Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Unrequited love. Will they won't they? (they won't <3). A sprinkle of angst.
WC: 853
Was it his smile that first caught your eye? Was it his mind, his constant need to know more, coupled with his joy to share that knowledge with others? Or was it when you finally realised your feelings for him, that you began noticing the little things; how your heart thundered in your chest whenever his face lit up. It’s not clear when your feelings for him changed, but you can trace how it grew stronger as the years passed. And while you can’t pinpoint the moment that your feelings for him grew, you can pinpoint the moment he, unknowingly, broke it.
First there was Lila Archer. You’d noticed how she’d looked at him, how he looked at her. You were privy to the teasing remarks from Morgan, but you brushed it off, tuning it out, believing that nothing would happen – Spencer would never breach that line with a client after all, right? Then why were they in the pool together? Why were they out of breath? Why did he stay back to personally say goodbye, and oh, he kept her magazine cover.
Then there was Austin, and his charm pulled her in, just like it did to you. And you can't blame any of them – Lila or Austin – for noticing him, for falling for him. He had a way of pulling you into his orbit. If only the force would weaken to ease the pain in your heart. You found yourself wishing you didn’t like him as much.
But there was no need for it, luck seemed to be turning in your favour, and you believed for the first time, that just as you were being pulled into his orbit, that he was being pulled into yours. He began looking at you the way he looked at everyone that came before you.
The lingering looks, hands brushing against each other (he’d pull away apologetically, a shy smile curving on his lips), but as it continued, he’d let the touch linger longer, before pulling away. Then came the soft whispers. He’d lean down, just to ask you normal questions about the case, then it was about a book you talked about days ago, then it was asking if you were free to accompany him home, or to dinner after a tough case. And with every smile, every look, every late night conversation, you were slowly building the nerve to confess.
The day finally came. You’d finally built up the nerve to confess and – he blew you off. You knew he didn't mean to, but he just had to go home that night, his migraines were getting worse. You understood, stumbling over your words, stepping back, letting him walk past you.
Again and again he walked past you. There was always some interruption, his headaches, someone walking in, another case. You thought of sending a text, but there was too much that needed to be said that a text felt impersonal.
But the reasons slowly died away. Spencer was getting better, his migraines did not bother him as much. Then why didn't you confess? Were you too late?
There was someone else.
When a new obstacle breaks down, another emerges, and that emerged in the form of the mystery girl.
His once comforting voice now made you bolt and run, yet nowhere was far enough. The fondness in his voice followed you, reminding you that you weren’t his choice. His smiles, his laugh, his affection weren’t yours to claim. Besides you couldn't run very far, not when he’d find you after his phone calls to share his joy with you. How could you turn him away when he was so happy? When he chose you as his confidante, his closest friend, the person he chose to share his joys and sorrows with. Just not his love.
Why couldn't it be you? You tried helping with his migraines, but Spencer brushed you away, saying he had tried the method before, but thanked you for trying to help. She was the one that helped.
Maybe this was a sign. Maybe you’d lost your chance. Maybe you had cemented your part in his life, and you just had to accept it. You were his friend, you were thankful to be one of his closest.
So when his world comes tumbling down, and he needs a shoulder to cry on, you’re there. You’ve always been there.
He loved her after all, she was the one he chose, the one he wanted, so you stepped away. You accepted your fate, locking your feelings away because you knew if you opened up now, nothing would be the same between the two of you again. You lost your chance – if only you’d built up the nerve sooner. But you could move on from this, it may not be soon, but you could say goodbye to your feelings for Reid, and one day, your pain would lessen, because you finally accepted the truth, your role in his life.
But just for this moment, you held him in your arms, his grief merging with yours, knowing that this is all you’ll ever be.
Jason Todd doesn’t want to spend more time than he needs to at the manor. He’s there solely because Alfred asked for him; the less he saw of everyone else, the better. But, in retrospect, Jason thinks, spending hours in Bruce’s presence would be better than this – better than the supposed gift Alfred gave him.
Piles and piles of letters you’d written him since his death now lay spread out across his bed. Some were borderline incoherent, and even the ones that weren’t rendered on incoherent halfway through, when you’d begin blaming yourself for not being able to help him, to heal him, how your powers failed you that day.
He could tell you’d poured hours into these letters – never believing he’d ever read them. There was not a single letter that was free from having the ink smudged along the pages.
Alfred’s words still haunted him.
“There are recent ones in there as well. Even after they’d left Gotham, every month, without fail they’d arrive. It used to be more, but Dick talked to them. I thought you deserved to see them, they’re addressed to you after all.”
Alfred was wrong. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve the hours of pain, love and remorse you’d probably put into writing these. Not when he believes he’s no longer the boy you once knew. But your words are forever imprinted in his mind.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
He’s sorry too, because right now, he’s too scared, too much of a coward he believes, to confront you. To explain what happened.
So, instead, he will dissect your letters, every single thought you’ve had since his death, everything you were unable to tell him. He will memorise your penmanship, and the words that followed, till he can recall them from memory. You’re an unbending force, calling out to him, to reread your letters, and he will, as he waits for the next ones to arrive.
And maybe, when his feelings build up, and it gets too much, he’ll take the leap and try to find you. He’s not ready to confront you, not yet, but he needs to see you, just once. So, instead, he’ll allow himself small mercies to see you, in his own way. And if that means watching you through your window as you pen your next letter, or tracking your movements during the day, then so be it. One day, he hopes, he can write back to you.
You’re sorry you couldn’t say goodbye, he’s sorry for not giving you the chance to.
- when you go to his shows, the first thing he does when he gets to the mic is say hi to you and wave at you
- endlessly talks about you in his interviews
- has called you while he’s on stage before bc “I’m on a roll tonight, you need to listen”
- if you don’t attend his shows, he buys you a souvenir for each place he plays
- any time he figures out a new chord progression he likes or lyrics that sounds good, you have to be the first person to hear it
- someone hits on you at a show and he just stares at the guy, dumbfounded bc “if you don’t know who that is, you’re a fake fan, get out. i don’t care if you don’t know the lyrics to my music, fake fans are the people who don’t know who that is.” he found the whole situation funny, but brings you backstage for the rest of the show.
- he winks at you for all suggestive lyrics and smiles
- he would wear a skirt during select shows, i don’t make the rules
- oh and he hangs your underwear on the door handle backstage if you’re fucking so no one goes into his dressing room
I just love it when video games let you do really stupid shit that kills you immediately. I love being like "oh this is a terrible idea" and being able to do it and then die. It's good game design.
Ok this is a call for help, hi world. Anyway, if anyone, and I mean anyone is good at making academic posters. specifically on word, please help.
desperate times call for desperate measures and I am picking at straws trying to figure out how to make this poster. I cant even move the pictures around just please! My inbox is open for any and all advice. I'll even take a step-by-step guide as if I'm three.
please.
i'm just a 2 year old pressing random buttons, I cannot.
Well, of course it depends on what you study, but for a lot of science posters, Biorender is really nice and pretty instinctive, it has a lot of designs and is practical
For general posters, Canva is my go-to. It suggests you different base designs, you can share them and do a lot of things.
Both have a free version and a premium version I think.
Ok this is a call for help, hi world. Anyway, if anyone, and I mean anyone is good at making academic posters. specifically on word, please help.
desperate times call for desperate measures and I am picking at straws trying to figure out how to make this poster. I cant even move the pictures around just please! My inbox is open for any and all advice. I'll even take a step-by-step guide as if I'm three.
please.
i'm just a 2 year old pressing random buttons, I cannot.
The Sano family curse: Being Yn and friends with death (im so sorry--)
I love Emma, she truly is the main character, but we can't forget who the original Sano family Yn was. Mr Shinichiro had every delinquent and gang in Tokyo under his thumb, and befriended Wakasa who was there to fight him, all because of his character, and strength. MIkey even said how everyone felt they'd be ok because he was there. He had everyone's respect, Sano.
Me desperately trying to hold onto my love for literature:
Shakespeare had the audacity to include so much swordplay in his plays cough, Romeo and Juliet cough and kill off half the gay characters. He just had to make it a tragedy, as if we didn't already have Hamlet to deal with.
