utter chaos

here to love spencer reid

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Authors Seeking Requests

Hey everyone! I’ve compiled a list of “smaller” writers that are currently seeking requests for Criminal Minds. While making this list I received another 5 requests - before you send any more to me, please consider looking through the following blogs and sending the request to one of them instead! The links provide an example of their writing. The notes were provided by the authors and are not necessarily exhaustive. Authors have the right to refuse any request for any reason.

DO NOT SEND DUPLICATE REQUESTS TO MULTIPLE AUTHORS.

If you want to give another writer a request you previously sent me, please let both of us know and I’ll gladly hand over the torch (I might still write it, too!) 

Thanks everyone. Happy requesting/writing!

NSFW Authors:

@andiebeaword​ (A Chance Encounter of the Reid Kind and Hear Me): Nothing resembling non-con, hard choking, watersports, or Blood-related incest.

@clean-bands-dirty-stories​ (Don’t Do That Again): Male, female, or nonbinary reader requests welcome! No dark fics please.

@creepingfromthecorners​ (Profiled Into Bed): No Real Person Fics.

@feminismercury​ (Mornings with Aaron): Writes for Spencer, Hotch, and Emily. No Real Person Fics, no BDSM.

@httpnxtt​ (Ghost of You): Writes for Spencer & MGG Characters. Nothing resembling non-con or incest.

@gretaamyk​ (Storytime and Roses in Bloom): Will write for Spencer, MGG, and MGG characters.

@mollygetssherlockcoffee​ (Touch Me): Will accept Spencer, Hotch, Prentiss, and Derek.

@natthebattygeologist​ (The Touch of Your Love): Message this writer to work out details!

@ongoingcrisismsc​ (Truly, Madly, Deeply): No butt stuff.

@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff​ (The Sight of You and Get a Hairband or Get a Haircut): Writes Male, Gender Neutral, or Nonbinary readers. Only writing for Hotch and Spencer at the moment.

@safertokiss​ (Don’t Call Me Doctor): Writes for Spencer & MGG Characters.

@writing-in-april​ (Solaris): Writes for Spencer & MGG. Nothing resembling non-con. 

@zhuzhubii​ (You Hate Your Soulmate and Fatherly): Please see the Author’s Requesting Guidelines here.

SFW Authors:

@beautiful-writings​ (Heat of the Moment): Writes for Spencer. No Real Person Fics. Doesn’t like to write about very dark/insensitive topics without personal experience.

@blushingreid​ (Eye Love You): Only writes for Spencer - namely fluff, will accept angst.

@daydreamingatnight209​ (Would You? and I Will Love You, Forever and Always): Accepts Female and Gender Neutral Reader requests

@doctor-reid​ (Secretly Married Series): Mainly Spencer but will accept others! Also writes blurbs!

@dunshirereid​ (Halloween Party): Author said most SFW things are okay! 

@emberfrostlovesloki​ (Comic Con): Author said most SFW things are okay! 

@fjordswallowsswords​ (Every Little Thing They Do Is Magic) : Fjord will not write about sensitive topics (abuse, self-harm, suicide, eating disorders etc). Kylan might write sensitive topics, but with Trigger Warnings and without great detail.

@gracie-jo15​ (Self Care and Bon Appetite): Author said most SFW things are fair game!

@lightbeyondeden​ (Folklore): Will write for any of the team!

@omgbigfluff​ (Twice in a Lifetime and Sealed with a Kiss): Author said most SFW things are okay!

@thatgeekwhotalks​ (Nameless, Faceless): Will write Spencer/Reader or Spencer Gen Fics (no pairing)!

@that-sarcastic-writer​ (Overprotective): Writes for Spencer or MGG.

@wave0fg00dvibes​ (Sparks): Writes for Spencer!

New Authors:

@ssa-babygirl​: Also writes other characters & blurbs! Willing to write NSFW!

* If you would like to be removed from/added to this list, please let me know and I will try to keep this version updated. It will be pinned on my page for a little while.

[reidwithagun]

Guys! Head over to these writers' accounts and send them your requests! Each of them is very talented and will be happy to write them for you.

My one word of caution, which should go without saying, but apparently is still a problem: Don't send mass requests, i.e., don't send the same request to a bunch of different writers at the same time! That's not cool, and they will notice.

Besides that, have fun!

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

I just got a heads up that someone is posting my work on Wattpad.

I do not post on Wattpad - my only approved accounts are Archive of Our Own (imagining_in_the_margins) and here.

Posting my work elsewhere is a huge “fuck you” to me. It is disrespectful and honestly makes me never want to publish anything ever again.

Anyway, now I have to go make a damn Wattpad account to try and contact this person and ask them to take it down. If you see this before I manage to do that, please do the kind and respectful thing and remove my work. It doesn’t matter if you admit it doesn’t belong to you - you shouldn’t have done it, and especially not without permission. You didn’t even put any way to link back to my source material. H2M is 160,000 words. I wrote each of them myself over the course of months. Posting that elsewhere is stealing that time and effort I put in to make it available for everyone.

Good morning to me, I guess ☹️

[reidwithagun]

Plagiarism is not okay!!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Fragile (Reid Request)

Request: I haven’t really seen many requests or written pieces of Spencer with a female reader who has a physical disability mild or not. It would be something I could relate to as I have mild cerebral palsy. Thank you 💕 A/N:  Hey again everyone! I hope this fluff makes up for the angst from yesterday! Again, per usual, No Part 2s will be written. Thank you for your patience and support in my mini-absence! I love you all! Couple: (Gender Neutral)Reader/Spencer Reid Category: Fluff (PG) Content Warning: None! Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

——————

I’m a very proud person. I like to do things for myself, and for the most part, I’m perfectly capable. Even when things are difficult, my problem-solving skills have gotten me far in life. So when I say that my plan to carry my cup of coffee and donut to my desk was foolproof, I need everyone to know that it would have worked.

However, that being said, I acknowledge that it did not look all that foolproof as I was hobbling along with one and a half elbow crutches, a cup of practically boiling coffee in my hand, and a donut shoved in my mouth. Still, I could avoid most of the judgmental stares from the coworkers who already knew better than to ask me if I needed help.

All but one.

“Hey.”

If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have mumbled a muffled greeting through the pastry and continued on my way. But it was just too hard to resist the temptation to talk to Dr. Spencer Reid. I’d only worked here for a few months, and I’d rarely gotten the chance to talk to him beyond quick questions on the phone and conference room meetings.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either. I had gone to every single event that the team had gone to; it was Spencer that didn’t go. At first, he had said it was because he wanted to spend the little free time he had with his girlfriend (one of the most significant bummers of my admittedly relatively short existence), but after a few weeks, I found out that they’d broken up.

And, being the kind and understanding soul that I am, I’d decided it was best to give him some space before I made my move. After all, it would suck to be a rebound for your coworker. I insisted to myself that was the only reason, but I knew I was also a filthy, stupid liar.

Because as I stumbled against the empty desk behind me, dropping the crutch I had tucked under my arm onto the floor and practically spilling the coffee along with it, I still tried to look like I wasn’t a goddamn disaster.

Pulling the donut from my mouth and not even trying to wipe away the powdered sugar that covered my cheeks, I smoothly replied, “Hey, yourself.”

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

This is the dash of cuteness you need in your life right now. Just read it.

[reidwithagun]

Friendly Reminder

Fanfic writers put time and effort into their work. It doesn't simply manifest itself.

Fanfic writers do not owe you updates.

Fanfic writers do not owe you responses to constant badgering about when they're going to update.

Fanfic writers are real people.

Fanfic writers have lives.

Fanfic writers write for free. Hence they have no obligation to keep writing.

When you constantly annoy people about updates, they're more likely to NOT want to write.

Why not engage them in a fun discussion about their work instead? This is exponentially preferable because it lets them know you don't think they're robots that exist for your entertainment.

God, just be respectful, dudes.

[reidwithagun]

Happy Be a Dork Day/ Approximate-Anniversary to Spencer Reid and the Reader from It's Too Cliche by @imagining-in-the-margins. Be happy and love each other, you angsty beans.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

S5 Spencer Reid Appreciation

So, I have a bone to pick with this fandom. The other day I saw someone complaining about seeing Spencer with mobility aids. First of all, this is absolutely abhorrent on its own because we all know that he only had mobility aids because Matthew needed them, but that’s not even the only reason I’m angry.

As many of you know, I’m a cr*pple (that word is only for physically disabled people, please). I use a cane and occasionally a wheelchair. And let me tell you - Seeing Matthew Gray Gubler openly using a mobility aid was life changing for me as a teenager. At the time of the injury, he believed that he would be using them forever and CBS kept him in the show, and acted like nothing was different at all.

Do you guys understand how big of a deal that is? Normally when actors are injured, they are almost never shown, or only shown in situations where it’s not obvious. They could have done this with Spencer, but they didn’t. Instead, they showed him disabled and no one acted like anything was weird about it.

THEY HAD AN FBI AGENT WITH A PHYSICAL DISABILITY AND IT WASN’T A JOKE. They showed him doing normal things! Like participating in crime scene investigations! They showed him sitting on elevated spaces so he could be the same eye level as his team!

At Haley’s funeral, he walked with them since he couldn’t carry the casket!

They showed him being normal compassionate Spencer! Independent Spencer!

People still shook his hand! (I think they forgot he doesn’t do that, lmao)

They made sure he always had a chair!

Criminal Minds gave me the chance to see someone like me on screen and he wasn’t a joke, he wasn’t ignored, and he wasn’t shunned into a corner for the season. So if you see this and you think it’s annoying or (gag) ugly, then you can go ahead and escort yourself the fuck off my blog. And while you’re at it, I want you to consider why it bothered you so much to see your favorite actor with a disability.

Disabled people are constantly desexualized & dehumanized. We’re treated like we’re invisible or a burden to everyone around us. Criminal Minds didn’t let either of those things happen. If you didn’t like Matthew because of a mobility aid, then you don’t like Matthew. You view him as an object for your aesthetic viewing pleasure instead of the living, breathing person he is and that is NOT OKAY.

Anyway. That’s my rant. S5 Spencer rules and that’s that.

[reidwithagun]

CM has many flaws but this is one thing it got exactly right. READ THIS!! I won't add more 'cause I couldn't have said it better.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

It’s Too Cliché (Reid Request)

Request(s):

reid x reader with the song “i won’t say i’m in love” from Hercules where the reader falls in love with reid and she talks abt it with the girls and they try to push her to tell him? then they get together in the end? (+ maybe the reader has had bad luck with her past relationships )

That scene in horse girl where his gold necklace is literally in the girl’s face? Can you please write an imagine about fem!reader telling Spencer how that turns her on?

spencer and the reader are long time best friends and after a night of drinking they hookup. Then they decide it will be best if they become FWB, since they can’t lose each other, but a relationship wouldn’t work

spencer x fem!reader where they are strictly friends with benefits (probably because of their career) but one of them catches feelings? lotta angst but fluff in the end?

what if the reader has a bf who doesn’t like spencer but at night she goes to spencer and he’s all like “tell me u need it” & “say that i’m better than him” in a very possessive way you know!

A/N: This is officially my most efficient work in clearing out requests 😂 I hope that it was worth it to all five of you! I personally love this work, so I hope you do, too! 
This is pretty closely based on a number of true events in my life, so it means a lot to me. Please enjoy my suffering 😂 As usual, no Part 2s will be written. Finally, big shoutout to my beta @thatgeekwhotalks​ for editing this despite being sick and overworked. She is the best and we should all love her unconditionally (I know I do!) Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst & Smut! (NSFW) Content Warning: Alcohol, Implied non-con, domestic abuse, drunken smut (both implied non-con & w/ blanket consent), fighting, jealousy, break ups, cheating (kiss), penetrative sex, fingering, unprotected sex/creampie Word Count: 14K

MASTERLIST

——————  

It had started just like this.

It was about a year ago when Spencer and I both made the stupid decision to drink at one of Rossi’s infamous dinner parties despite neither of us ever being able to handle alcohol.

I say it was stupid, but I never once regretted it.

This time, though, something felt different. When I was at the bar, trying to drink away something I don’t even remember now, I was so sure I wanted to go home with him. But now that he was here, his hands raking down my back and his breath smelling of beer instead of whiskey, I realized what was wrong.

He wasn’t Spencer.

Don’t be mistaken – I’d known he wasn’t Spencer when I saw him at the bar. Of course I recognized my ex-boyfriend and could distinguish him from my current… was fuckbuddy too crude a word to describe Spencer?

Fuck, Spencer. That’s why this felt different; it felt wrong. Because my ex’s hands didn’t feel like his, and his lips didn’t kiss me like Spencer would. It hit me then, that these were the exact reasons why I was at the bar in the first place. It was Spencer I was trying to drink away, and it didn’t fucking work.

We’d agreed at the beginning that we wouldn’t be anything more than friends who slept together, but at some point over the past year I’d realized that “friends who sleep together” is actually pretty close to dating. In fact, it’s kind of exactly how I would describe dating.

It wasn’t until July 15th came, and we had both gotten each other a gift for a stupid ass holiday that Spencer had told me about, that I’d realized how completely and utterly fucked I was. It was bad enough that I got him something for National “Be a Dork Day,” but the fact he knew to get me one back…

I was still wearing the ring he bought me, even while another man’s hand was sliding up my shirt. I could still feel the care with which he’d slipped it on my finger while we lay in bed, like an unspoken promise. The thought made my stomach turn, and I knew immediately that it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Hey, can we slow down?” I slurred, clumsily pushing myself away from the man currently holding me down against his lap. “I don’t feel so hot.”

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

This is unquestionably brilliant and you are missing out if you don't read it. Beautifully angsty, hits all the right spots and makes you feel more deeply than any fic has a right to. God, I love this writer.

[reidwithagun]

Spencer Reid Rec List

Update: This list now includes a few works related to MGG’s other roles, and some MGG fic too.

There’s quite a bit of subpar content out there, and Spencer Reid deserves nothing but the best. So, without further ado, here is a compilation of some of the best Spencer Reid imagines out there. Will be updated eventually.

Update: Previously untaggable writers have been tagged. Tumblr conquered.

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

Time for my incredibly regular update!  Here you go, friends. I have found even more fanfic for your reading pleasure. Scroll all the way to the bottom for the new additions! This time we even have some Chip Taylor fic and-- wait for it-- Franklin fic. Yup. I stand by it. Fight me. 

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Saltwater (Chip Fic)

Summary: You take a liking to the community landscaper and decide its high time to act out the pool boy fantasy you’ve always dreamed of with Chip Taylor.

A/N: Huzzah! It’s done! I finally finished my first of hopefully at least two Chip fics! I just love my sweet soft boy. I hope everyone still enjoys it even though he’s not Spencer. Let me know if y’all are interested in more! Also… sorry for the length, but not really. I didn’t tag anyone since it’s not a Spencer work, but. Here ya go. Couple: Chip Taylor/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, Oral (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex/creampie Word Count: 10.5k

MASTERLIST

——————

The Summer was in full swing. The sun beat down on the freakishly green, perfectly manicured lawns of my parents’ wealthy subdivision. It’d been years since I lived here in any permanent kind of way, but lately my visits had been more frequent and for longer periods of time.

I told my parents it was because I missed them, and for some reason they believed that excuse, even though half the time I came when they weren’t even around.

Don’t get me wrong — I did miss a lot about living under the auspices of their money and power. But at the same time, I wanted to start my own life; a life that wasn’t so superficial, so fake, so… boring.

They’d call it teenage rebellion despite my being well into my mid-twenties. They’d call it brainwashing from the liberal higher education system, and I’d ignore the fact that the theory made no sense.

It didn’t matter why I sought after things that were clearly no good for me because I wanted it. I wanted the simplicity and unbridled joy of freedom and fun. I didn’t want manners and the modern arranged marriage. I wanted a man who didn’t know (or care, for that matter) which side of the plate forks should go on.

A man who did things for no discernible reason. One who did things because he wanted to and because they wouldn’t hurt anyone. I wanted a friend and a partner in life, not in business.

Someone sort of like Chip Taylor.

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

If this writer started a cult and spewed propaganda at me with half as much eloquence as she infuses her writing with, I'd find myself barefoot in the woods with selective amnesia and a brand on my neck.

So anyway, she wrote a 68 Kill fanfic with Chip Taylor being stupid and sweet. Read this if you want fuzzy feels and hot sex.

[erin-bo-berin]

imagine spencer having to fake his death like emily did, but you were in love with him and it really fucked you up because you thought he was really gone, and you had never gotten around to telling him 🥺 but then he comes back months later 🥺

O U C H. My heart.

I wrote a fic like that once although the reader was dating Spencer and he had to fake his death because of Cat.

[reidwithagun]

Also, the Phoenix series by @imagining-in-the-margins is this exact plot! Check it out. It'll be worth your while.

[titularkilljoy]

nameless, faceless.

Summary: These days, he starts to think he might not be Tobias, but he’s not much of a Spencer either. Gen-fic following a newly exonerated Spencer Reid. 

Content Warnings: Drug use, angst, slight references to gun violence and physical abuse.

Thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who listened to me rant about this messy fic for weeks on end, and for being the first to read it. 

Spencer Reid is an excellent shot. A perfect shot. He can take apart and put together his service weapon with his eyes closed. He’s tried, and succeeded. Thrice, because once might be a fluke, twice might be a freak coincidence, but the third success counts as scientific proof.

Years ago, Aaron Hotchner tried, unsuccessfully, to help him pass his firearms qualification. Adrenaline was his friend that day. He could have succumbed to the agony of the cobweb-covered boxes in his head creaking open, bit by bit, every time Hotch’s foot knocked the air out of his lungs; or, he could have used his brain and his training and finally done something that would prove people wrong about him. He chose the latter.

One shot, right through Philip Dowd’s skull. In the solemn aftermath of his first kill, Hotch was proud of him. He was proud of himself. That night he went home and allowed the pain in his ribs take control. It felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really deserve to wield the weapon. Once was a fluke. Which is why he kept going back to the shooting range every chance he got, until he finally felt a little less like a child, however prodigious, playing dress-up in an FBI vest.

Hotch would be proud of him if he saw the perfect score. But he hasn’t spoken to Hotch in years. The number in his phone has long since gone inactive, and no matter how bad he is at reading social cues, he can hear Hotch’s unspoken request for a clean break loud and clear. He deletes the number.

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

Angsty gen fic.

[reidwithagun]

[modernlifehistorian]

i’m only going to say it one more time:

stop.

writing.

fanficiton.

in.

first.

person.

[reidwithagun]

And I’M only going to say it one more time:

This pisses me off so much. Fanfiction exists for people to have fun and write and create and just have a safe space away from the boring elitists that keep screaming “FANFICTION ISN’T REAL LITERATURE.” Fandom is supposed to be a judgement-free zone. Now, I realise that there’s a lot of internal conflict about ships and whatnot. But seriously, this is the hill you want to die on? POV? You realise there are countless traditionally published works which are in the first person, correct? Why not attack them? Aren’t they the ones that get more circulation? Why do you want to pick on fanfic writers? But okay. Let’s talk about first person for a second. 

There are many, many brilliant works across fandoms written in first person. Works brimming with heart and dedication that I feel privileged to be able to read for free. I don’t understand what’s there to hate about well-written fiction? If it bothers you that much you could, I dunno, find and replace? Or are you talking about the less well-written fic out there? Because I assure you, there’s plenty of that in second and third person too, if not more. 

I just don’t understand what makes you want to rag on sincere, talented and passionate writing. I don’t think you realise how discouraging this could sound to someone who does write in first person and is just starting out. Now, personally, I don’t write fanfic - because I’m simply not talented enough. So then, as a shameless consumer of an alarming amount of fanfiction, I’m just gonna tell you that this post was unnecessary and hurtful to a lot of very talented people, and I think you wrote it with the sole purpose of being polarising. But hey, I can’t stop you from posting stuff I guess. So maybe you should think about not trying to stop other people from doing the same. (Also, you have a typo in your post.)

In conclusion: Stop being a basic hater. If you don’t like something, you have the very simple, effortless option NOT to read it. It’s that easy, dude. 

[reidwithagun]

Spencer Reid Rec List

There's quite a bit of subpar content out there, and Spencer Reid deserves nothing but the best. So, without further ado, here is a compilation of some of the best Spencer Reid imagines out there. Will be updated eventually.

Update: Previously untaggable writers have been tagged. Tumblr conquered.

Here To Misbehave (and everything else) by @imagining-in-the-margins .

This behemoth of a fic is extremely hot, extremely emotionally engaging, and you will care about these characters a lot more than you probably should.

This writer is probably the most prolific in the fandom, and her works have some of the best characterisation of Spencer I've seen, while still fulfilling all of our filthy needs. She rewrote the Emily-Doyle arc with Spencer, in Phoenix (so much angst). Seriously. Whatever you want from this fandom, you can find in her ever growing MASTERLIST.

The Years and the Trick series by @something-fanfiction-ie

This writer has such a descriptive writing style and her works are always a pleasure.

The Years is a beautiful and smutty fic about a reader who joins the BAU years after confessing to a schoolgirl crush on guest speaker Reid.

The Trick series is about a fledgeling relationship between Spencer and Reader who is a crime novelist. Things get messy when she becomes the prime suspect in the BAU's newest case.

You might have to wait a while for updates, but I promise you. She is worth it. Besides these, check out her MASTERLIST.

Enemies Closer by @erin-bo-berin

A super hot enemies-to-lovers fic. She's also got tons of other stuff, but you don't need me to tell you that.

Read Between The Lines by @dontkissthewriter

This is an absolutely beautiful piece, with major Pride and Prejudice vibes. I won't say much more than that there's a lot of pining, and a love letter that was never meant to be read. This will make you smile.

Happy Birthday, Genius by @pastanest

Tooth-rottingly sweet. You get a Reader (very relatably) crushing on Spencer while working as an assistant at the BAU. Of course, if you haven't heard of this writer, you must be very new to this fandom, and must rectify this at once! Her very large MASTERLIST is worth a dedicated read.

Around Your Neck by @moonlit-martyr

It's Post-prison Spencer Reid smut. The infamous chain is involved. What else needs to be said? Absolutely filthy in the best way. Check out the rest of her work too, she's very very good.

Emergency by @eideticmemory

This will fulfill your "secret relationship with Spencer gets outed to the team when he's hurt" craving. This is just *one* of her several wonderful works, and a few of them are Matthew Gray Gubler imagines, notably the Ever Since New York series.

Valkyrie by @illegalcerebral

This is the best Corrupted!Spencer fic I've read to date. She also has several other well written series, including one about reader pining for Spencer during the Maeve arc- All These Scattered Dreams.

Oneshots by @andiebeaword

She does Spencer x Reader and Spencer with an extensive list of interesting original characters. She has lots of multi-parters too, and you should definitely check them out!

Nightclub Madness by @hyperfixations-galore

The self-proclaimed Dumbass!Reader fic. You'll read this and just "be vibing." A very talented writer, with a lot of other great fics, and she takes requests!

Character Work by @gretaamyk

Okay so this one is Matthew Gray Gubler. But it's just so damn good. I couldn't not mention it, okay? Plus, literally everything else on her list! Check her out.

Update 06-04-2020:

Reid to Me by @prettyricky187

Get your healthy dose of some steamy Sub! Spencer. Worth it.

unexpected by @blushingspencer

This series has more intrigue and mystery than most fics, and I'm excited to see what's yet to come!

Different Dialects by @imagining-in-the-margins

A beautiful, heartwarming autistic!Reader fic which features ample mutual pining, and is so vivid you can practically hear their racing hearts. Quickly becoming one of my favourites with every reread. And it seems this author is simply incapable of disappointing us.

[reidwithagun]

Some great new additions at the bottom of the list!

[prettyricky187]

Devil Incarnate

Request: No- I was just feeling some type of way

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on Reid To Me? It is very much appreciated. I hope you like this one as well. Requests are open.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader  Category: Smut, just straight smut Content Warnings: public sex, oral (male receiving), porn without plot Word Count: 2.2K

————

I swear I was in love with the devil incarnate. She got her entertainment from teasing me and making me flustered at the most inopportune moments. Even now, as we waited for our takeaway to be ready, she was standing in front of me, scrolling on her phone while casually circling her hips against my steadily growing erection.

“Stop moving.” I grunted quietly.

“Why? Is it bothering you?” She grinned up at me. I looked at her with a look that she knew all too well. It was the look that said I knew what she was up to, but refused to partake. She always took it as a challenge.

“Stop,” was all I said but it was only met with a giggle as my name was called.

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

Hot!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Different Dialects (Reid Request)

Request: Hey can I get a really fluffy one shot where Spencer keeps trying to confess his feelings to the reader but it just keeps going wrong like he gets interrupted or she doesn’t understand or something? No smut required unless you wanna write it, I need that sweet fluffy rush
 A/N: I’ve wanted to write Autistic Reader for so long and I’m so excited to finally have an excuse! I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This fic was very self-indulgent for me and is very near and dear to my heart 💕 Couple: Spencer Reid/AutisticFem!Reader 
 Category: Fluff!
 Content Warning: None 🥰 Word Count: 7,150

MASTERLIST

——————

The first time (y/n) told me she felt like a color, she told me she felt yellow.

There was no need for explanation— it made perfect sense to me. She looked like sunshine and smelled like peaches and fresh laundry. Her laughter sounded like wind chimes and strings and her voice moved like honey; slow and sweet and sticking with me. I wondered what that would mean if I kissed her. Would my lips cling to hers, holding us together for a few moments longer?

I tried not to lose myself in fantasies that would never come true and decided, instead, to enjoy the way the world looked and sounded when (y/n) was happy.

“Spencer!” She ran up to my desk too quickly, unable to stop in time and colliding directly into my chair. She didn’t even notice the way her knees were definitely going to bruise, her face inches away from mine as the chair drifted away from my desk.

“Hello!” I responded, overwhelmed by the adorable, but completely erratic girl now trying to spin me around in my chair.

“Did you see Emily brought donuts?” She was out of breath, her chest heaving and her body seemingly moving off pure inertia.

“Did she?” I asked, looking over to the elevator to see Emily was sure enough carrying her trademark pink box.  

Raising her eyebrows in a playful challenge, she halfway stuck her tongue out each time she paused for a breath. “Bet I can beat you to the chocolate frosted with sprinkles.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

My arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning the chair around and dropping her back down on the other side of my desk. I spun back around, jumping out of my chair.

I didn’t make it very far before she launched herself onto my back, her arms around my shoulders as we nearly toppled over in the middle of the bullpen.

“Saboteur!” She shouted in my ear. Normally the sound would seem deafening, but paired with that overjoyed giggle, I happily accepted the volume.  

“Hey! No roughhousing!” Emily reprimanded, waving a finger toward the two of us as I lowered (y/n) back to her feet.

“Sorry.” We said in unison, neither of us sounding entirely convincing.

“You guys know I always get two. I’m trying to make people happy, not incite a riot.”

She held the box up to us, flipping it open to reveal the confectioneries inside. (Y/n), true to her word, beat me to the punch. I didn’t tell her that I’d let her, wanting to see the way her face lit up when she grabbed the donut and quickly bit into it with absolutely no pause whatsoever.

“Thanks Emily!” She said, the words muffled through the pastry in her mouth. Emily just nodded, the both of us watching her skip back over to her desk. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even as she sat at her desk and spun her chair back and forth, her entire body bouncing as a few sprinkles toppled onto her lap.

“So… You gonna tell her?”

Emily was looking at me with a sly grin, acutely aware of the smitten look on my face. But I wasn’t fully ready to admit the feelings to myself, nonetheless to her. She handed me the other sprinkle-covered donut, which I took, if only as an excuse to avoid the question.  

“Tell her what?” I asked before taking a bite.

“That you like her.” She spared me no embarrassment in her bluntness. I nearly choked on the pastry, just praying that (y/n) was too distracted to have heard Emily’s words or my reaction. Glancing back to her, I saw that she’d placed her noise canceling headphones on already.

Thank god.

“Well?” Emily repeated, as if to ask if I really thought she’d expose me like that when (y/n) was within earshot.  

“U-Um, no?”

“No, you don’t like her?” She quickly responded; her amusement clear across all her features. “That’s a pretty bold lie, Reid.”

“I… don’t think it’s a good idea.” I mumbled, continuing to eat my donut and avoiding eye contact with literally everyone. Although I knew she was distracted and unable to hear, I was still worried she might be able to read my responses or hear my words.

“Why not?”

There were so many reasons. What if she didn’t like me back? What if she thought we were too similar? Too different? Too weird? What if she did like me and I ruined it? What if I hurt her? I couldn’t bear the thought. But I didn’t want to pour my heart out at 9:13AM, either.

So instead, I just said, “We work together.”

“That’s not a good excuse and you know it.” Emily saw through it, just like I expected she would. She knew me too well to fall for such a juvenile trick.

With a heavy sigh, I picked at the sprinkles that fell onto my lap, thinking about how much of a mess the two of us would make together.

“I don’t even know how I’d tell her.”

“How would you want her to tell you?”

It was an interesting thought, and one that I’d never really allowed myself to pursue. And I honestly wasn’t sure. It felt like such an improbability that it might as well be impossible. A reality where she not only liked me, but she liked me enough to tell me?

“I never thought about it.” I admitted, trying to stifle the hope in my voice.

But Emily had seen the small smile, and I knew it was all over. Gently patting my head, she gave me one final piece of advice.

“So… Think about it.”

Keep reading

[reidwithagun]

Every so often, you'll find a piece of fiction that's so immersive and vivid you nearly believe it's real. Oneshots hardly ever manage to accomplish that, but this is one of the rare few that do.

This is so soft and tender, and borderline poetic. It made me tear up, and I'm absolutely sure it's going to stay in my head for days. If you don't read this you're missing out.