen over from when those boys bashed it in with a baseball bat. Dad never fixed that. Typical.
“You have every reason to be hesitant, okay? To not want to go in there makes sense. They made your life hell for 18 years, sweet girl. As far as I know, I can’t name anyone who wants to return to hell.”
Something sort of like a smile makes its way onto your face, and you turn to meet his eyes, the coldness in your stomach warming marginally.
“But I should do this. They might know something.”
“They might. I’ll follow you anywhere, angel. You know that.”
Running shaking hands over your face, you nod, trying to collect yourself into coherent sentences.
“Mom’s probably home, but it’s-Spencer, it’s going to be a mess, and she’s not going to be welcome, just so you know in advance, and-“
Spiral slashed through again, this time because of his hand on your arm.
“Baby. Breathe. I’m not going to think any less of you. I know.”
He only calls you that when he’s talking you down from some anxiety-induced hill, coaxing you back to reality.
“I already know what I’m going to see, and I-honestly, if anything, it just gives me more respect for you. Okay?”
So, in you go. The porch creaks when your boots and Spencer’s Converse make contact, and in your mind, when your fingertips brush against the screen door and turn the knob - unlocked, how can you be surprised? - it almost feels like you’re just coming home from school.
You got out. You got out.
That mantra never left your head until almost a year of college. Inside, it’s dim - the kitchen lights are off, and that sick smell of cigarettes - ew, do you smoke? You always smell like it - hits your lungs, and you almost turn right on your toes, until you bump into Spencer. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can breathe again, the ash cleared from your lungs.
“Paul? That you?”
“No, Mom. It’s me.”
Passing through the kitchen, trying not to look at the cracked linoleum or the days old dishes in the sink or the overcrowded countertops, you head into the living room - there she sits, in the patched together red sun faded armchair. Smoke in hand, ratty blue Bears hoodie, graying hair in a frizzy ponytail. She says your name like it’s something that somehow tastes worse than her cigarette.
The conversation you have isn’t pleasant - it never was. After she finishes making you feel as small as you ever have, you manage to give her the profile, as Spencer sits tensely next to you on the couch.
“Nah, I ain’t heard nothing.”
Sighing, you look over at Spencer, too stressed to look at body language, look for tells, to profile her, for goodness sakes. He meets your eyes, warm hazel that only shows you love, and then all that love melts away as he turns to your mother.
“Thanks, for your time, we’ll be leaving-“
Because he knows you’re on the edge of some sort of collapse, and he has his warm hand on the small of your back, when the screen door creaks again, and you freeze as boots stamp across that decades old laminate in the laundry room entry way. Keys jangle and then get hung on a worn hook, and tobacco, freshly smoked, wafts in anew.
They say you never forget the sound of your Dad coming home.
In that moment, something thick and viscous fills your lungs, and your head, and your ears ring. You hear Spencer murmur something to you, probably your name, but it doesn’t process through the molasses in your brain. He comes around the corner, and looks your way.
First comes a blip of surprise, then that lazy smirk that’s imprinted inside your eyelids when you close them for too long. Leaning against the half-wall that divides dining from living room, he looks you over. Suddenly you’re twelve, begging him to help you with algebra, and you’re nine, being called ungrateful when you ask why the heat’s off again, and you’re five, and asking when dinner is, because you just wanted to know. On instinct, you step away, and Spencer’s hand finds the curve of your back once more, grounding and sure.
“Thought I heard you. Hey kid.”
“Hi Dad.”
It’s amazing how one person can make the whole room seem so much darker, the late afternoon winter light duller now as it bleeds in through dusty curtains. When you manage to find your voice again, and tell him why the FBI is here, in this tiny Michigan town, he laughs, shaking his head, sighing.
“Damn Feds think everything is serial. I know it’s just some lowlife on ice. They won’t probably even catch him.”
Spencer makes a face, and opens his mouth, probably to make some point about the intelligence of these crimes, and someone high wouldn’t be able to do this, but you speak first.
“We should go. Help down at the station. Lots of victims’ families to interview.”
Turning to go, you flash your mom a weary smile, and then a tighter one at your dad and turn to leave, but not before cold fingers hold your arm, where your jacket’s pushed up, like a vice.
Remember remember remember remember—
“You go ahead and tell your little buddies to head home, you hear me? Both of you.”
You don’t look up, staring down at the dismally gray rug under your feet.
I slipped on that. Cut my forehead open. Let me go.
“I’ll try. See ya.”
Spencer is tugging you out the door, away from the smell of mold mixed with something distinctly bleach - mom must have been trying to clean it. He watches you, carefully, as you buckle, on autopilot, and he turns the key in the ignition. Dad’s car sits in the mud - tan sedan but they don’t mean that one do they? The SUV remains in park. Decidedly warmer hands smooth over the damp fabric of your windbreaker.
“Can you look at me, angel?”
You stare at the dirt covered siding, the pathetic grass, thumb nail headed for your wind ruined lips. It never makes it there - Spencer intertwines your fingers, hazel eyes full of quiet concern.
“That-that doesn’t define you, you know that, right?”
Shrugging, you squeeze his hand tighter. Need to feel real.
“Their lack of care, their neglect—“
“I wasn’t neglected.”
You snap weakly, even though it’s true; it just feels like such an ugly word.
“We just struggled. And they had to work a lot. And they didn’t want me to be weak. And so what if Mom would buy cigarettes by the carton, instead of milk and eggs? I didn’t want cookies, and all the fancy channels, it was fine, honest, Spence. I didn’t want those things.”
“Sweet girl, that’s- God, but they didn’t give you what you needed. You were a child. You should’ve wanted those things, but were too busy wanting hot food at dinner, and for the water not to get shut off.”
He already knew the horrors you’d crawled out of, and now, having seen your house, and the wood paneled walls, smoke smudged windows and that spot where you can see the drywall, there was no judgement in Spencer’s eyes. Dry anger, at your parents, perhaps, soft empathy for you, for sure, but no judgment.
You’re numb for the rest of the day, brain foggy, and it’s rather early when Hotch has everyone head back to the hotel, a 20 near silent minute drive up to Three Rivers. Protocol be damned, Spencer lets you hold his hand the entire way back, and instead of heading off to separate rooms - ‘HR policy’ - you follow him straight up to his, dumping your bag on the floor and turning to face him, eyes dark and empty as you work at his tie. His hands fly up to yours, stilling them.
“Easy. Hey. You’re practically dissociating, and I uh, I don’t know if I want to do this when you’re so out of it. Not because you aren’t beautiful or because I don’t want to, because—“
He stops, letting out a tiny noise that could almost be constituted as a whimper as your lips find his exposed collarbone.
“I do, I always want you, lovely, but maybe you need to process all these memories and think about this and how it’s effecting you—“
“Stop profiling me, Spence. I don’t want to think. Not about my parents, or this case, or anything. I need you to make me forget about the way those officers looked at me today-“
His shirt falls to the thin carpeted floor of the hotel. Calloused hands tug off your rain splattered coat, discarding that too.
“And the way Kate and Morgan looked at me in the SUV on the way to the morgue-“
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the flimsy quilt of the hotel bed against your back as you stare up at him, sat to your right on the edge of the bed.
“-and the way that you’re looking at me now.”
Several thoughts flash through Spencer’s eyes, and he looks you over carefully - his angel, all wide, pleading eyes and cold flushed cheeks and wind whipped hair. His hand comes to hold your face on one side, thumb easing over the high plane of your cheekbone.
“Please be sure. That’s all I ask, pretty girl.”
Because God, you do look pretty. Pretty feels like a laughable adjective, quite honestly, as you nod, and whisper please and yes again, and his mouth finds yours, and then finds your jawline, and the column of your throat.
Ethereal might be better, he thinks, as he tugs away your sweater and swallows hard, hands smoothing over heated skin to unclasp your bra. Or incandescent, he muses, as your fingers curl in his hair and his fingers trace over your stomach and hips, making you arch into his touch, desperate to forget forget forget.
There’s something so entrancing about the way you meet his eyes, hazy for a different reason than resurfacing trauma, your nails carving half moons into his back, face buried in his shoulder.
Holding you after is not just his procedure, it’s law, how you meld yourself in his lap, his knuckles skimming over your spine, his lips in your hair. When your shoulders shake, once, twice, however, he sighs.
“I know you have a tendency to display post coital dysphoria, angel, but this feels different.”
He hedges, his mouth now pressed against your forehead. The technical term catches you off guard - it’s just so Spencer. Gulping back an outright sob, you nod.
“Yeah, I-this whole case is just- it sucks.”
Eloquent, you may typically strive to be, but in this moment of bliss mixed with wounds reopening, the elegant seems unachievable. Soft lips don’t move from your skin, breaths even and deep to contrast your shallow ones.
“You’re brave. You know that? My brave girl. Hotch told you that this case was one you could’ve sat out, and you came. Why?”
You shrug, even though you know why, deep down.
“Because you care. You know the world gives heaps of hurting and upset, and you just-you just want to stop it all.”
Sleep doesn’t evade you, or Spencer, and when you wake up, it’s another misty sunrise, snow falling and sludge squelching under tires as all the team arrives at the precinct.
“We don’t currently have any missing girls, but with our unsub’s level of rage, we should see one very soon. Today, we should be focused on narrowing down our list of potential unsubs based on what we know in our profile.”
While you nod along to Hotch’s morning briefing, your mind is a million miles away.
Suppressed rage. Tan sedan. 40-50 year old male. What if what if what if—
Someone says your name. Blinking, you look up at Hotch, whose frown lines are more pronounced than normal.
“Do you know something?”
Five more pairs of eyes rush to you, and you swallow, hard.
“Does anyone right now?”
Answering a question with a question.
“I have a feeling. I think that profile describes half the town, at least. Are we going to interview every man in that age range?”
Deflection. Hotch’s eyes narrow.
“If you know something, you need to tell us.”
Spencer watches you, face tight with concern.
A beat. Shaking your head again, you look away.
“No. I don’t. Nothing certain.”
Body language.
Even as the team disperses, some to the high school, some to a couple empty tables in the tiny precinct, you feel Hotch’s eyes watch you, as you pour over names and histories and potential matches for the profile. Still, your mind remains a million miles away - or maybe about two.
After what feels like hours, but is probably minutes, slender fingers land on your shoulder.
“Hey angel. C’mere. Let’s take a walk.”
Dutiful girlfriend that you are, you stand and follow Spencer outside, into the hazy morning. He shuts the door behind you and hesitantly smooths his hands down your arms, his voice quiet.
“I love you, I-I need you to know that. To remember that. But—“
Spencer stops. You don’t look up, eyes fixed on the concrete below.
“I need you to be honest, okay? Do you know, or-or think you know, who this unsub is, or might be?”
Loosely shrugging your shoulders makes him sigh, and he runs his hands carefully up, then down, your arms, tethering you to reality.
“I never want to guilt you, you know that, but if you know something—“
“Then it could prevent more deaths. I know. I know, Spence, I do, I just, if I’m wrong, there’s consequences.”
Frowning, his hands stop their motion on your arms.
“Look at me?”
It’s not a demand, but more like a hopeful ask. You acquiesce, and he grins, a little tightly. Probably because your eyes look dull.
“There’s my girl. Why would there be consequences for you, lovely? You never have to come back here again, if you don’t want to. I’d never make you.”
Heavy sigh. Glancing away, and then back, the lump in your throat grows.
“I feel like I might know this unsub. As more than just a face and a name. As a person. But I don’t know if my past experiences are just tinting my perception of this case, or if it’s a legitimate connection.”
To his credit, Spencer keeps his face blank, but his eyes go darker.
“If you know, you need to tell Hotch. Even if it’s just an inkling. It could even lead to another person we haven’t looked at yet.”
Looking back, the late morning and afternoon fell into a blur. Hotch immediately has Kate, Morgan and Rossi check out the house of the potential unsub you’d named, while you and Spencer examined other potentials, and JJ and Hotch headed to the high school for a bit. All day, you’re quiet, hoping with everything you have that you’re wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t really there. Every interaction merges together into a convoluted mess.
When the team regroups at the station, it’s dark out, and raining icy sleet - curse of the midwest winter - when a call comes to the precinct: a frantic mom of a missing girl, or at least a girl who didn’t return home.
“We need to get out there, Hotch. If she’s been missing since the end of the school day, he could be about done with her.”
Morgan’s voice is tight, and Hotch nods. Blood rushes through your ears, your pulse the only thing you hear, as everyone piles into SUVs, and drives just past the town limits, parking with lights out along in the muddy riverbank.
You see him. And you’ve heard, that your brain, when presented with a truth it cannot accept, will literally deny what it sees. Faintly, you wonder, if this is happening now, as you scramble from the SUV, amidst Morgan’s shouts and Spencer’s hand reaching blindly for your jacket, your gun held tightly. When the headlights flash, and the unsub turns, knife in hand, some nameless, faceless girl in the mud below him, the sleet seems to be inside your head.
“Hey kid.”
The sneer you see is the man you know. Not the barely contained smirk from yesterday, in front of Spencer, or the laugh as he sips coffee with his buddies at that diner in town.
Shaking your head, hair slicked with ice and water, you step into the sludge, back ramrod tight and weapon aimed clear.
“Drop the knife. Drop it. You can’t do any good with it.”
Damn him to hell, he laughs. You try to keep your face devoid of anything, but it’s becoming a challenge. Somewhere far away, you hear Morgan repeat your command, and then Hotch too, behind you. He ignores them. Ice in your veins, on your cheeks, in your heart—
“Go ahead, kiddo. Shoot. You won’t. Dear old Dad, and all that. Bet you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”
Eyes bore into the back of your head.
“Your dad? That was your parents’ house we went to earlier?”
Silver glints in the dim light, and you step forward, hands trembling so bad you probably can’t make a straight shot.
“You left us. High and mighty, thought you were too good to live the life you were born into. Broke my heart, broke your mom’s. Pathetic excuse for a daughter, who can’t even stay and care for her parents.”
Oh God. You feel ill. Knife in the heart, allegory for how he felt (or thought he felt) when you left here and yet- the guilt won’t eat you alive. You’ll starve it out of house and home.
“I deserved so much better than you ever gave.”
You hiss, not sure if the water on your face is fresh or salt laced.
“I was your baby. And you hated me from the moment I breathed your air.”
It happens so fast. He lunges forward, knife up, and you fire on training, on instinct, bullet landing solidly in his leg.
It takes you a full five minutes to feel the rain and mud that’s coating your jeans, and hair, and face, but only seconds to feel Spencer’s arms, one around your middle, clutching the front of your coat, one over your chest, as you gasp.
“I didn’t- he was- he moved, Spence, oh my God, he had that, and I didn’t—“
“Angel, I know. You just did what you needed to.”
It takes you another five minutes to come to the realization that the wretched sobbing you hear is yours. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’d would’ve shot, even if he hadn’t moved toward you.
Two nights later, you’re wrapped in the warmth of bed, the place you decided is the safest place on earth after you began to live with Spencer Reid. Head tucked under his chin, ear over his heart, hand smoothing over the fabric of his shirt.
“Hotch said you could have a week, you know.”
He says softly, fingers dancing up your arm and over your spine, lips against your hair.
“A day is fine.”
“You don’t sound sure. You sound very unsure, actually. I’d rather you be certain before you head back.”
Sighing, you stare down at your legs, curled nearly to your chest.
“It’s our job, Spence. It’s not the first time I’ve shot my weapon at someone.”
“No.”
He allows, and you tilt your head to the side as he presses feather-light kisses to your throat.
“Do you want to, or feel like you have to meet some criteria? That this doesn’t affect you, and that you’re stronger than your past?”
“I am.”
You protest immediately, and he sighs.
“Strong enough not to let it control you, yes, sweet girl, you are. I’m not denying your strength, please, know that.”
Soft hands move your hair off your neck so he can kiss lower, and you shiver.
“But your mind is incredibly talented at allowing repressed memories to show themselves, even when you’ve pushed them down. Actually, studies show that traumatic memories are stored differently than other memories in the brain.”
“Spencer, look, if you wanna tell me about this later, I’m all ears, but-“
“I know. I know. You want to forget. Let me help, please?”
Skin to skin, after, lets you feel his heat and his lips against your forehead, kissing you even in sleep.
A house, white, siding less browned, fills your dreams. The swingset is there, rusty, even now, and the driveway has tire ruts. It must be late winter. Someone calls you, from inside, someone you don’t even know. Maybe you never knew them.
And maybe, you lived there, but it was never home. Home is burying your face in someone’s shoulder as they hug you, whether it be a tight squeeze from Penelope, or a gentle hold from JJ. Home, you think, as you turn, to walk up the road, as the voice gets drowned by wind, is sipping tea with Spencer as he reads to you, when he gathers you in his lap, when he beats you at chess, when you beat him at chess, when he undoes you with touch and tone. When he calls you his angel. The chain of that voice in your ears shatters like powder. It must have been rusted too. Isn’t everything that’s forced to endure through terrible circumstances?
Home is something you’ve crafted, where the lawn is never dead. Where your pulse never climbs in fear before you enter the front door, only in hope, in excitement, or in adoration.
May you never return to that house. In dreams, or otherwise. Home it never was. The yard will die, and wither, and fade, and the house will crumble to the nothing is always was.
Morning sunlight melts any remaining nightmare, and when Spencer smooths his knuckles along your cheek, as you blink awake, you hear the sound of a front door squeaking shut somewhere in your brain.
( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )
★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, oscar piastri x lando' girlfriend!reader (separately)
★ : genre :: fluff + crack
a little explanation as to why i havent been on here and when i may be back -
first and foremost, i cannot thank everybody enough for how welcoming and supportive you all have been when it comes to my journey here on this app. i never anticipated this growth nor this kind of recognition when i transitioned from wattpad to tumblr. i have loved every minute and the ability to craft my writing, something i love so dearly, without fear of judgement. i know i keep coming on here and saying how much i miss all of you, i do, but i also keep failing to let you all know of why im not as active as i used to be.
truthfully, as bittersweet as it is, im just so busy. but also, i feel as though formula one writing is not something that excites me as much as it did before. when im writing for the requests in my inbox or the ideas in my head, i fill in all the characters with what i think you guys would like. that being lando norris, oscar piastri, etc. i miss being able to meet a new character, craft everything in a story from bottom to top.
i feel like my days of being a formula one blog solely are over, unfortunately. i want to expand things, dabble in other genres or other interests of mine.
this is not to say i wont talk about formula one, of course i will. i still love the sport and the rivalries, the emotions and intricacies of it all. but, i love other things too and i want to devote the little time i have to those things.
if youve read till this point, i assume youve been a follower of mine for some time. if not, then im dead wrong lmao. but, if you have been following me for sometime, know that i see every comment and reblog. i see all the kind words and pleas for part two’s.
and i adore all of them. i cherish all of them.
ill stay on here, but i wont be as active… and when i am, i cant guarantee it will be formula one. therefore, ill be changing up my profile in a few days or so (thats a very loose timeframe) that better fits the (anticipated) broad blog i plan to establish.
i’m sorry for disappearing for so long and promising fics that never came but i hope you all stick with me <3
hi hi pookies!! sry for dying, but ive come back to life and i need to start writing again. my school year just started back up again so things have been incredibly chaotic lately but i want to come back and post smth or two every month or so. how are all of you doing?!!
Hello J it’s good to have you back! Could I request Max x Reader, maybe a classic enemies situation with rival rookie driver or something, where tension has been building up for a while and they’re having an argument out one night in a club in a corner and almost get caught by some fans. And since their PR teams have been riding them to chill out with their fighting they quickly hide in a small side room or something….leading to some filthy drunk, messy sex??
thank you nonnie! this ended up taking a different approach tbh i'm sorry... it's more of the aftermath + me experimenting with a new thing aka textfic.
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You don’t have to, but if you like my work and have a few spare bucks, I’d love it if you left me a tip on ko-fi and/or subscribed to my Patreon- which will give you early access to my work and some exclusive content.
As always, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated!
My fics are my own- please do not post them on other platforms without my explicit permission.
I’d like to be the start of your writing for Spence. I’m an absoluteWHORE for your angst and just angst in general 🫣. Can I request a Spencer x fem!reader who also works for the BAU where they have a massive argument like borderline break up and then she gets shot while jn the field and the bullet misses the FBI vest and he’s worried over her and everything and just lots and lots of angst. You can choose the ending😘)
Happy ending!
Children (Spencer Reid x Reader)
Summary: Y/n and Spencer have always been in love, talks of the future always prevalent. But, a fight about what happens when they have a baby sparks ruin for their entire relationship. A bullet sparks ruin for Y/n herself.
Warnings: takes of child abduction, shootings, hospitals, language, ANGSTT
Note: a new installment to my one-off Spencer Reid imagines lol
Y/N POV
Can’t he just shut up and listen to me? This fight is unnecessary, completely based on something so hypothetical. A fight about children, not that if we’ll have any, but what will happen if we do.
“I’m not gonna quit my job, Spencer! How could you even think I would do that? Do you know me at all?” I huffed, staring at him as if everything he was saying didn’t make sense. It didn’t.
His tall form loomed over me like he was trying to intimidate me into conceding. Apparently he truly had no idea who I was. “If you get pregnant, of course I’m gonna ask you to quit this job. You can get another one anywhere else, but the dangers of this job are nothing for a child.”
I rolled my eyes, “Nobody’s saying it isn’t! But, it’s my job and my life and I decide when I leave this position. I decide what I do when I’m pregnant.”
His arms crossed together in front of him and his eyes were smoldering, even though he refused to look at me - I could tell. “Really? So, I have no say in the trajectory of our child’s life?”
I scoffed and withdrew from him, sitting in the corner to gain some sort of space. Thirty minutes ago, we had been going through files and trying to find any connection to this child and its abductor. An unserious comment by Spencer about the mother being absent in her child’s life, leading to his disappearance, had my eyebrow raising. A quick clarification and confirmation that Spencer did, in fact, expect me to leave the BAU the second I found out I was pregnant had me all, but happy. Thirty minutes ago, the future of us seemed there and tangible, now it was messy.
In the middle of a random conference room, I yelled at Spencer and he yelled at me. Truthfully, I was beginning to lose sight of what was even being said, the points I was trying to make, but I refused to back down. Not when my career was at stake.
“I never said that! All I’m saying is that I can handle a baby and a job all at the same time, Spencer. I don’t need you dictating my capabilities.” My cheeks flushed and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan leaning against the wall, listening to our argument. Maybe he could talk some sense into the man that stood before me.
Spencer shook his head then held it in his hands, “God, you’re so stupid. That’s not what I’m say-”
My eyes bulged, “What did you just say? I’m so stupid? Oh, I’m so sorry, Spence, that your girlfriend can’t keep up with your IQ.” I scoffed and let my eyes glaze over to stop the tears, “If you think I can’t fucking keep up with you then why do you even fight with me? Clearly, according to you, your points are beyond me.”
His gaze trained on me, scarily cold, “They are. If they weren’t, you’d be agreeing with me.”
The small insecurity in me, the one that was so heavily aware of all that Spencer was, swallowed me whole. “Well, if I’m such a fucking basket case, why am I the mother of your children in your head?”
I needed him to reassure me. I needed him to drop the distant eyes and come back to me. I needed all of this to be over with and I needed the Spencer I knew to tell me he still saw me as the future of his everything.
But, he shook his head, so confidently, and reaffirmed it all, “Good point. Finally, a decent point made by you in the past thirty-seven minutes.”
The tears welled in my eyes and I couldn’t help the sound of them in my voice, “Perfect! Whatever woman you meet that you love more than me, enough to have your children, I hope she’s willing to put her whole life on hold for you.”
He shrugged, “Thanks.”
His long legs stalked out of the room and I heard Morgan’s voice badgering him the second he entered the hallway.
Me, I let myself sit in the chair behind me for a few moments before wiping the tears away and looking back at the files splayed about the table. There was a child missing. My woes didn’t matter right now.
Spencer couldn’t matter right now.
—
I could feel the tension in the car, Spencer’s thigh right up against mine as Emily eyed us in the rearview mirror. I wasn’t surprised our fight was known to the entire group an hour after we had had it, but it still was numbing to experience the pure pain of his words whilst trying to shove them all down. I couldn’t stomach it, the meaning of what he said. Neither of us had said it, the horrific topic that hadn’t come up in the five years we had been together, but Spencer essentially did with his definitive statement about me not being in his future. I know I led him there. I know people sometimes say things they don’t mean in fights, but he’s Spencer. Usually, he’s composed and thinks before he lets important words go. I don’t know how those sentences could ever leave his mouth without him truly meaning them.
Penelope briefs us on our way to the unsub’s house. His background, disturbing, and his connection to the child, fired teacher at the school the boy goes to, all checked out.
Emily’s finger waves as she scolds all of us, “Do not shoot unless we have the child and there’s probable cause. We want this guy alive.”
There are nods all around the SUV and out of the front window, I can see cop cars lined in the street. Not a single officer makes a noise as they wait for Emily’s call. Her eyes turn to me.
”Y/n, I need you to go in first. Our team will follow behind. You’re the best at negotiating.” I nod and she smiles at me, but Spencer stands in front of me before I can make a move.
”Woah, this guy’s completely unpredictable. It’s way too dangerous for her to go in front.” He questions Emily and my rage bubbles over.
My hand nudges him out of the way, our stares at each other, “I’m not pregnant, so it's fine, right?”
His eyes roll and Morgan laughs under his breath before my steps are bringing me to the door of the old, white house.
The door creaks as I open it and I hear small cries coming from a few rooms down. I look back, the team behind me with their guns drawn. They’re all looking for possible targets about the room, but Spencer stares at me. His eyes bore into mine and I know he’s anxious. I’m still so angry, but the look he gives me, the one I’ve been subjected to over the past years, makes all the second guessing I was doing fade away. Nobody looks at another person that way if they don’t see rings and babies with them. He still waits for a future with me, just like I do him.
Now’s not the time, though. The cries become louder and my head snaps to the direction of them.
Spencer can wait.
Spencer has to wait.
Justin holds a gun to our team, the boy behind him. His hand shakes and I immediately begin gathering what I’m going to say. His sweating face and jittering body tell me he never planned this out correctly. He was never smart enough to pull off a crime such as this and he knows it. He knows jail is destined for him. He’s scared. After the childhood he’s had, he needs to know a life of terror does not await him. If anything, the court will order him to a mental institution. The man’s not dangerous, he’s haunted. We all are a little bit.
”Justin, can you put down the gun for me?” I say, my voice soft and quiet. My hands are up and I take a step toward him.
The gun waves, “Do not come any further.”
Somebody’s gun clicks behind me. I know it’s Spencer.
I nod, “Okay. Can you tell me why you took Oliver?”
Oliver, the poor boy, stands behind Justin with a teary face. From what I can see, he’s not physically harmed and he looks to be the same weight he was before. From an external perspective, Oliver is fine.
Justin cries, “His family wasn’t feeding him. They weren’t taking care of him. He wasn’t loved. He wasn’t nurtured in the way he needs to be.”
I give a reassuring smile, “And you thought you could give that to him?”
Justin nods and I take another step. His gun waves a bit more, but I’m not scared. Men like him never shoot.
“I said to not come closer!” He yells, but I take another step.
My hands go up higher, “I know, but I just need Oliver, Justin. Can you give me Oliver? I promise he’ll be alright. We just need to talk as adults.”
Justin hesitates before pushing Oliver toward Morgan. Morgan’s gun gets put in his holster before he’s ushering the sobbing boy out of the room, consoling him as much as he can. With the boy gone, I know I can be a bit more aggressive.
I take another step.
”Stop!” Justin yells.
”Put down the gun, Justin.” I take another step.
His eyes fly about the room and just as I make the decision to back off, his gun clicks and fires.
It’s almost like I watch the bullet make its way to me. For a split second, the memory and feeling of my vest soothes me, but the blinding pain in my neck pushes me to the floor. I still think I haven’t been hit, but blood on my hands when I retract it from the spot that numbs my entire body makes the adrenaline leave my body.
I’ve been shot in the neck.
Another gun goes off and I watch Justin fall to the floor. There’s a scream and then Spencer’s looming over me, his eyes on mine as his fingers press on the wound. I wince and he apologizes, but I can barely hear it. His mouth is moving, but nothing meets my ears. The tears falling from his face land on my cheek and it all becomes surreal.
I can’t form words, can’t communicate in any way. I’m going to die and Spencer will never know I knew he didn’t mean any of it.
—
THIRD PERSON POV
Spencer’s knee bounces up and down in the dim waiting room of the hospital. Morgan’s hand stays on his shoulder in a silent reminder that he’s there. Blood dries on Spencer’s sleeves, smudging on his face as he continues to rub his red fingers against his skin.
“Do you think I was wrong for asking her to leave her job?” He voices the question that he hasn’t stopped thinking about since they got into their fight.
Morgan sighs, “I think she’s right that it’s her life. Yes, it would be your baby, but she’s capable of making decisions herself. She has been in the multitude of years she spent without you. I get your concern, I really do, but imagine if she was asking you to quit your job.”
He knows he’s right, but it’s hard to stomach. Knowing she’s lying on a table, completely open, knowing there’s a potential she doesn’t come back, knowing he might have no chance to tell her how much he wants forever with her makes him vomit in the trash can next to him.
Morgan grimaces and looks away before Spencer awkwardly puts the bin back down, sorry for the person that has to find it sometime soon.
“I do want a future with her. Not with anyone else.” He whispers, his voice choppy from the tears.
Morgan pats his shoulder, “I know you do, kid. I would never doubt that for a second.”
Again, ever so quietly, “I love her so much.”
Again, a pat on his shoulder, “I know you do. She knows that too.”
Spencer turns in his seat, his face grave, “But, you didn’t see the way she looked at me when I said she was stupid. How stupid am I! She’s one of the smartest people I know! She has never and will never be stupid in my mind. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
Morgan doesn’t say anything, a silent agreement. “You love her. You’ll get to tell her. That’s what matters.”
”How could I walk away from her like that? Leave it like that? All I’ve ever done is love her. Never was I angry at her more than I love her, never was I disappointed in her more than I love her. My entire life is lived because I love her. I’m not ready to lose her yet.” He can barely get the words out, but he does and it’s all the more heartbreaking.
Morgan saw all the blood, Morgan saw the life leaving her skin. But, Morgan also saw the life she was as a person, the brightness she brought to everyone around her. He saw the way she made Spencer feel. Stripping the life from someone like that, someone like Y/n, would take a lot because it was just that big.
—
Y/N POV
The light behind my eyelids is way too bright for my liking. People need to dim the bulbs in a hospital. Jesus Christ, nobody ever likes anything that bright.
The weight around my hand and arm is what forces my eyes open. Brown hair falls around my lap as one hand clutches my own and the other arm slithers up against mine and cradles it.
I let my fingers slip from his grip and fall into the knots of his hair, scratching lightly. It wakes him and in the moment where Spencer resides in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness, he lets his hand find mine in his hair.
“That feels nice.” He murmurs and I smile.
”Spence,” I whisper, “wake up.”
He stays quiet for a moment, I almost think he’s gone back to sleep, but his hands begin to reach for different parts of my body. Clutching my hips, my waist, my arms, my hands in order to gauge the reality of the situation. I giggle and he sighs.
”This isn’t a dream. Please, don’t be a dream.”
I laugh again and squeeze his arm, “It’s not a dream.”
The man rises to his full height, suddenly leaning over me to kiss me quickly. When he pulls back, he begins his nervous rambling.
”I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not stupid. You’re so far from it. I want a future with you. I need a future with you. Of course, I do. I hate doing anything without you. I can’t have you not in my life.” He stares at me, his fingers tangling with mine.
“Spence?”
”Yes?”
”I know.”
He breathes and it sounds like it's the first real breath he’s taken since the last time I saw him.
“I’m so sorry. If you want to stay at the BAU, just take a maternity leave, I support you in that decision. This is your life, you make your own decisions. It would be our baby, I make decisions with you on our baby. I don’t make decisions about your life. I’m sorry.”
I rub his hand.
”I know.”
He lets himself fall back into his chair, clearly relieved. He holds his chin in his hands and stares at me. His brown eyes make me chuckle, “What?”
”Nothing, just happy to enjoy the view once more.” He smiles and I swat my hand at him in the air, rolling my eyes. My grin is ear to ear, though.
A silence passes between us before I’m gesturing to the bandage across my neck, “Do you think this will leave a cool enough scar for me to tell our children?”
Spencer nods, “For sure. Hell, not even our children will find it cool. I will too. The team even.”
My head cocks, “Where is the team anyway?”
He smiles, “They left yesterday. They’ll be here later today. They said they wanted me to be the first person you saw so we could get all the ‘bad blood’ out of the air.”
The laughing that ensues from me pains the hole in my neck so I resort to controlled snickering, “So, the team knows how serious we are about children now?”
Spencer waves his hand at me, “Oh, they knew all about how serious our future was together the second you started at the BAU and I was fawning over you with every step you took.”
Is your name Reese? Because when i was looking at your new theme i saw it and I didn't expect that (I have no clue why or what I thought your name was) but it's so pretty
yes, my name is reese ☺️ lmao i always just went by my username until i was put in the gc with some other writers on tumblr f1 and then i told them my name which made me get more comfortable putting it on here 💗
i also love sm that i did a name reveal and just didnt say anything bc i wanted to see how long it took for someone to realize 😭😭😭
i realized yall have absolutely no clue who i am (which has been deliberate in the past) but i want to get to know everyone better and am thinking of doing a “get to know me” thing for my 5k followers special (its coming super soon im so grateful) where you guys can send in requests asking things you want to know abt me so we can bond better!
