A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)
Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!
Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.
Word Count: 9,791
You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead.
Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside.
A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say.
The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander.
You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head.
You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?”
His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you.
You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression.
“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”
The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot.
Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,”
You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.”
He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?”
“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey.
He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at.
Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”
And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.”
“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again.
“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one.
He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?”
Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.”
Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.”
“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question.
He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.”
You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin.
As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?”
Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,”
You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.”
Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger.
Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.
Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps.
You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar.
Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,”
He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,”
Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”
“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.”
You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit.
You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.”
Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?
You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.”
That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you.
You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”
“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,”
“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”
Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile.
You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?”
“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.”
Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?”
Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.”
Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction.
But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.”
He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,”
You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.”
Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”
For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years.
“Did he even like trail mix?”
“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer.
Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.
His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?”
You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.”
Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.”
Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you.
“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”
Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.”
You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat.
“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm.
Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,”
The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here.
The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up.
Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat.
He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone.
He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”
The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it.
There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice.
After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free.
The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up.
Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction.
However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.
He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone.
Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange.
The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons.
Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself.
“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway.
For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away.
Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous.
You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes.
Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes.
Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?”
“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders.
And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”
You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile.
“Bills?”
“Bills.”
“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.”
You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,”
“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.”
“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal.
“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.”
“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary.
“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?”
You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.
“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.”
You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.”
Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in.
He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–”
“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.”
“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.”
“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office.
“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair.
Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.”
“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee.
“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”
“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?”
“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze.
“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…”
He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look.
“I’ll text the rest of the group.”
“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”
“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.”
Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them.
However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel.
So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?”
Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?”
He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you.
Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.
“I’m sorry every–”
“Do you–”
The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”
You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’
You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?”
Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?”
Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—” he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are.
He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you.
A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,”
Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran.
“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.”
He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard.
Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.
Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly.
When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,”
“You don’t… know?”
“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly.
Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?
“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you.
You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it.
Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.” Is what you settle on.
Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something.
“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.”
“Me too! I like being your friend, too.”
“Good!”
“Great!”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”
“Same chapter and everything.”
Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly.
The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’.
It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful.
Wanting more than that was greedy.
After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,”
The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said.
The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?”
“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,”
Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.”
“Care to take a guess?”
“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?”
Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?”
You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.”
He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.”
Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours.
“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.
“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly.
“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot.
Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?”
You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather.
Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf.
He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,”
With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer.
“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,”
“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again.
Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew.
What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal.
Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”
Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?”
“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.”
“Spencer, don’t–”
“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–”
“You didn’t even know him!”
Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.”
Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer.
“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.”
Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,”
The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner.
The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up.
She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.”
You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”
Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?”
You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen.
“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.”
“Shannon, please, I promise you don—”
“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.”
“I am paying?”
“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”
You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.”
Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—”
“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.”
You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears.
You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours.
“He’s dead–”
“I know–”
“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.”
You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,”
“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.”
You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.”
Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?”
“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain.
As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.”
“Then make it up to him,”
After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him.
You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk.
But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket.
Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then.
And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer.
But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.
It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd?
The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again.
After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point.
You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose.
You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company.
When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low.
Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought.
Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees.
“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?”
“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.”
Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”
You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.”
“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,”
You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,”
Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.”
“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.”
Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,”
You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,”
He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.”
You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,”
Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you.
He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—”
You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”
He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again.
But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.”
You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response.
“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft.
When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,”
“I like slower.”
He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?”
You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street.
It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last.
And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”
This work DOES contain sensitive material! Remember that if you are struggling, you are not alone! All Chapters that contain this kind of material will be marked (**). Enjoy!
Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star
Tape #1: Tape Contents: You start recording videos for the BAU once you find out you have a stalker. **
Tape #2: Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell. **
Tape #3: Tape Contents: Spencer and Derek are sent to discuss your abduction with Adeline. You fight back a sexual and physical attack from Heather. Heather reveals her plans for what will happen if anyone finds you. **
Tape #4: Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days. **
Tape #5: Tape Contents: Waking up to a bunch of hands on you in the hospital doesn't go over well with you. Spencer delivers on a promise he made to a little girl, and then some. **
Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #1 (Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader)
A/N: After being dead on this account for years, like Christ (or bread?), I have risen (I'm not religious). The point is, if you are new to this series, welcome! I am rewriting this series for myself (and anyone still reading after all this time). It is something I want to see through and that I loved re-reading all these years later. The original reception was so warm and lovely, sometimes making me feel guilty for leaving so abruptly. I loved every reblog, comment, tag, and like for this series. I hope that if you're still here, you like the remake. This series DOES contain sensitive matters such as kidnapping, death, torture, sexual themes, and more. If you struggle with this material please know you are not alone and always reach out for help. I will be making a new masterlist once I have more chapters out. Please let me know what you think and enjoy! - Much love, Em <3
Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist
Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star
Next Chapter: Tape #2
WARNING: stalking, mention of kidnapping, blood, cursing, and sensitive material ahead.
Tape Contents: You start recording videos for the BAU once you find out you have a stalker.
Word Count: 2,196
Tape #1- December 29, 20XX
Your face looks a little apprehensive as you move away from the webcam on your computer. Your eyes flick off the screen, leaning forward to read something as if you had planned out a script for yourself. You wave at the camera, offering the lens a weak and shy smile. Your posture slumps for a second, letting out a prolonged sigh. “I,” you frown at the camera, “I’m not good at talking to myself on video, it seems.”
“I guess bluntness might be a saving grace for both of us,” you whisper as you play with a ring on your middle finger, sliding it up and down your finger, “You know that feeling you get when you’re driving home late at night and you think to yourself, ‘Oh my god. I think that car behind me is following me.’ I think it all started with that.” A hand reaches for your hair, and you timidly move a stray strand away from your eyes.
“I tried everything I could think of and kept turning randomly, but it was too late. I would rush up to my apartment, and across the street would the same red van every fucking weekend. I tried to get the plate one day as I watched them leave from my window, but no such luck.” You swallow thickly, your voice suddenly full of emotion.
A sad smile crosses your face as you shake your head, “Fucking dumb, this is so fucking dumb.” you cry softly as tears dance along your lash line. You take a deep breath and push your shoulders back in a desperate attempt to regain your composure.
You hold up a wilted, purple rose. Loose petals fall as you twist the stem between your thumb and index. “Got this last night, just on my windshield.” You mutter with a tone of disdain. “Don’t even like roses.” you joke lightly as you set the rose on your desk.
“I’m going to the police tomorrow. I just… thought maybe doing this would make me feel better,” you pause and let out a bitter laugh, leaning toward the camera, “It hasn’t.”
Then the screen goes black.
Tape #2- January 3, 20XX.
Your eyes have bags under them, and you gently rub the bridge between them. “So, got told off by the police.”
You lean back in your desk chair and shake your head before pointing accusingly at the camera. “Went to the station, brought my stupid fucking rose and everything. They told me they would patrol the area. Of course, what car do I not see across the street anymore? That fucking red van. Guy told me that I was just imagining things.”
You relax for a second before speaking again, your shoulders squaring defensively. “And! And, the second they leave, guess who is back again. Every single weekend, 7 pm to 11 pm.” You let out a weary sigh and rest an arm on your desk, staring directly into the camera.
“The Police said they couldn’t even do anything until something boarding physical assault happens.” You trail off with a sideways glance away from the screen.
“I’m not going to just sit idly by waiting to get assaulted.” You hiss out, leaning forward and stopping the video.
Tape #3- January 14, 20XX
You’re playing with the edges of your sweater as you lean back into your chair, rocking slightly. “Got another love present today,” Your voice distant as you pull a Polaroid from the desk, holding it up for the camera to see.
The Polaroid was of you at the library where you worked. You were sitting in a striped sweater, your hair down. You were smiling at one of the volunteers who works ‘story hour.’ You threw the picture back on the desk with a grimace.
“No one told me that my sweater that day looked so hideous.” You croak out in a desperate attempt to make yourself laugh in the moment, and for a second, it works. You start with a slight chuckle, but it quickly takes a sharp turn for the worst and becomes a full-on sob.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out before you wipe tears from under your eyes, “I’m just scared. My mom and I talked about it, and she said that maybe it was a ‘secret admirer,’ which… does not make it any better. I feel like everyone thinks I’m fucking crazy.” Your voice raises before you cut yourself off and look down at your sweater again.
“I’m not,”
Camera off.
Tape #4- January 17, 20XX
You smile at the camera and scoot a little closer. “Hey,” you say with a gentle sigh of relief, “Great news—I’m organized!”
You lean back and relax in your chair slightly, “So I’m Y/N L/N. I work as a librarian here in Richmond, Virginia. My apartment will be in my records, I’m sure.” You laugh out softly, holding up a photo of a tattoo that seems to reside on your lower collarbone.
“I didn’t want to flash the camera, so I took the liberty of taking a photo of this lovely tattoo of mine,” you say, glancing at the photo of the line-art floral tattoo next to your face. “If you think this doesn’t seem like me… well, you’re partially right. I was drunk in Vegas for my twenty-first birthday, and then I woke up missing a good chunk of money and a tattoo.” You shrug as you slowly set the photo on your desk.
“I’m not trying to freak anyone out if they do see this. I just…” you pause, releasing a slow and controlling breath, “I want to be found if I do go missing. I want to be easily identified if I’m not alive. I want people to know I was a person and not just a body, you know?” You let your lips grow into a weak smile, nodding slightly, seeming to agree with yourself.
“I’m making these to help myself, to feel like I have more control. The presents stopped recently, but they’re still watching me every weekend. It feels like it's about to get worse. I can’t explain it. I’m not trying to make the police feel bad. I just… don’t like going down without a fight.”
“Speaking of not going down without a fight,” You reach over to grab a photo and proudly turn it over to the camera. “You know who this is?” You ask your silent audience. “This is the lovely Jennifer Jareau.” You answer with a weak smile, feeling strange as you talk with yourself.
“I decided to beg the police to email this video folder to her. Currently, just the police have this, as I’m annoying and persistent but also very charming. That’s a lie. My coworker's boyfriend’s friend works at the station. Hopefully,” You swallow gently as the photo slips away from your fingers. “Hopefully, they won’t have to send it to her and the BAU team, but in the unfortunate case, she does see this.” You smile, wave a little, mouth a soft ‘hello,’ and lean forward—screen black.
Tape #5- February 10, 20XX
You’re wearing a red, pink, and white striped sweater with a white headband pushing your hair back as the camera focuses again on you. “Happy Early Valentine’s Day to everyone who got a gift from their stalker on the top of their car today,” you say with mock happiness before your smile falls, and you hold up a copy of Wuthering Heights.
You flip through the pages before stopping on one and facing it toward the camera, trying to get it to focus, but you quickly find the task irritating. You groan and decide to read the line, “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad.”
“That's one of the lines circled, underlined, and highlighted…” You say, flipping through more pages slowly.
“The only scenes highlighted seem to involve Heathcliff and Catherine, which are romantic scenes, of course, but just that one quote is emphasized.” You say, shaking your head, and you laugh a little, setting the book somewhere outside the frame.
“What a shitty gift, I already have a copy.” You joke before the screen turns black.
Tape #6- February 14, 20XX
Your face is flush red, eyes swollen and raw from crying as you sit in front of the camera, speechless for a short amount of time. You look positively catatonic for a second, unmoving. The sound of you raking in a shaking breath scares you as you bring yourself to speak. Your face doesn’t match your attire, as you sport a sweater with a giant pink heart in the center and small heart-shaped earrings hanging from your ears.
“They were in here,” your voice is soft and hoarse. “They were in here, everywhere. They left roses everywhere. They were in here! They got into my apartment and left dozens of rose petals on my bed, floors, couch, and kitchen table!” Your voice raises in volume as you cut yourself off, a small tear rolling down your cheek.
“Something isn’t right,” You were shaking your head and letting out fast breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating. “This is all getting so,” you raise your hands to run through your curls, pulling gently. “I need you to find me. I’m doing so much already. I went to the police station, and they searched everything: cameras, streets, but there was nothing! Just petals!” You yell softly, voice rasping softly at the end of your outburst.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” you mumble softly, tears filling your eyes.
Tape #7- February 17, 20XX
You smile awkwardly at the camera and hold up Jane Eyre, opening it to a dog-eared page. “You are my sympathy --my better self --my good angel.” You read off the quote softly with a light sigh at the end of your reading.
“Seems like we have a Brontë fan in our midst,” you try to be light-hearted as you set the book to the side.
“I wrote down all my passwords, but it's not like you’ll need them. Nonetheless, you can never be too safe.” You quip the sentence in a soft voice.
“I’m trying my hardest not to do anything crazy. I just, nevermind.” You say, annoyance thick in your voice as you shut the camera off quickly.
Tape #8- March 2, 20XX
A terrible gnawing was growing in your stomach. Your hands clutched your waist gently as you leaned back in your chair. You felt like you might be sick as you stared off-camera toward your newest ‘gift.’ Your throat felt taut as you swallowed, a shaky sigh coming from your lips as your pale face looked at the camera.
“I’m scared this might be my last video,” you say, your voice hoarse and tense, “It all just suddenly stopped. There was no more red van, no more gifts—nothing to write home about, but today,”
You lean over to pull a pair of white, blood-soaked panties from a plastic bag into the frame. “These were on my door knob today when I got home. I tried not to touch it. I put it in this bag to ensure I didn’t contaminate it more. It doesn’t look like blood blood, more like period blood.” As you throw the bag back to your desk, your voice edges into an emotional tone, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.
“I think that they’re mine,” You cried softly, shaking slightly as you tried to control your breathing, “Th-the panties, not the blood. I haven’t, those can’t be from my period. Mine hasn’t come y-”
“I’m not going to be okay. I was stupid to think I might be, but I’m not!” You cry into your hands, and your shoulders shake as you let out a weak sob. “Please find me if I go missing. Please,” Tears fall on your cheeks as you lean toward the computer.
“I need you to find me.”
March 5, 20XX.
A clicker is in J.J.’s hand as she turns off the videos. “Richmond PD sent this over this morning when twenty-eight-year-old Y/N L/N didn’t show up to her job,” She hands out folders as she speaks, “Her coworker called her mother to see if she had gone out of town when she said no. Y/N’s coworker’s boyfriend called a cop friend to check her apartment and found no trace of her or anyone else in her apartment. They sent this video folder over the second he called it in.”
Spencer was frowning as he flipped through the pages of your file, hating the idea that you knew. He knew that dread, that feeling when something bad was about to happen to you. That innate and raw feeling that pushes through a person like a wave. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hotch is already speaking before he can get the chance to.
“We leave here in ten,” He says before leaving the room, cutting everyone’s comments short in one small miraculous moment.
Within ten minutes, the team finds themselves away from their jet, stuffed into groups in black SUVs, barreling toward Richmond.
A/N: Hey y'all, I'm so sorry for the late posting. I know that I don't have a new chapter of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' out yet, but stay with me here. This is part one (of two) of my 500 followers post! I want to thank everyone for reading and being so sweet throughout the years. I really hope you all like this first part! The second part will probably be posted sometime this upcoming week. AND IT WILL BE 18+. I'm estimating sometime between Thursday and Saturday. Again, this is not proofread because I never learn. Love you all- Em <3
Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain
You are on Part One! -> Part Two
Yee olde masterlist
WARNING: Slow burn ahh fanfiction, emotional cheating, an accusation of emotional cheating, couple fighting, sex mentioned, alcohol mentions, drunk reader at one point, light cursing, babygirl Spencer Reid, suggestion BLINK AND YOU MISS IT SUGGESTION that Reid is Bi, reader is referred to as a woman, she/her/hers pronouns at some parts, and mention of feeling like a burden. AND probably something else, idk.
Plot: Spencer Reid becomes friends with you after bumping into you at a grocery store. Instantly enamored with you he develops a crush. A crush, apparently destined to fail, because why wouldn't you have a boyfriend?
Word Count: 10,365 (That's correct... 24 PAGES)
Day One
Almost everyone could agree that Spencer’s job was incredibly arduous. If not arduous, it was strenuous, formidable, occasionally crushing, onerous; the list goes on. Overall, his job –despite all its pitfalls– was something he loved. There was one thing he was starting to hate more than anything, though: he couldn’t seem to keep all his groceries from going bad after a week of back-to-back cases.
Spencer narrows his eyes at his messy handwriting, looking back and forth between the paper in his hands and the cans in front of him. He just couldn’t find the can that he was looking for. Penelope had loaned him her recipe a few weeks back, and despite his disastrous efforts in the kitchen, he was determined to give it a shot. His mother never taught him how to cook –not that he blamed her, of course– so it was truly an area in which he simply lacked a lot of skill. Given his eidetic memory, he didn’t really need a list, but Penelope said this brand was best for her recipe when they talked last week. He didn’t want to risk it, so he wrote it down.
He turned his head side-to-side, looking for a nearby worker, but found none. The only person in this aisle was him. He frowned a little before the sound of a sigh passing behind him made him jump. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see a woman standing behind him, staring at a list in hand. He couldn’t help but wonder when you had gotten there and how long you had been standing behind him before your sigh alerted Spencer to the presence of another life form in this aisle.
Your head tilted slowly, your eyes met his, and Spencer felt his mouth drying. He wasn’t charming around beautiful women like Derek; most of all, he hadn’t expected to run into one at the grocery store. Your eyes stayed on Spencer for a second before they moved towards the cans in front of them. Spencer felt like a warmth had just been pulled away from him in the absence of your gaze.
He shuffles out of your eyeline as you scan the cans with a soft smile. “Thank you,” your voice was light and airy, carrying a softness that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing. Your body is closer to his as you walk toward the cans and carefully reach up on your tiptoes to grab a can of sauce on the highest shelf.
Spencer gets the idea stupidly slow: He should get it for you. He clears his throat and maneuvers his body to avoid touching the beautiful stranger beside him. He slides the sauce can off the shelf and hands it to you.
He’s greeted with a dazzling smile, dimples on your cheeks, and eyes shining bright under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. “Thank you,” you repeat before you stare at him expectantly.
Spencer can’t help but feel like his IQ is taking slashes as he stares at that smile, “Spencer,”
You gave him a gentle nod as you walked the sauce over to your cart, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I’m Y/N.” You say as you look over your shoulder at him, hair falling into your face. For the first time in a long time, Spencer can feel the ends of his fingers twitching with anticipation at the idea of offering to brush the hair out of your face for you. He gives you a soft smile instead, his eyes trailing back to the list in his hands in an attempt to stop himself from staring.
Your voice near him almost makes him let out a yelp of surprise as you say, “Are you looking for something? I don’t work here, but I cook a lot.” You say matter-of-factly, suggesting that your cooking hobby somehow made you an expert in the grocery store layout.
Spencer felt like handing you his list and following you around like a puppy dog for the rest of his grocery shopping if it meant you’d keep standing this close to him. “Yeah, uhm, this brand of chili beans.”
“Oh, you haven’t looked low enough.” You barely even glance at his list before bending your knees and crouching down to the lower shelf to grab it. You look up from the ground, holding the can of beans for him to take with a bright smile before you say, “You’re so tall you must have forgotten about the lower shelves.” A laugh escapes your lips as Spencer carefully grabs the can from your hand.
You stand up with a gentle sigh. He can tell that you’re about to say something else when a man’s voice interrupts you. Your eyes grow brighter at the sound, and your head quickly turns toward the sound at the far left end of the aisle. “I got the cheese.” As he approaches, the man shoots the shredded cheese into the cart with a grin.
You mouth a soft ‘yay’ as the man’s arm quickly wraps around your waist. “Josh, this is Spencer. I was just helping him look for a can of beans. Spencer, this is Josh.”
Spencer feels his lips draw into a tight-lipped smile as he waves his free hand, “Nice to meet you,” He says with a slight nod.
“She’s always talking to strangers, I swear. Stop making friends everywhere you go, you little angel.” Josh says as he pinches your side, earning a melodious laugh from you. Spencer feels a little nauseous.
“Hey, gross.” You chuckle lightly as you pull Josh’s hand off your side, “Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Spencer. See you around.” You grab the handle of your cart with a beautiful smile before rolling the cart out of the aisle with Josh in tow.
Spencer watches you until you take a right and disappear from his view, and now he can only look at the can of beans in his hand. He sighs at his luck, smiling a little with amusement at the fact that you have a boyfriend. His short interaction made it clear to him that you were easy to get along with. Beautiful, kind, easygoing, of course, you had a boyfriend.
Spencer silently resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never see you or Josh again as he continued with his unneeded list.
Now, he felt like the fabled gods of fate were laughing down at him as he made the last trip to his car. He was closing the trunk of his car when he heard a familiar voice yell out his name from across the parking lot. “Spencer!” You yelled with bags in hand, panting lightly as you approached him with a light jog. “How funny is this?”
A sarcastically bitter voice was in his head. Only the Ancient Greeks would find this funny. “Do you live in this building?” he asked as his eyes scanned the parking lot for Josh. His shoulders relaxed as he realized that it was just you.
“Yeah, third floor.” You say as you readjust the bags in your hands. Spencer gave you an amused smile as he slid his last two bags on one arm, extending his free arm toward you.
“Need some help?” He offers in a soft voice. You give him a grateful look as you nod, handing him a slightly heavy bag. Typically, you wouldn’t have accepted help from a perfect stranger, but almost everything about Spencer screamed non-threatening, so you let yourself be a little trusting.
“Can’t believe that we’re neighbors. I'm glad I talked to you at the store; I made a neighbor friend!” Your speaking speed almost matches his when he is going on his excited ramblings.
Spencer pushes a door open with his back, holding it open for you with his foot as he laughs. “I guess it's plausible, being that the grocery store is as close as it is.” He’s quick to move to the next door, repeating the motion.
You smile gently as Spencer opens another door for you, this one leading the two of you to the stairwell. “Oh, you’re probably one of those people who doesn’t believe in fate, aren’t you, Spencer?”
“I would have to say that I absolutely fall within the twenty-nine percent of Americans who do not believe in fate. Nothing is predetermined.”
“Maybe you’re predetermined to believe that,” Is your quick remark as you walk in front of him on the stairs.
“Not likely,”
“So, what? You’re a cynic?”
Spencer smiles wide at the question, “How does my not believing in fate make me a cynic?”
You grin, tossing a skeptical look over your shoulder, before speaking again. “Not believing in fate is such a cynical thing to do,”
“And what does that make you?”
“Stupid and optimistically in love.”
Spencer shakes his head, his eyes glancing at the door that leads to the second floor, but he continues to follow you up another flight of stairs without complaint. “I would label myself as a realist.” And a profiler, but he was careful to leave that part out. The cases over the years proved one thing to him: nothing was predetermined. There was an opportunity for change everywhere.
“Okay, Mr. Realist, what about luck?” You asked as the two of you approached the door marked for floor three.
He thought for a moment as you held the door open for him, “Maybe,” was all he could say as the memory of when he was struggling with his aim came to mind: killing an UnSub with a shot to the head when he had been aiming for his leg.
“So you do believe in fate.” You turned your body to walk backward down the hallway with a satisfied, winning smile as you looked at him before slowing to a stop in front of your apartment door.
“Fate and luck are not the same thing. Luck is usually used to describe an outcome; it’s a notion. It’s circumstantial. Fate defies logic, science really.” He said as he handed you your bag carefully. His eyes glanced at the number on your door: thirty-seven. “You live with your boyfriend?” Spencer asks before he can stop himself, silently screaming at himself for being a creep.
The question barely phases you as you reach into your pocket, searching for your keys. “Yeah, moved in six months ago.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Spencer hated small talk. Actually, he secretly hated the fact that the first person he found attractive, after months of failed dates, was taken. He also hated that you were living a floor above him for six months, and he hadn’t known about it– hadn’t known about you. Above all, he hated that he enjoyed your company already, especially having only known you for more than a few hours at best. “How long have the two of you been together?”
“A year and eleven months,” you answer with a soft smile, your eyes giving way to soft emotion as you open your door. “What floor do you live on again?”
Spencer wants to say that you never asked, but he didn’t want to seem rude. He was sure you couldn’t be rude if you tried, that sweet smile of yours not capable of the act. “Second floor,” he answers as he readjusts his bags timidly.
With a soft gasp, you set down a bag or two, “Oh! I’m sorry.” You apologize softly as you look up at him, your eyes beautiful and tender. Spencer can’t remember if he is mad when he looks into those eyes.
Spencer let out a meek and barely audible “It’s okay,” He decides it truly is.
You bite your bottom lip and smile at him, “Well, thanks for your help, Spencer. I really appreciated it. Come up some time and say hi!” As you beam at him, you move a stray hair out of your face.
Spencer nods slowly, swallowing thickly, and manages a soft smile. His feet move his body back to the stairwell slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
Day Forty-Two
You’re laughing over something Josh said. Spencer doesn’t really get it, but you seem to think it is the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. Punchlines usually went over his head, but he was always happy to nod along with a smile on his face.
Spencer honestly didn’t want to come up and visit you and Josh a month ago. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps he just didn’t have it in himself to stay away from your electric personality—why he visited you and Josh three Saturdays ago was still a mystery to him.
As Josh walks away with a smug smile, you turn to Spencer. He watches as you lean towards him, eyes tracking Josh until he’s out of sight. Your amused smile falls from your face as you whisper a soft, “Did you get that?”
Spencer is taken aback at the question. You laughed at Josh’s joke; how did you not get it? Why did you laugh so hard if you didn’t get it? He wonders until he’s whispering that same question to you, “If you didn’t get it, why did you laugh?”
You smile a little cheekily and only slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t want him to know I didn’t find it funny. Sometimes, he falls short of witty humor.”
Spencer smiles at that, shaking his head as he stares over at the area where Josh disappeared. “Why don’t you just tell him that you didn’t find it funny?”
“Because,” Your voice sounds offended, but the amused look in your eyes tells him differently, “I’m his girlfriend of two years, and I’m nice. Unlike some people.” You give him a side-eyed glare, making Spencer gasp in mock defense.
“I’m nice!” He hisses out in a defensive whisper. He briefly falters at your incredulous look before slowly nodding in defeat, “Okay, I’m a little mean sometimes.”
You smile again and face him, your hands moving as you talk, “Which is funny because you’re perfectly nice when you’re around me.”
Spencer didn’t have an answer to that one either. After being friendly with the couple for a little over a month, he just could not be friends with Josh. His jokes flew over Spencer’s head, he talked over you (and sometimes him), and he never seemed to take your interests seriously.
Last Monday after work, you called Spencer, asking him if he wanted to go to the movies with you to see a tragic Italian film. He was quick to say yes, partially because of the excellent movie selection and because he wanted to be around you more.
When he asked why Josh wasn’t joining them, you simply said that it wasn’t Josh’s thing. That didn’t sit right with him, but he let it go. Then, the day after, you called him again, asking him if he’d be willing to go with you to one of those paint-and-sip places around town that weekend.
His answer was another resounding yes, and he didn’t even drink. Then the question came again during the class, and you responded with the same thing– it wasn’t Josh’s thing.
Josh’s thing was going off to work all day and then coming home to ignore you for a good two hours before dinner. Then he was all yours again. At least, that’s what Spencer saw. He understood that everyone needed their alone time and that he was being a little petty and a little jealous toward Josh.
He wanted to be the bigger person, honestly. It was just so hard when your boyfriend made it so easy for Spencer to hate him. He’d never say that to you, of course. You looked at Josh like he had hung the moon yesterday and then created the stars today. You never missed a chance to talk about Josh around… well, anyone—the precursor to Spencer’s current dilemma.
Deep down inside, he knew that his inappropriate crush on you couldn’t possibly get worse. So he thought, What’s the harm in becoming close friends with you? If anything, it was likely that seeing more of your personality would pull his rose-colored glasses off his face and force him to see you in a normal, less love-sick light. After all, he had gotten over his embarrassing crush on JJ and saw her almost daily at work.
When Josh walks back into the room, he’s on his phone. He barely glances up from the text as he speaks to you, “Hey, babe, would it be okay with you if I head out for the night?”
Your eyebrows furrow with confusion, “But Spencer is here, and we were going to finish the movie, remember?”
“Right, but I already know what happens. I mean, it’s a tragedy, right? Spencer and you always have more fun together doing your nerd stuff. No offense, Spencer. The guys just want me to go out with them.”
A realization dawns on your face as you realize he’s not asking so much as telling you he’s leaving. You nod slowly, letting Josh kiss your forehead before he grabs his keys and leaves. You look over at Spencer, who is trying to be polite by not watching the scene, looking down at the television remote with a deep interest.
You smile slowly, sadly, and turn your body a little on the couch facing the television. The rest of the night is spent in your living room with Spencer, sitting next to each other and watching a movie before ending with your head on his shoulder and the soft tone of someone saying they “Liked the movie.”
Day Ninety-Three
You could feel something starting to slip. It was a familiar feeling; something in the ground was shaking. It shook you, at least. You always noticed it first—a crack in the ship's hull. You were always the first to address it, too.
With Josh, it used to be customary for him to apologize for any indiscretion and try to fix the damage. But false promises are like duct tape in the ship’s hull, slipping and sliding against wet wood, water pouring in until the whole ship goes down.
It wasn’t always like this. Him coming home and ignoring you for hours, only to acknowledge you late into the evening. It was relatively new to your relationship. Well, if you consider nine months new. By now, you could only label it as consistent. Before you lived with your loving boyfriend, he would carve out time in the evenings just to talk with you for hours or take you on dates that sometimes lasted for days on the weekends.
You knew that living together would take some of that away– everyone deserved to have their private time, and you weren’t going to start demanding day-long dates anytime soon. You just missed the effort he used to put in, the time when he would make days for the two of you– hours for just the two of you.
A year ago, Josh would have jumped to see that weird new Hungarian horror movie with subtitles for you if you had asked. He would have attempted to stay awake during it, hold your hand during the parts that scared you, something lovely.
The first crack started when you moved in with him. One evening, you had gotten home from work early and occupied the living room for a few hours, watching some random French movie that had been recommended to you by your best friend. She didn’t like this kind of thing but knew you did, so you were grateful that she had thought of you.
When he came home from work a little later than usual, he saw you on the couch with a plate of pasta, watching the movie intently. You turned your head towards the door and smiled wide at him. “Hey! I made spaghetti, grab a plate and watch this movie with me? I’ll restart it.” Your hands were already reaching for the remote when a heavy, annoyed sigh cut through the air. You looked over at him again and gave him a gentle, empathic smile, “Hey… did you have a hard day? We don’t have to watch anything we could–”
“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to do anything with you right after I get off work?” Josh hissed out as he threw his keys onto the wooden kitchen table.
You felt your head reel back a little at the question, and you laughed a little, pushing yourself up to sit on your knees on the couch. “I’m sorry?”
“Have you ever thought I might want to come home after work and not talk to you for a few hours? I mean, I thought that after living here for two months, you would have caught on, but clearly you haven’t. I come home, and you’re right there, ready to talk. Prepared to force me to sit down and watch some… foreign language film that has some profound meaning that you’ll blabber about for thirty minutes before bed tonight.”
You blinked a little at his harsh words, which were unlike him. He never seemed annoyed by your passions, hobbies, or ramblings. In fact, he always seemed to encourage them. You tried your best to give him a genuine smile, “Love, you’ve had a long day. Let’s just take a second and get some food in you, and then we can d–”
“You’re not getting it,” he laughed bitterly, a sound that caused a sick knot to grow in your throat. “Sometimes, I’m tired of it being we, we, we, we. I’m always doing things with you: Cooking with you, reading with you, watching movies with you, sleeping with you, going on dates with you. Ever since you moved in, it's like it's always an ‘us’ task or a ‘we’ task.” His voice was rising in volume, and you felt your breathing becoming shaky. “I feel like you're always on top of me. It’s suffocating! Maybe I just want to be alone for a few hours. Maybe I don’t want to watch your stupid, fucking, symbolic foreign films.”
“I... I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” You breathed out as you slowly turned the television off and got up with your plate. You wanted him to apologize, you wanted him to soften those brown eyes and start telling you that he didn’t mean it. You wanted him to tell you that work was brutal that day, and he had accidentally lashed out at you. But he just stared at you, panting a little. “I’ll leave you alone some more. I, uhm, I’ll watch this alone in our room.”
And that was that. You had convinced yourself that you were a problem. You were too clingy, always in his space, always trying to force him to like your hobbies, always trying to share too much of yourself with him, always too much. So you decided that maybe what you wanted to do wasn’t his thing anymore.
Besides, you had plenty of friends that liked the same things as you did… maybe. Molly didn’t like foreign films, but Alex enjoyed them enough. Molly did like to paint, but her schedule always conflicted with yours. Sabrina was also a fan of painting but had moved to Boston last month. The list of her friends with crazy work schedules could go on and on, as could the list of friends who moved. You had thought about reaching out to some of them, but Josh’s words rattled you to your core, and suddenly, you felt like a burden for wanting to spend time with your loved ones.
Then, after six months of living with Josh, you met a man in a grocery store—a tall, hazel-eyed, intelligent man. Spencer Reid was unlike any man you had ever met in your life, a rare friend. He was transparent, often going into long, passionate tangents that always had you learning something new. So when he randomly mentioned a foreign film he wanted to see that weekend in one of your conversations, you felt comfortable asking him to come to the movies with you.
Then again, to the paint-and-sip place where the two of you failed to partake in any wine and managed to paint two terrible renditions of sunflowers. Spencer Reid was becoming a friend that you didn’t think you’d burden. Your other friends were quick to explain that you weren’t too much. Still, maybe it was because he had helped you carry your groceries up to the apartment the first day you met him or the way he was so happy to listen to your stories and thoughts. Something about Spencer Reid made you believe him when he said that you weren’t a burden.
And he was nice to be around. Then, there was the pesky fact of Spencer being attractive. At first, it was more of a passing thought. The way he wore his glasses late at night, how his hair fell to one side, the way his fingers were so gentle with books. He was a good-looking man in a nerdy way. Mix that with sweet, caring, and accomplished; he was a threat.
A threat to anyone but your loving boyfriend of two years. Sabrina was laughing over something you had said over the phone, her giggles rising in volume as she tried to speak between them, “He’s a.” Giggling. “An adonis of th–” Cackling. “The mind!” She managed before asking, “What does that even mean?”
“It means he’s a very smart-minded, attractive person.”
“Oh, so you’re like… crushing on the hot mind guy and fighting with Josh. Got it.”
“I’m not fighting with Josh, and we talked about it last month. We’re okay now.”
“Still ignoring you when he comes home?”
You pause before you let out a slow sigh, “Yeah.”
“What’s his record?”
“Four hours and fifteen minutes. He said he will try to be more attentive throughout the week, but he just keeps…” You trail off. You can imagine Sabrina shaking her head on the other side of the line.
“What about the weekends?”
“Going out with his friends more, he visited his mom’s last weekend. Nary a date night in sight, not since our second anniversary at least, and that was..”
“Yeah..” There was rustling, chips maybe, on her side of the line. “Maybe he’s planning something big. Maybe a trip? I don’t know, maybe you should bring it up again.”
You nod a little, your hands typing away gently on your work computer. “Maybe. The last time I mentioned missing our date nights, he just said, ‘We have dinner dates every night at home.’ That was an incredible feeling.”
“Something about weaponized ignorance is coming to mind.”
“Don’t,”
“Josh has been lacking in good boyfriend points since that stunt with the cake on your birthday,”
“He got a little icing on my nose!”
“Don’t,” She dragged out the ‘t’ sound, “Care! The disrespect! Your dress! Ugh, I’m going to get worked up. Talk to me about Dr. Genius.”
“What about him?”
“Does he ever, maybe, do something you wish Josh would start doing?”
You laugh, “What? No…”
“So you don’t wish that Josh would know the symbolism behind The Red Shoes and go into how… what did he say?”
“That art was worth dying for, and that Hans Christian Andersen's original story surrounded a sense of morality and religious–”
“Ah, Ah, Ah, so you don’t want Josh to know that?”
“He doesn’t need to know that,” your fingers falter in their typing, “Two people can have similar interests and not be in love.”
“Right, it just seems like lately, you’ve been…” You hate the awkward silence that follows Sabrina before she carefully speaks again, “Maybe replacing Josh with Spencer in your hobbies. I know Josh lashed out and was wrong, too, but this Spencer guy… he clicks with you– your hobbies, at least. And your witty humor, too. It seems he matches your intellectualism and your passion for learning, exceeds it even, but Josh is steps below you. Josh, he… just always seems so tolerant of your hobbies.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Nothing,” a voice calls her name, “Look, I gotta go. Josh is great, and I’m just being silly. Maybe I just have a grudge against him or something. I love you.”
“I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” You reply quickly before she ends the call.
You shake your head a little at her words, still swimming in your mind as you go back to charting something on your computer. What did that even mean? Josh is steps below you. He wasn’t dumb. He just lacked… that dry humor you had with Spencer sometimes. A quick, witty remark that had one of you smiling in seconds. Besides, that notion was ridiculous, given you had only known Spencer for three months. Josh made up for it in love… and you did love him.
All couples went through rough patches, but you were sure that if you raised your concerns again with Josh, things would change. You nod a little at the thought as you sigh, shifting in your chair slightly as you readied yourself to be engulfed in your work.
Day One Hundred and Forty-Six
Spencer could feel the bass of some pop song thumping in his chest. It had been a pleasant and slow week at the BAU. While he would have loved to go home and sit down with some book of his choosing, he allowed Penelope and Derek to convince him to go out with them.
The bar wasn’t too far from his apartment complex, so he didn’t mind. Penelope was twirling her drink's tiny umbrella between her fingers as she pointed towards a pretty red-head dancing in a dark green dress. “What about her?”
They have been playing this game for ten minutes now. By they, he means Garcia and Morgan. The game is ‘Who does Spencer find pretty at the bar?’
“Babygirl, you have a great eye,” Derek says as he points the woman out to Spencer, but before he can say anything else, Spencer decides they’ve played this game past the point of amusement.
“Why can’t we accept that I don’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, again?”
Penelope frowned a little, giving Spencer a pleading look. “You said that the last time we took you to the bar, you were willing to participate next time. It’s next time, Reid.”
Spencer remembers the conversation and groans softly as he sips on his water. He hated disappointing them with his lack of effortless charm. It had improved through the years, but he still struggled to find the right words to say in front of someone he found attractive.
“Come on, Pretty Boy. Are you going to back out of your promise?” Derek’s voice is teasing as he smiles at Spencer. Spencer can’t help but feel a sense of newfound obligation. He knew what was holding him back and hated himself for it.
His inappropriate crush on you had grown to be near debilitating, and even though Spencer had told himself that it’d never happen, he kept holding out hope that one day it would. He had gone on dates in the near five months he had known you, but he always ended up comparing his dates to you. They never laughed as sweet as you. They came up with the same academically related jokes you did. They never– they just weren’t you, simple as that.
“Fine, but someone else. She’s pretty, but I think that girl is her girlfriend.” He pleaded softly, watching as a taller brunette woman spun around the pretty redhead to the beat.
Penelope clapped and set down her drink, “This next one has to be perfect.”
“Pretty boy’s future bride,”
Spencer felt his cheeks flush at that, and he nudged Derek with a nervous laugh. Penelope was still scanning the crowd. The bar wasn’t empty or devoid of beautiful women or men for her to choose from, but no one screamed Spencer Reid material. Derek was scanning the crowd with her, always happy to see her passionate about something, even if it was Reid’s love life.
A gasp slipped past Penelope’s lips as she grabbed Derek’s arm tight, her index pointing toward someone by the speakers. Derek’s eyes landed on who she was pointing at, and he smiled wide, nodding quickly, “Future Mrs. Reid material,”
Spencer can barely see where they are pointing as he tries to look toward the area that Garcia is pointing at. Then he sees her. It’s you, and his heart drops. He wants to tell his friends he knows that isn’t ‘Future Mrs. Reid’ at all, but Derek and Penelope are already pushing him into the crowd. He glares back at them and stubbles with his footing for a second before walking toward you.
You’re wearing a beautiful black dress, hugging your curves. In the flashing lights, Spencer thinks that you’re shining. Your hips sway lightly to the beat as you stand near the speakers, alone.
Spencer gently taps you on your shoulder, and when you turn around, you have a glare on your face before you see it's him. He almost laughs at how you gasp and loudly scream, “Spencer!” Your hands fly out to his shoulders, shaking him gently as you giggle. “Hi!” You’re so drunk.
Spencer is sure that Penelope and Derek are watching the scene unfold with confused expressions as he laughs softly, your hands on his shoulders gently shaking his body side-to-side. “Hey, where’s Josh?” He yells over the music.
“Getting drinks!” You yell back in an excited tone.
He smiles wide and shakes his head a little; he usually doesn’t find drunk people endearing. But right now, in the flashing lights of the bar, your rosy-cheek face and tipsy giddiness have him feeling a little more enamored than usual.
“Who are you here with?” You ask loudly, your hands falling away from his shoulders.
“Uh, my friends, coworkers!” he replies as he stands beside you to point out the confused-looking pair staring at them.
“Can I say hi?” He could tell that your friendly disposition continued even when intoxicated, and he found himself adoring the consistency. He nods gently, and you’re smiling so much. Spencer wonders how someone could be so excited about meeting someone else’s friends.
He leads you over, your fingers grabbing the back of his button-up as he carefully leads you through the crowd. The gentle pull of your fingers gripping his shirt makes his cheeks burn as he stops in front of Derek and Penelope. “Y/N, Derek, and Penelope. Penelope and Derek, Y/N.”
You let go of the back of his button-up quickly as you extend a giddy hand, “Hi, I haven’t met any friends of Spencer's yet.”
Derek looks amused as he shakes your hand, his eyes flicking between you and Spencer, “How do you know the boy genius?”
“I found him looking lost in the grocery store. We’re neighbors! Well, almost,” You let go of Derek’s hand to point towards the roof, “I’m on top of him.”
Spencer can feel the breath knocked out of his lungs as he quickly corrects you, “She lives on the floor above me.” He explains before either of them can make a joke.
Penelope matches your happy attitude as she shakes your hand, “We had no idea that Spencer had a friend in his apartment complex! How long have the two of you been friends?”
“Almost five months,” You say with a little giggle, leaning toward Penelope slightly. “Spencer comes over to discuss movies with me or books, or we went to a poetry reading last weekend.”
“He comes over often, huh?” Derek’s voice asks playfully, and you nod quickly.
“The mothership is always beckoning,” You joke, laughing harder than you should at your own joke.
Penelope slowly drops your hand, tilting her head, and her flower earrings sway slightly. “And... your roommate is okay with that?” she asks carefully, and Spencer wants to ask why she doesn’t simply ask if you have a boyfriend.
“Oh, no. Josh doesn’t care. He’s my boyfriend of two years. Nothing can break that security, I’m sure.” You look towards the bar for him and catch his eye. You wave high and wide for him, and he smiles, shaking his head at you as he waits for the drinks.
“So, Pretty Boy here is just a friend.”
You giggle a little at the nickname and try to cover your smile with your hand, looking at Spencer. “Pretty Boy?” You giggle out. Spencer frowns a little and goes to defend himself, but you’re already nodding, “He is a pretty boy. That’s fitting.” Then, he feels like his body is on fire.
Derek is about to say something when Josh slides behind you with two drinks. “Always with Spencer,” he teases softly, kissing your cheek before handing you your drink.
“Josh, these are Spencer’s friends, Penelope and Derek.” You say, taking the drink and happily taking a small sip.
Josh holds out his hand for them to shake, a charming smile on his face, “I thought Spencer’s only friend was my girlfriend.”
Penelope doesn’t laugh, but she still manages a polite smile and shakes his hand before Derek does the same thing. Spencer fidgets a little, still beside you. You turn your head up toward him, and you mouth a soft, ‘He’s drunk’ as a way to excuse Josh’s behavior.
However, recently, Josh has been acting like that sober. He would demand to join the two of you at the movies while complaining about the movie selection. He’d sit between the two of you if the opportunity arose, which wasn’t strange. What was weird was how he’d become more physically affectionate with you in front of Spencer. Spencer hated that– hated looking at it.
Josh quickly grabs your shoulders and says, “We should let you all get back to your night.” It sounds like a suggestion, but he’s already leading you away. You gasp as he guides you away from the three of them, and you quickly smile, wave, and yell out a quick, ‘It was nice to meet you’ before you walk further away with Josh.
Penelope sips on her drink as a way to stop herself from talking, but Derek breaks the silence first. “So he’s jealous of you.”
Spencer wants to deny it, but even he can’t deny the facts. “Not at first, but now… I don’t know if I’m not nice enough or if I did something, but yeah, lately, he’s been like that.”
Penelope sighed and looked toward where you and Josh had walked off to, “She seems sweet,”
“Yeah, Reid’s head over heels for her too.”
“Wait, Spencer, are you?”
His cheeks are flushed, and he’s shaking his head a little, a lame attempt to try and hide his feelings. Derek lays it on thick, “Come on, he doesn’t let just anyone touch him. Did you see how he looked at her when he approached her earlier? Like a lovesick dog with a bone in his mouth.”
Spencer raises his hands and scoffs, “Okay, I’m working on it, alright. She’s just easy to be around. I’m getting over it.”
Penelope is swooning over the information, “A forbidden romance,”
“Her gatekeeper boyfriend and you, the pretty boy genius from downstairs,” Derek adds.
Spencer sighs, annoyed with their teasing, “Alright, let’s drop it.” The pair gives him a look, and he adds a soft, “Please.” Seeing their friend’s annoyance didn’t usually deter them, but the way he shifted from one foot to the other as he begged them to stop had Penelope and Derek sharing a look before letting all their silent jokes go. Spencer was grateful that evening had returned to normal, his nervous thoughts slowly slipping away with easy conversation.
Day One Hundred and Eighty-Three
You’re sure Josh is mad at you for something. You just can't get it out of him. A few weeks ago, he had been nothing but sincere. Soft again, sweet again, him from a little over a year ago. It was beautiful, and it felt like he had finally listened. It felt like he had come back around and somehow repaired the hull.
Then he started ignoring you again. You had been careful, so careful, not to suffocate him like he mentioned. You make sure that you go out with Spencer on weekends. You distance yourself just enough for Josh to miss spending time with you. Spending time with Spencer was also good for you; he helps keep your spirits high.
He kept you feeling lighter than air. He would text you sometimes on cases with the team when he was out of town. Little reminders, little jokes, and sometimes… It felt nice. You didn’t know how to describe it. Thrilling, calming, extraordinary, and tumultuous all that once. It confused you, pulled at the heartstrings, softly tugging at something deep within you. It unsettled you and made you ache when you looked at Josh in bed next to you.
But his sweetness distracted you. Erased longing and replaced it with familiar love. You knew his steps, and he knew yours.
And now, he was angry with you. You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to be a pest to the man you loved. You hoped he would just come right out and say it. You hoped that his cup of secret rage would overflow and spill over.
The sound of heavy footsteps disrupts your stagnant reading. Your eyes kept reading the same sentence. Every time you tried to continue with the following sentence, you found yourself unable to do so. You set the book face down on the bed and smiled a little at Josh as he stood in the doorway. It was Friday night, and Spencer was on a case. Molly was busy, Christina was busy, and everyone was busy. So you stayed home, attempting to read.
He was drunk, no drunk didn’t even cover it. He looked like death, pale with red eyes and muttering incoherent things to himself. “Josh… are you okay?” Your smile quickly faded, and you moved to the edge of the bed, watching him sway against the door frame.
He didn’t answer and just laughed a little, which turned into a groan and then a sigh. You push yourself off the bed and walk to him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, but before your fingers can touch him, he smacks your hands away with a deep frown. “Josh!” You gasp as you pull your hand away, rubbing at the slightly pink skin.
“Not right,” he mutters, and you shake your head as you try to understand what he’s talking about.
“What’s not right? Josh, are you okay?”
He stumbles as he pushes past you, his shoulder roughly bumping into yours as he sits on the bed. You stay by the door. “This. Us, not right anymore.” He roughly puts it together.
You can feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach as you turn around to face him, “What are you talking about?”
“Not right anymore,” his drunk hands are dramatically waving between the two of you, “You’re not,” he motions to his chest lamely, “Here anymore.”
You can feel the tears threatening to rise in your eyes, your breathing becoming fast as you shake your head. “I’m here, you’re here.” You point your index into your chest, just above your heart. “What are you saying?”
“Not here,” He repeats loudly.
“I am here!” you yell back as you walk to him. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but we can discuss it, Josh. We can fix things.” You can feel the weight of the world crashing down on your chest, its weight making it difficult to breathe clearly.
“No,”
You’re quick to talk over him, “Yes, we can,”
“No, we can’t,”
“Whatever it is, it’s okay, we can–”
“No–”
“It’s okay, I won’t be mad–”
“I’m in love with someone else,” He yells, his spit hitting your cheek. Your hands twitch slightly at the feeling, but you can’t move. All you can do is stare at him with a gaping mouth, opening and closing repeatedly like a fish. You couldn’t form the words, and your mind was blank. “Don’t give me that.”
You feel like someone else’s voice is speaking, “Give you what? Shock? Disgust? You’re in love with someone else. How else am I supposed to react? Do you want me to be happy? Oh, Josh, I’m so happy for you and your mistress! I’m so glad that you’re fucking her and me at the same time! I’m so happy, so happy!”
“I’m not fucking Estelle, she and I,”
“Your coworker, are fucking you kidding me?”
“Oh, shut up with the pity party!” He looks sober suddenly, his face red and twisted with rage as he stands up from the bed. Your footing slips a little before you catch yourself walking back from him. “You think these past six months I’ve enjoyed having him over here all the time? Giggling with you in the living room over some intellectual private joke that I don’t get, o-or how about when you disappear with him every weekend you can? Introducing you to his friends in bars, going to movies with you, you didn’t try hiding it from me!”
“Him? Who are you talking about?” Then it dawned on you, and Josh could tell from how your back straightened and how you looked at him with unsure eyes. “Spencer? You think I’m cheating on you with Spencer?”
“Not physically, but yes.”
“Josh, what are you even saying right now? I made a friend who likes the same things I do. I mean… a year ago, you told me that I was suffocating. You told me that you didn’t enjoy my hobbies. Did you just expect me to stop them? How did I cheat on you? Spencer and I we’ve never–”
“It doesn’t matter if you’ve never fucked, or-or kissed him! Emotionally, you gave up on us. You’re only emotionally available for him. He gets you, all your jokes, your kindness, everything. He has it all. You’re always running into his arms!”
“Running into his arms? Josh, you push me to him. I don’t love Spencer; we are just friends. He’s there for me because he is my friend! What are you going to say now? Th-that I forced you to Estelle, who, by the way, I saw last month at that Holiday party for the office. Are you going to tell me that me being by your side all while having a friend with the same interest as me was too much for you?” You can barely breathe.
“You know it's more than that, don’t play victim. I can see the way you look at him. You used to look at me like that, and then six months ago, you met him. You didn’t even try.”
“I didn’t try.” You repeat back before you’re scoffing a little, pacing the room quickly. “You shut me out. You stopped talking to me for months. If anyone has the right to play the victim here, it’s me. I don’t see you for hours. We had the day off for our second anniversary, and you didn’t talk to me until noon. When I moved in with you, did you even want me to be a person? Or did you want a perfectly still doll, interesting only when you want her to be interesting, talkative only when you want to listen, ready for the taking when it was good for you? Go ahead, treat me like a fucking doll.”
Josh is shaking his head now, his breathing ragged as he slowly runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t,” He pauses, his eyes looking at a photo of the two of you from two years ago framed on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter anymore? I don’t love you anymore. You can make me the villain. I don’t care. I want you out.”
You swallow hard at his words and laugh a little, “Where am I supposed to go?”
“I,” He looks at you, and you see how tired he looks. The part of you that still loves him feels crushed; the other just feels angry. “My name is on the lease. Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I’ll let you pack a bag, but I want you,” he motions towards the apartment, and you assume he means your presence in the apartment and your things. “Gone.” And he doesn’t let you say anything back, walking out into the living room.
You stand still; you feel frozen. You don’t know if you want to start crying, start packing, or just call people to see if you can crash at theirs. That feeling, the feeling that he planted in you rises inside you. You’ll be a burden, suffocating, and miserable. But you need a place to sleep for the night.
Your shaky hands reach for your phone on the bed, randomly calling people. Alex is out of town, you know. Christina just moved and doesn’t even have a couch yet. You call Molly, but she doesn’t answer. You wish you lived in Boston so you could call Sabrina, but that’s unrealistic. You keep scrolling through the contacts and try to think.
As you reach the next contact, your fingers falter, and your mouth feels dry. You hesitate multiple times before hitting the call button. You wait with bated breath as you bring your phone to your ear.
Ring.
You should hang up. This is a bad idea.
Ring.
Doesn’t this just prove Josh’s point?
Ring.
You don’t even know if he’s back in town or when he’ll be back. You should hang up before he answers; call someone else.
The third ring is cut short as Spencer picks up the phone. Your hands shake as he says a gentle, tired, “Hello?”
“He-hey.. Uh, are you still in Illinois?”
“No, we’re an hour out. Are you okay? You sound like you’re upset.”
You lick your lips quickly as you debate, telling him everything: the fight, how Josh is kicking you out. Instead, you settle for, “I just need a place to crash for the night, and I know it's a big ask, and you’re getting home from a case, but–”
“Yes, yeah, you can stay at mine.” You let out a slow breath and nod a little, a sense of temporary relief settling over you.
“Thank you, thank you so much. I… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be at yours in an hour?”
“See you soon,” Spencer says before you hang up the phone. You get to work as fast as you can, grabbing luggage from the closet and packing like a mad woman. Anything you can fit into the case, you carefully fold or roll up and stuff inside.
An hour comes around, and you’re packed enough for a week at the very least. You grab the only thing on the bed that’s yours, a dark green blanket, before slowly rolling the suitcase into the living room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re not in your body anymore, watching the scene from the ceiling.
Josh turns, a phone against his ear, and you only catch the ends of an ‘I love you’ before he hangs up. He draws his lips in a tight line before asking, “Where you headed?”
You feel like he knows the answer, “Spencer’s.”
His lips turn upwards, and he laughs; he laughs so hard that he’s gripping his side. “Ye-Yeah, that's right. Prove me right. Run straight to Doctor Reid. Fucking rich.” He snips at you as you finally feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “You know what let him have my sloppy seconds.”
You gasp softly, the comment like a punch in the gut. “Have fun fucking her in our bed. Make sure to put the pictures face down before you give her the most underwhelming four minutes of her life. I’ll be back tomorrow to start packing.” You say as you start stepping through the front door, slamming it behind you. You’re panting lightly in the empty hallway, your mind numb as tears stream down your face. You don’t remember lugging your stuff to the second floor or getting to Spencer’s door.
The only thing you remember is the sound of your name and gentle hands grabbing your chin and tilting your head up with care. You remember sobbing, hyperventilating out the events of the past evening to him as he helps you inside. And the eventual call of sleep that reaches you on Spencer’s couch.
Day One Hundred and Ninety
Spencer could hear the soft sounds of your computer playing something in the living room. Last Friday… Well, technically, early Saturday morning, you had your head on your knees outside his apartment door. The sound of sobs had him dropping his dirty go-bag and grabbing your chin to soothe you.
He listened to everything: how Josh thought that you were emotionally cheating on him with Spencer, how Josh had fallen in love with a coworker, and how he kicked you out. You said you would have stayed, but the lease was in his name. It was a stupid decision of the past catching up with you– your words, not Spencer’s.
You had told him that it would only be for one night, but Spencer wasn’t going to make you couch surf all week. He insisted that you stay with him until you found an apartment. He let you stuff your boxes of things in his study and was happy to do it.
The worst part about this arrangement was seeing you like this, seeing you so heartbroken. You went to work a little later than him, came home later than him, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle. He kept catching you with a dissociative look on your face. Too scared to ask you if you were okay, he would awkwardly attempt to cheer you up with your shared hobbies. But that only worked for so long until you were ending the night with that numb look on your face again.
He lays in bed, wondering if he should go into the living room to check on you. He barely thinks it through before he throws his covers off and slips out of bed. He has plaid pajama pants on with an old CalTech shirt, and when he walks into the living room, he can see you pause what you’re watching on your computer and smile at him.
“Hey,” you whisper, even though it's just the two of you in the apartment.
“Hey,” Spencer whispers back before sighing and walking toward the back of the couch. “Can’t sleep?”
You look up at him before returning to the dimly lit computer screen, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” His quick reply has you nodding a little. You shift a little, pushing yourself up to make room on the couch for him. He takes the unspoken invitation and sits down next to you.”What are we watching?”
You lick your lips nervously, “Romcom. When Harry Met Sally.”
Spencer glances at you before he admits, “Never seen it.”
You gasp softly, and that playful light returns in your eyes for a second. He hasn’t seen that light in a week. “Spencer Reid, you haven’t lived.”
Spencer takes the opportunity to joke around with you, making a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Wrong. I’ve been alive for many years.”
This gets a weak smile from you, but still a smile nonetheless. “You want to watch it with me? I know it's late, but… maybe it’ll lure you to sleep if you find it boring.”
Spencer grins, glancing at the clock to see how late it is. He shakes his head a little, “Maybe we could just talk for a second? I’ve barely seen you this week.” He suggests. You’re quick to nod, shutting your laptop. You lean back on the sofa and bring your legs up to sit crisscrossed. He watches you. Your eyes are no longer red or puffy, but the skin on your cheeks still seems pale, lacking their natural rosiness.
“I found a great apartment, but I can’t move in until the end of this month.” You break the silence first, hands folding awkwardly in your lap.
Spencer nods, resisting the urge to hold one of your hands as he speaks. “That’s fine, and I’m not kicking you out anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for three more weeks.”
You chuckle a little at that, “Ever the gentleman,” You say softly, but your eyes don’t have that light anymore. You seem distracted, your eyes lingering on him briefly before staring at your hands. “Spencer,”
“Yeah?”
“What do you do when everything feels like too much?”
Your voice cracks softly as you ask the question, and Spencer is scared you’ll start crying again. He always feels useless whenever you cry, a genius without answers. He swallows the nervous lump in his throat: “I read, or sometimes I force myself to go out. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I end up at the public library. Or sometimes, if I have the day, I go to the Smithsonian. But... it’s been a while.”
You seem to perk up a little at the mention of the Smithsonian, and you give him a playfully little side glance, “Air and Space?” You guess with a small smile.
He smiles and shrugs, “Sometimes,” he returns the playful sideways glance. “Portrait Gallery?”
You’re laughing a little as you nod. Spencer feels relieved to hear its soft melody. “Portrait Gallery.” You confirm your pick with a soft sigh.
Spencer lets warm silence spread for a second, his eyes occasionally flickering over to your serene expression. “What about you? What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?”
Your eyes meet his as he asks the question, and for a second, you seem a little surprised that he is asking you anything. He wonders if you expected him to keep talking or ignore the tension in the air around you.
“Well, reading is lovely. Museums, movies,” you pause for a second, and your expression softens. “Music. I love music when I’m feeling overwhelmed, sad, or happy. It’s a universal fix, music.”
“What kind of music?” He has heard you talk about music before, how you didn’t understand people who hated it. Music helped him escape to childhood memories, the good ones at least. He wondered if it had the same effect on you.
“Everything. Pop, country, indie, anything that moves me. I like classical too, but only sometimes.”
“Why only sometimes?”
“I like it in ballets, plays, movies. I like the visual representation that accompanies it.” Your eyes leave his slowly, “Like a music box with a ballerina inside.”
Spencer finds that this version of you, the melancholy version, is blunt. You don’t people-please or avoid questions; instead, you would directly state something. He liked how you directly stated your musical likes and how honest they were. He finds himself wanting every version of yourself that you have shown him lately, and he feels a little guilty for it.
A soft gasp from your lips stops him from overthinking, “Oh shoot,” You mutter as you pull out your phone, looking at the calendar before you curse softly.
“What’s wrong?’
“I, uhm,” You swallow hard and set your phone down, “I just remembered that Josh and I were going to celebrate our third anniversary a little early this year. Our second wasn’t the best, and he promised we would do something I wanted to do. We had tickets to see Swan Lake.” You chew on your bottom lip slowly, getting lost in the thought before you say, “That’s next month. I gotta cancel.”
Spencer can see how you slump at the thought and how sad it makes you to cancel the plans. He feels himself saying the words before he can even process them: “I can go with you.”
You turn to him with a soft laugh of disbelief, “What?”
“We could go together. Make the most of it. I mean, I like Swan Lake.”
“Spencer, it would be wrong to spend what would be my third anniversary with you. I mean–”
“It wouldn’t be the exact day. You said it was a couple of months early, so it would just be us…going to see Swan Lake. Just friends, seeing a ballet, and getting dinner or something. A night on the town. Something to keep your mind off things,”
He hopes you’ll agree to the offer, his heart beating loudly in his chest as you stare into his eyes. Your eyes dart back and forth, rapidly looking into his eyes and then at his face. The silence is killing him, a knife in his back as he tries his best to breathe normally.
Then you’re giving him a slow smile, a little shy at first, before you beam at the suggestion, “Okay,”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, let’s go to the ballet together. I mean, I would do it with or without Josh anyway. Now I’ll be able to go with someone who will actually enjoy it, even better.” Your eyes meet his hazel ones again, and you place a tentative hand over his. “Thank you, Spence.” Your voice is sincere, and Spencer feels his body relax when you touch him.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend my evening two months from now.” He whispers in the air between you before he slips his hand away from yours and stands. He yawns softly, “Now… let’s get some sleep.”
You nod, a small smile still on your face as you lay on the couch. “Night.” You whisper as you close your eyes.
Spencer stands and stares down at you a little longer than he should before he takes a step toward his bedroom. “Goodnight,” he says as he walks into his bedroom. He’s thinking about your genuine smile for another hour before he even closes his eyes.
Come In With The Rain- Part Two (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. I could tell everyone everything that has been going on for the past couple of weeks but I fear that no one cares. I genuinely found solace in writing this, and I really hope everyone likes it! I have not proofread this very throughly, but hey partially proofreading something is better than nothing at all guys. I thought about writing a SFW and NSFW version but I feel like if you don't want to read the smut in this... just scroll down a little more and it'll go away. With so much love and gratitude, Em.
Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain
Part one -> You are on Part Two!
Yee olde masterlist
WARNING: Light cursing, pining, guilt up the wazoo, Spencer Reid being pookie again, death mentioned (its literally a part of Swan Lake don't worry), ballet talk by someone who sucks at ballet (me), SMUT okay?!?!?!?, the words cunt and cock guys!!! (I'm 22 I have free will), unprotected sex (STIs are no joke, believe me), fingering, mention of oral sex, slight dirty talk, female anatomy, dark house mentioned, joke of a heart attack, and a secret final thing (not proofread well enough probably).
Plot: Coping with your break-up was no easy feat. Luckily, Spencer is there to help. Maybe that's why he can't stop thinking about you.
Word Count: 20,043
Day Two Hundred and Five
After week two of the breakup, you decided you couldn’t sit around and cry on Spencer’s couch anymore. You weren’t ready to go out every night or date again by any means; you were still working on some things in the dating area. Dating someone for two years and five months will do that to you.
But you were ready to get back to doing things you enjoyed: reading novels, watching movies, baking, cooking, knitting, and spending time with a man you were grateful to call one of your best friends.
Spencer Reid was a godsend. He wouldn’t accept any money as a thank-you for letting you crash on his couch for a month, so you moved to your next best angle– spoiling the man. If he went to the grocery store, you went with him. You’d take control of the cart and grab items needed for breakfast, lunch, and dinner– you became a hardworking FBI agent’s dream. You’d make breakfast for the two of you, occasionally making lunch with too many leftovers, forcing Spencer to take some before he left for work that day, and then topping it all off with dinners.
He had tried to get you to stop multiple times. He felt terrible and guilty for having a guest in his kitchen more than he was. You wouldn’t hear it, and the times you did, he would find a book he had mentioned last week on his bed the next day.
He felt like he was losing his mind over your kindness. You were overcompensating when there was no reason to overcompensate. He kept telling you how happy he was to have you in the apartment, that you were safe, but you would just say a sweet “I know” before you’d be on his couch looking up a recipe for some elaborate jello dessert.
You sat across from him at his dining room table, humming softly as you ate. Seeing your slightly happy mood made Spencer feel better. He assumed another reason for your ‘attentive’ behavior recently was that it was a coping mechanism for you. Struggling with the loss of a two-year relationship, he knew you were struggling— struggling with quite a bit, actually: your failed relationship, your upcoming move, being cheated on, and, the cherry on top, immense guilt.
You felt like a burden above all else. You had told Spencer as such after apologizing for nothing for what seemed to be the tenth time two weeks ago. He threatened to find whoever taught you the word and ensure they never saw the light of day again, and that got a smile out of you at the time.
Spencer was starting to wrestle with some guilt of his own. It wasn’t that you had done anything to warrant said guilt. You were the perfect guest—a saint. Even when faced with situations that would leave anyone nearly catatonic for weeks, you were spoiling him. And he was eating it up, literally and figuratively.
A rational voice inside of his head knew that being around you was a bad idea at the current time. Josh had accused you of cheating on him with Spencer emotionally, that is. It was a terrible time, and it couldn’t be a worse time for him to realize how strong his feelings were for you. It is not necessarily love per se, but perhaps it is an intense infatuation. He kept trying to rationalize his feelings over and over and over again. He knew you were nowhere near ready for that kind of revelation. He had to intellectualize and compartmentalize his emotions into a tiny box in his brain to protect himself and you. That was the right thing to do.
So, he relished in these little moments while you were still crashing at his apartment, happily eating across from him—all while knowing he could not have you. You’d always take a few bites and then ask him how his day was. The simple ask made a smile appear on his face nearly every time.
He shrugged a little, a small smile on his lips as he twisted some noodles onto his fork. “It was okay, thankfully, it was slow. Paperwork is a nice break from traveling for cases. Not that I don’t like the cases, they can just get…” He trails off briefly, looking down at the chow mein on his fork. “Overwhelming.”
When he looks up, his heart nearly melts at the sweet, empathetic look you’re giving him. With you, it was never pity. You always looked at him with soft, compassionate eyes and a look that told him you felt for him. He remembers mentioning his struggles with his mother briefly as the two of you watched a movie earlier that week, a character being paranoid schizophrenic. You briefly expressed sympathy for the character and how hard it must be to live with something like that. Spencer can’t remember what came over him when he said, “It’s hard on a family– hard to watch.”
You stared at him for a second before you blinked a little and reached for his hand, resting your palm on the back of his hand. You said nothing after that, and Spencer was happy you didn’t pry.
You were good at listening like that, something he adored about you. You never bombarded him with questions; sometimes, you’d offer a soft “Do you want to talk about it?” but nothing beyond that.
You knew you could be nosy with Spencer’s job, but sometimes you could look into those hazel eyes and tell when he did or didn’t want to talk about something. It was a superpower you had picked up in the almost seven months of knowing him.
You poked at a carrot with your chopsticks after Spencer answered your question regarding his day, “Paperwork day for the guy who reads twenty-thousands words per minute has got to go by fast,”
“You would think so, but sometimes, when I sit down for so long, all my energy leaves me. Has to be all the sleep I’ve been losing lately due to someone’s soft snoring in the living room.” He chuckles softly, a playful look in his eyes as he bites down on his chow mein.
You gasp and glare at him playfully, “You said it wasn’t that bad!” You’re shaking your head in seeming disbelief as he chews, taking a moment to tease him more. “I can’t believe you, Spencer Walter Reid, would lie to me like this. How am I supposed to trust you?”
He’s rolling his eyes as he swallows, his mouth opening to reply when a knocking at his door causes the two of you to cease all sounds of laughter and look toward the door. You watch as Spencer walks to the door, looking through the peephole. He sends you a sympathetic look over his shoulder and opens the door.
You’re standing up now, walking away from the small dining room table to peer over who is at the door. You feel your knees become weak at the sight of them together. It’s a blatant attempt to get back at you, and it isn’t exactly subtle as Estelle wraps her arms around Josh’s arm. You watch as his elbow presses into her exposed cleavage, and you feel like laughing wildly.
Josh is slow to see you behind Spencer, but eventually, his eyes land on you. You want to look away, but his eyes on yours have you frozen. You lick your lips nervously as you wonder why he’s here. Two weeks, almost three, of not even attempting to see you. And now he’s at Spencer’s front door. He’s probably sick with satisfaction at the fact that you’re here– you can see it in the way he smiles at you.
You used to love seeing him smile, but this one causes your stomach to turn. He’s saying something, but it all sounds like static. You shake your head a little before you hear your voice whisper, “Sorry, what?”
“I have a box of your things.” He repeats, and you see the cardboard box now. You nod a little and walk toward the door. Your hands are shaking as you take the box away from him. You look at Estelle, who is trying to avoid your gaze, as you take the box.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“I didn’t want to see it anymore,” He maneuvers Estelle’s hand into his as you take the box away from him. “That and we were on our way out tonight. What’s wrong with two lovebirds visiting two other lovebirds.”
Your tongue feels like sandpaper as you try not to yell, cry, throw up, maybe all at once. Spencer is the one who speaks up for you, “We aren’t in a relationship,”
“Oh, so you’re just screwing my leftovers?”
Spencer is trying to keep calm, but his grip on the edge of his door is tightening, and he can hear the anger in his voice as he says, “Have some respect.”
He feels Josh’s laughter at his comment coarse through his veins like a non-luminescent flame; venom rises on his tongue before he feels a soft hand touching his arm. Your eyes are wide and sorrowful as you silently shake your head at him. It’s enough to make him stand down but not enough to stop him from attempting to kill your ex-boyfriend with a glare.
“Thank you, Josh. I hope the two of you have a lovely evening.” You say as you motion for Spencer to close the door, and you let out a shaky sigh as he does, the door closing with a light click. “Thought I packed everything,” you whisper as you walk back to the dining room table, setting the box on the floor next to you. As you sit back in your chair to eat, Spencer stands awkwardly next to you for a second, his eyes looking at the box before he tears them away and sits in his seat.
It is quiet, so quiet and tense that Spencer can hear everything. His senses are attuned to any signs of distress from you, but none do. You look up from your Chinese food after a while and give him a little confused look. He’s sure he’s looking at you strangely, so he decides he can’t handle the silence anymore. “Why are you still nice to him?”
You look back down at your food as you poke at pieces of broccoli and celery. You sigh gently as your shoulders slump, “What’s the point of being mean? He has Estelle. He thinks he’s won whatever our break-up was. I can’t fight that.”
“Why not?”
“Can’t argue with someone who doesn’t think they’re in the wrong, Spence.”
Spencer draws his lips into a tight line and looks at his food, slowly twirling some soy-covered noodles on his fork. “I guess not, but it still isn’t fair to you.”
“None of this is fair, but I can’t control it. I can only control myself. He didn’t listen the first time, and he won’t listen the second time. I’d be wasting my breath.” You huff out sharply as you take a bite of soy-covered broccoli. Spencer raises his gaze to meet yours and smiles apologetically, but he doesn’t have to say the words as he watches you chew. You’re already shaking your head with amusement in your eyes.
After a few more minutes of silent eating, you glance at the box by your feet and playfully ask, “You want to see what we got?”
Spencer wants to tell you that it’s your stuff. You probably already know what is inside, but he figures you already know that. You’re just trying to make the situation less tense. So, he nods, “Yeah,”
You clap your hands together quickly before leaning down to grab the box. You look up at him and count down slowly, “Three… Two… One!” Your fingers open the box as you laugh.
Spencer doesn’t need to lean over the table to see what is inside the box as you slowly start pulling items from the box and holding them up proudly. A half-read book, bookmarks, pens, earrings, necklaces, and then your fingers stall. You slowly pull out a photo of Josh’s family with yours, the two of you in the middle. You frown a little as you show Spencer, and he wonders what he should say in an attempt to comfort you.
But you’re gently turning the photo back to you and tracing the edges. Then you smile, a genuine smile. It’s the last thing Spencer expects from you as you whisper, “It was a great vacation, you know? I kept asking for those cocktails with the little umbrella, and Josh’s mom and I kept talking about–” You cut yourself off.
You look up at Spencer, “Well, it was great.”
Spencer wanted to grab you by your shoulder and shake you out of it, and he didn’t understand how you could be so happy to remember your time with Josh when the relationship ended so badly. How could you give Josh another one of your smiles?
“I know it seems dramatic,” you sigh as you set the picture back into the box. “But Monday, I was just at work and felt free… if that makes any sense?”
Spencer shook his head slightly, indicating he did not understand what you were saying. You bit your lip a little as you tried to suppress a smile, “When I took a second to think about Josh and me. I realized that…he hadn’t been the person I fell in love with for a long time. He hasn’t been that person for a whole year. That’s the funny thing about love: you’re supposed to love a person as they change. I think I’m still holding onto Josh from a year ago. The Josh from right before I moved in.”
Spencer nodded along silently, trying his hardest to relate. As far as he could tell, Spencer had only been in love once. He never got to the part that you were talking about. He barely got to meet her before she died. When you were still dating Josh, you asked Spencer if there was someone, and he told you a little bit about his someone– his Maeve. His headaches, her intelligence, their romance, and how he lost her just when he was about to have her.
He remembers how you teared up and how easy it felt to hug you. He wasn’t fond of hugging people when he was upset. He wanted to protect himself from showing too much to most people, but you weren’t most people. You were the first person he could dream about again, making him hope for the maybe.
But that hope for something more with you didn’t matter much when you were right in front of him, telling him you were holding onto a version of Josh long gone. He didn’t know what to say if he was being honest. Matters of the heart always make him stumble around a little, and he always feels like he says the wrong things.
You shift in your seat before you say a sweet, “I’m going to okay, really okay.” And Spencer believes you.
Day Two Hundred and Twenty-Five
Spencer helped you move into your new apartment at the beginning of the month. It was ten minutes from your old complex and, according to Spencer, ‘too far away for him to keep an eye on you.’ If you were being honest, you were happy to be alone for the first time since the break-up.
Spencer was a great friend, the best friend, for letting you crash on his couch for an entire month. You got to see a more intimate version of him, too. You had told him that you’d felt like a burden initially, but by the end, you couldn’t end but feel ashamed of yourself.
Spencer would come home and try to push you out of the kitchen as you made dinner. If he couldn’t, then he would insist on helping you. He would sit on the couch with you, and if you were interested in something he wasn’t a fan of, he would say, 'This could be the movie that changes my mind.’ He was so sweet, caring, and overwhelmingly supportive that you couldn’t help but develop a soft spot for him. It made you feel sick to think that maybe Josh was right– maybe you did have feelings for Spencer. So, you gave it a few weeks when you moved into your new apartment.
There was no way Josh was right. You tried to remember all the ways that Spencer Reid was off-limits. He was your best friend. He had seen you sob over Legally Blonde and then critiqued it until you laughed, face raw from tears. He had seen you cry over a burnt roast one stormy evening last week. Even if you did have feelings for Spencer, it was unlikely he reciprocated those feelings. You were too much of a mess.
Being away from him helped you shove any feelings for him deep into the ridges of your mind and process everything. You didn’t have time to focus on Spencer or men in general. No, you need to focus on yourself for a while.
You decided to avoid hanging out with Spencer until the ballet in two and a half weeks, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. You could sort through your emotions to see if they were something real or an intense version of friendship—friendly affection and nothing more.
With no Spencer, no one to come home to at night, and no one to embarrass yourself to, one thing was evident for the weeks ahead. It was going to be an incredibly dull two and a half weeks.
Day Two Hundred and Forty-Five
You kept glancing at the clock at work. Friday night, tonight at six. The ballet wasn’t until eight, but Spencer and you had dinner plans. You canceled the reservation that was initially intended for Josh and you and changed it to a restaurant you actually enjoyed. And if you were being honest… you were excited to see Spencer, have a nice dinner, and see Swan Lake.
It seemed like the perfect evening. After spending the past two and a half weeks mulling over your feelings and what they were toward Spencer. You decided you couldn’t do it. Spencer Reid was untouchable. He was your friend, and pridefully, you couldn’t let Josh’s accusations become true. It felt wrong, dirty. So you decided that no matter your feelings for Spencer, they would ultimately calm down and return to the good-natured platonic feelings they once were– if they were ever platonic, you didn’t know. You were still figuring that part out.
The second you got home, you dove into your closet. Back in college, you used to joke that every location had a theme, and a part of you still believed that. You were careful when choosing your outfit. Black was a classic, and you had debated it against a different dress in a color that looked good against your skin. Ultimately, the elegant black ruched dress you had hanging up in your closet won. You had better shoes for it anyway.
The way you were getting ready was a little frantic, accompanied by the fact that Spencer insisted on picking you up since you now lived closer to the restaurant. You were scared you didn’t have enough time.
Primping and preening would have to be cut in half. Ultimately, you still had ten minutes to get ready before Spencer texted you to let you know he was on his way. Your hair was done in a stylish way that framed your face just right, your skin moisturized and glittering, and your makeup done to be clean and slightly romantic.
You were pulling on a pair of low pumps when you heard his soft knocking at your door. You glanced at your bedroom door and let out a soft groan of frustration as you struggled with a strap on one of the shoes, “It’s open!” You trip a little as you rush across the room for your bag, so the words come out slightly stumbled.
Nonetheless, Spencer hears it, and you can hear the front door opening. “You know, even if it is for my benefit, you shouldn’t do that.” You hear him call out from your living room, along with the sound of something rustling.
You smile and shake your head as you try to pick between a pair of earrings, “But, it was for you. You can walk back out, and I’ll lock it again, just for you.”
“Alright, I can drive home right now.”
“And leave me all alone tonight? You wouldn’t dare.” You laugh out as you take one last look at yourself in the mirror and slowly smooth out your dress's fabric. A small voice in your head whispers, “Dates always make me nervous.” You feel your cheeks burn at the idea that this is a date–you remind yourself it isn’t.
This is just two friends hanging out, platonically. You look at yourself in the mirror as you silently convince yourself that friends hang out all the time. You can hear Sabrina’s voice in your head; after you told her that you were going to the ballet with Spencer, she said, “‘Me and my hot friends always go on platonic dates that definitely won’t lead to anything, ever.’”
You cringe inwardly at the memory, shaking off your anxieties as you open your bedroom door and step out. The first thing you notice is the bouquet of flowers in his hands—your favorite flowers mixed amongst baby’s breath and eucalyptus leaves. You gasp softly and give him a broad smile, “You got me flowers?”
Spencer's eyes haven’t met yours yet as they trail down your body. He’s trying not to stare at you like a creep, honest. But it’s near impossible to pull his eyes away from how you look in that dress, his gaze meeting yours, hoping you didn’t catch him staring at you like a hungry dog.
“Yeah. Yes, I did. I saw them at the store and thought you’d like them.” He’s a lousy liar.
You smile wide as you take them out of his hands and go into the kitchen to find a vase for them. “Now, why did you just lie?” You call him out with a soft laugh.
Spencer frowns a little, knowing he can’t give you the real reason. Because I haven’t seen you in two weeks and I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone who was only ten minutes away. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I feel like I can actually think clearly when you’re around. Because you make my mind slow to a steady beat that doesn’t scare me… Because… Because… “Flowers can have a long-term and immediate effect on a person’s mood. Most of the moods associated with flowers are joy, empathy, hope, pride, and love, to name a few. I just wanted to make you,” he pauses as his lips form a tight-lipped smile, “feel the associated emotions.” And it is partially truthful.
You like that answer enough as you cut the stems shorter, fill the vase with water halfway, and carefully slip the bouquet into the vase. “Well, I do feel happy…” You trace one of the stems with a feather touch. “And, I do feel pretty,” you pause as you sing a little, slightly off-key, “and witty, and–”
“Please, no. I just got that song out of my head!” Spencer says as his hands fly to his ear dramatically. He can recognize that laugh in a pitch-black room; his smile hurts his cheeks.
As you rearrange the flowers, you glance at Spencer’s outfit and feel something akin to butterflies in your stomach (maybe just a little lower). His look isn’t far off from his work clothes. The same dark plum tie against his light grape button-up long sleeve. Sometimes, he wears a cardigan with it, but he’s sporting a grey blazer right now. Same slacks, different shoes. Same Spencer, neater hair.
“Did you get a haircut? It looks…” As you slowly leave the rearranged flowers, you trail off and walk to him, staring up at his hair. “Tame." you finish with a smile.
Spencer looks down into your eyes and shakes his head slowly, “No, haircut. Just had a stroke of luck.” But he can see your hand coming up to his hair, and he’s too slow to stop you as you ruffle his hair lightly and gasp.
“Gel!” You squeal as he grabs your right hand by the wrist and pulls it away from his hair. You’re giggling too much to notice how intimate this could look to someone on the outside. “Good luck, my ass.”
“Apologies for wanting to look good next to you. I’ll never try again.”
“I like your hair as it is.” You say as he drops your wrist and takes a small step back. “And we always look good together, excuse you.”
He wants to tell you that it sounds wrong when you say it like that, but he doesn’t want to interrupt that smile on your face, so he just wordlessly nods before checking his watch.
Before he can get the words out, you quickly grab your bag and say, “Reservation is in twenty. We must make haste!”
The restaurant wasn’t too far, but you had a thing with time, and you didn’t want to be late for the ballet at eight, so when the hostess said your table was already ready when you and Spencer arrived— a wave of relief washed over your anxious bones.
It was a fine dinner, with delightful conversation– witty banter and laughs. When Spencer left for the bathroom, you watched him as you happily sipped on your water. You felt a soft tap on your shoulder that caused your head to turn, a pretty woman looking at you with stars in her eyes.
“You and your boyfriend are so sweet,”
You felt hot all over, “Oh,” you shake your head a little, “He’s n-”
“You two bounce off each other so well; I’ve never heard anything like it! Honey,” she looks to her girlfriend across the table, “Have you ever heard two people so good– Don’t give me that look. She thinks I’m nosy, never mind her opinion,” A sharp laugh comes from her girlfriend, “I just hope you know that the two of you are adorable!”
You smile politely and force yourself not to sink into your chair, “Thank you,” you squeak softly. She nods with a large grin as she turns back to her dinner, and you awkwardly do the same, poking gently at your food with your fork.
Spencer can see how you’re slumped a little in your chair, breathing heavily, as you slowly shake your head. He can’t help but wonder what happened in the five minutes he was away from the table. He places a soft hand on your forearm as he sits down and whispers, “What’s wrong?”
Your eyes meet his, and you let the caramel color of his eyes bring you back to reality. “Just a bad memory,” You flash him a fake smile, gently pulling your arm away from his grip. You look down at your meal, then at him, “What’s the time?”
Spencer’s pulling back his sleeve, his eyes holding your gaze before glancing at the time. “7:18.”
You nod, taking another sip of your water, “It’s only fifteen away,” Your voice sounds off, and Spencer can feel his brows furrowing at the sound.
“Did I do someth–”
“No,” you say quickly. Your gaze looks uneased, but your touch on his hand is soft with concern. “No, Spence. I’m just in my head, thinking too many things at once. I’ll be okay.”
Spencer tries to relax over your words, but he knows something is wrong—something you don’t want to discuss with him. He slowly nods and says gently, “Okay,” And lets it slide.
For a second, there is a beat of palatable silence, and Spencer can feel his skin itch due to the lack of sound at the table. He didn’t mind comfortable silences in rooms with you, but this was hardly comfortable. So he did the best thing he knew how to do, “You know,” your eyes land on his, “Ballet originated during the Italian Renaissance, the fifteenth century actually. However, it wasn’t until the sixteenth century that it was brought to France by Catherine de Medici.”
You mouthed a soft ‘oh,’ Spencer continued before you could say more. “She showed the first ‘meal fork’ in court too!” Spencer said with a nod, taking his fork in hand and making an excited face at you.
You smile wide at that and laugh openly at him, “Are you trying to cheer me up by talking about a dead Queen of France right now?”
“That depends, is it working?”
You shrug a little, playful and dismissive, “I haven’t decided yet.”
Spencer liked his lips, and he stared at you for a second, “Catherine De Medici was notoriously Catholic and played a center role in the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, which was a ploy to wipe out Hugo-”
“Are we ready for the check?” The waiter’s voice interrupted Spencer’s mini-rant. A slight frown appeared on your face as you looked at your almost-finished food and gave the waiter a slight nod.
When he walked away to grab the check, your hands reached for your purse, “Hey! Put the card down.” Spencer snipped at you as he smacked your card with his own, earning a chuckle from you.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to pay, Spencer. It’s an expensive me-”
“View it as a thank you for all the meals you ma-”
“I’m the one who invited you out-”
The waiter now stood at the edge of the table as he nervously set down the check, and your hand flew to it. Spencer’s hand is faster than yours as he grabs the check, slides his card in it without glancing at the cost, and hands it back to the waiter. When his gaze met yours again, you’re frowning at him—a playful kind of frown, but a frown. “What?” His voice cracks softly.
“Curse you and your long, attractive fingers, Dr. Reid. I could have paid. I was happy too, you know?”
“I know, I know, but I just couldn’t help but think about how kind you’ve been to me, and I– you think my fingers are attractive?”
Your cheeks flush a little, suck in a breath, and shake your head. “I think you’re imagining things, Spencer. I said ‘hyperactive’.”
He raises an eyebrow as you try to gaslight someone with an eidetic memory, but when he thought about teasing you further, all he could think about was your sad, distant face just moments ago. So, he decides that maybe he should keep his mouth shut– this time. “Hyperactive it is.”
You know he’s being nice; he definitely heard you say his hands were attractive. But he’s a saint. He let you crash on his couch for a month and never expected any money out of it. He let you cry on his shoulder and monopolize his television—not to mention his free time. He was so compassionate and kind that he made it hard for you to deny the fluttering feeling in your chest as you look at him in the restaurant's dim light. “Thank you,”
“Happy to do it,” His voice is soft as the waiter slowly returns with his card, but his eyes are glued to your face. The look in your eyes can only be described as appetency… no, tenderness, or maybe endearment. All he knows is that you’re looking around the restaurant with eyes shining with sweet and loving emotion, barely meeting his.
The drive to the theatre wasn’t too long, and the two of you had managed to get a nice parking spot, considering the traffic. The seats were in the lower mezzanine section, a selection that was mostly for you when you originally booked it. You could still hear Josh’s voice as he questioned why you weren’t going for the closer, more intimate orchestra section. You liked seeing the dancers, yes, but you loved the stage work too. In your opinion, the view of all the dancers on stage, with the props complimenting their movements, made the show more enjoyable.
You glance over nervously at Spencer as he sits down next to you. You shift in your seat a little as you whisper. “I’m sorry the seats aren’t closer. I like seeing the whole stage.” You motion to the stage with your hand.
Spencer smiles and shakes his head before tilting his head a little lower to whisper back, “The seats are perfect.” Then he’s taking your hand in his and giving it a little squeeze, and you think you might explode.
You feel a little nauseous, a twisting feeling slowly forming into a giddy excitement in your stomach. The theater's lights start to dim, but Spencer doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he maneuvers your hand to the armrest between the two of you and gently lays his palm upon the back of yours.
You struggle for a second as you move your head to look at the stage. Your eyes are glued to the stage now, watching intently as the Prologue begins.
The tension is almost forgotten about halfway through the pas de trois, but you can feel his breath softly against your ear before he even speaks, “Most ballet companies in America follow the 1895 revival. The choreographer’s, Marius Petipa, pas de trois remains nearly unchanged in most Swan Lake productions today.”
You glance at him to see that his face is closer to yours than you’d like it to be, but you give him a soft sound of interest as your heart thumps in your chest. He seems grateful for the sound as he leans away from you, his eyes lingering on yours, and he reluctantly turns his gaze back to the stage.
Slowly, you follow suit, replicating his movements, but not before you find your eyes dipping down to his hand on your still. You smile softly as you watch one ballerina get lifted off the ground for a second.
During the first intermission between Acts, you told Spencer you wanted to get some fresh air. You felt hot all over during the scene of Odette’s reveal as Spencer went from placing his palm on top of yours to gently lacing his fingers through yours. When the first intermission started, you decided you needed to get outside and breathe.
And it hit you.
When you were with Josh for the last few months, you would feel an itch to get away, to run a floor down. When he missed the point of a joke, you’d make a mental note to repeat it to Spencer later. All the dates should have been with Josh: the foreign movies, the painting, poetry readings, this ballet. You felt a twisting in your gut as you realized that Josh was right. You had stopped wanting him a long time ago. You stopped seeking him out in a crowd. Instead, your eyes had started looking for a tall brunette with the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. Spencer was suddenly the person you thought about when you heard a lovely song, saw something interesting at the store, or had a bad day— not Josh.
When did that happen? You felt like crying, breathing hard against the theater's outside wall. You felt thousands of questions racing through your mind, but one reverberated loudly: Does Spencer know?
You felt your mouth turn to cotton at the idea of Spencer Reid knowing you’re helplessly in love with him. Oh my god, you’re in love with Spencer Reid.
When did you stop loving Josh? Did you stop loving him the second you ran up to Spencer in the apartment’s parking lot? Maybe it was when he saw that your shoelace was untied one rare late-night walk in the park together, and he stooped down to tie it for you? Or when he annotated Jane Austen’s Persuasion as a random ‘just because’ gift? When did your love for Josh stop and your love for Spencer begin? The answer didn’t matter much now because now you know.
You’re in love with Spencer Reid, but he can’t know.
It was too risky a move. He was your friend above all else. Then, there was the matter of your pride and dignity. Josh was right, and you didn’t want him to be. You had unintentionally destroyed a two-year relationship; how could you let yourself be happy after that? How could you be happy after broken promises of marriage, growing old together?
The lights flickered to signify the end of the intermission, and you slipped back into the theatre with a calm smile. Your cheeks were red when you caught sight of him again, and there he was, reading the program. As you got closer, it was like he could feel you in the air. His head lifted toward your direction, and his eyes met yours instantaneously. But how could you not love those eyes? Honey-filled irises that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Wild, wavy, brown hair that curled around the edges of his face. You feel like crying again.
He could tell. His expression shifted to concern as you took your seat next to him, “Everything alright?” His voice was barely a whisper.
Forcing a smile, you nod and gently whisper, “Allergies,” as your weak excuse.
Nonetheless, it worked for Spencer as he gave you a nod. At least he let you think it worked. His eyes drifted over to you occasionally as the next act started. Sometimes, his eyes would meet yours, and he would give you a sweet smile before staring intensely at the stage.
He was sure he had done something wrong. He was sure it was how he held your hand during the previous act. He knew he shouldn't have pushed that boundary, but when you didn’t move your hand away from him the whole act, he felt ecstatic— shamelessly so.
Spencer tried to keep his hand busy when you left during intermission. He wanted to trace his thumb against your knuckles, feel the size of your palm against his, and know the lines of your palm forevermore. He was being selfish. So, the paper program was the best way for him to pass the time.
But these feelings for you that he had just kept getting in the way. When you moved to your new apartment, he knew you were avoiding him. The why was the part Spencer couldn’t figure out. He wondered what he could have done wrong so often that he was sure he would grovel at your feet the next time he saw you. Then he saw you tonight, and he couldn’t understand why he ever let you leave his apartment in the first place.
When he saw you step out of your bedroom, his heart sank, and he knew. He knew he couldn’t intellectualize these feelings away– couldn’t deny them any longer. His hands yearned to touch you like they yearned to turn the page of a good book. His eyes searched for you in every crowd. He thought of roaming through stores near your apartment, hoping he might run into you, though he talked himself out of it multiple times. You were the only thing on his mind these days. Last week, when the team was in Detroit, he saw someone who looked like you and almost grabbed their hand in the middle of the precinct.
Spencer's eyes drifted to you again near the end of the second to last act. Two intermissions, almost three acts and you still seemed off. You still gave him a sweet smile and let him whisper little facts to you here and there, but you didn’t seem like yourself. It seemed like you were hiding something from him.
During the last act, he was practically lost in thought as he watched the dramatic scenes of Swan Lake play out in front of him. He was sure his eyebrows were pinched together as his fingers rubbed circles on the armrest, eyes darting around the stage with the Swan Queen’s movements.
That was until the final scene. Every ballet company was different, but this one decided they liked a tragic ending better. As Odette begins to throw herself into the lake, he feels your hands grab his. Spencer jumps at the feeling, his eyes darting over to you with a concerned expression, but you’re staring straight at the stage.
Your hand held onto his tight as the lovers killed themselves, and you were tearing up. He couldn’t look away; you were so enraptured. Spencer felt guilty for not being as enthralled as you had been all night. He was so busy silently panicking over what was different with you that he forgot to be in the moment with you. He squeezes your hand gently as the music hits its crescendo. He could feel the music taking hold of him, grabbing him just as tight as you had moments prior. It wasn’t just Siegfried following Odette off a ledge. Spencer felt he would, too, if you asked him. Was this the caress of love?
He had to force himself to watch the stage as the lovers reunited in the afterlife, and then you’re letting go of his hand and clapping with a brilliant smile on your face. He claps, too, but he’s only looking at you– throwing silent praises to you.
When the rows start to clear out, you feel better. The performance successfully gets your mind off your worries concerning Spencer, and as the two of you walk to his car, you’re linking your arm with him. “Can I share a fun fact?”
You can feel the soft shake of Spencer’s diaphragm against your forearm as he chuckles, “When have I ever turned that down?”
You shrug a little in response to his rhetorical question, “When Soviet leaders died in the eighties, the government would play recorded performances of Swan Lake on television broadcasts, unintentionally making the public associate the ballet with the deaths of their leaders and political instability.” You give him a silly little face of mock surprise at the end of it, and he’s laughing.
Spencer leans closer to you under the parking lot street lamps, his car coming into view. “Can I tell you a secret?”
You frown as you pull away slightly to look up at him, your feet slowing slightly, “You already knew that?”
Spencer lets out a faux sigh of disappointment as he gives you a solemn nod of confirmation. You shake your head in disbelief as you let go of his arm and walk toward the passenger seat. Spencer follows you, intending to open your door for you, but you don’t seem to notice how close he is as you pull on the locked car door. “Move for me,” When Spencer says it, you feel your legs unintentionally becoming jelly at the tone of his voice: soft, deep, and cracking slightly.
You step aside for him as he unlocks his car and opens the door for you. You give him an affectionate grin as you slide into the passenger seat and watch Spencer round the front of his car to the driver’s side. You had to give him credit where credit was due; Spencer Reid could be damn charming when he wanted to be.
On the ride home, he continues with his persistent pursuit of unconscious charm, “Maybe we should go see Sleeping Beauty, or maybe Coppéila if you want to watch something comical?”
You giggle softly at his suggestions as you give him a skeptical glance to the side, “I didn’t know you liked ballet so much,”
Spencer’s cheeks feel hot, “I don’t,” he admits in a raw voice.
You turn your head to stare at him with a gentle expression as Spencer’s hands tighten around the wheel, knuckles turning white. You observe him carefully as his bottom lip is nervously drawn into his mouth for a second, his eyes flickering over to you as he flashes you a meek smile. It feels like a sick joke, Spencer being in love with you. It was exhilarating, euphoric, excruciating, and unbearable all at once. You had already made the self-declaration that you would keep your feelings to yourself and decided that you couldn’t let yourself be happy with Spencer– not after what you had done to Josh. The guilt ate away at you as you stared at him, a lame ‘oh’ falling from your lips as you swallowed hard.
“I just,” he began, “I mean–” he sighs out with frustration, “I just like going places with you.” He settles as he glances from the road to you, his grip on the wheel relaxing. You smile and nod in agreement.
“Me too,” you whisper, and the conversation dies off for a second.
Spencer rectifies the situation the only way he knows how "Coppélia was actually based on a dark fantasy about a man’s disastrous infatuation with a life-like doll called Der Sandmann, quite literally translated as The Sandman, by E.T.A Hoffman.”
“Oh, so Pygmalion and Galatea.”
“Yes! And Pinocchio, Frankenstein, Herbert West-Reanimator, My Fair Lady-”
You hold up a hand, “Wait, My Fair Lady?” You question with delighted interest.
“The play it was based on is called Pygmalion. Henry Higgins shapes Eliza Doolittle into a lady, and he falls in love with her.”
The way Spencer says it sounds so direct, never demeaning or snobbish, you nod a little at the connection. “You ever listen to My Fair Lady?”
Spencer opens his mouth to affirm that he has, but he falters. It seems like something his mother would have liked him to listen to with her, but they never have. “No,” his voice was quiet.
You gasp and point over to him teasingly, “Uncultured,”
“It’s one thing! I’m plenty cultured! The play Pygmalion covers-”
“I know, but you haven’t heard of Julie Andrews!”
“I have! Penelope made me watch all of The Sound of Music-” He’s cut off by the sound of you giggling softly in the passenger seat. “You’re messing with me.”
“Just a little,” You snicker beside him, relaxing as you watch Spencer take the familiar turns toward your apartment. You stare at the passing streets as you let out a content sigh, eyes closing slowly. Silently reflecting on the night, pushing mini-panic attacks aside, it’s the first time you’ve felt so serene in a long time. “Thank you for tonight, Spence.”
He beams at your thanks and mutters a sweet, “Thank you for allowing me to take you out,”
You roll your head against the seat as he pulls into a spot, “As if I’d ever say no to you.” You whisper back to him, catching a love-struck look from him that has you sitting up straight, grabbing your bag, and opening your car door.
You shouldn’t be surprised when Spencer gets out of his car and locks it. “Let me walk you up,” he insists gently.
“I’m okay-”
“Please,” His words are accompanied by his hazel eyes, both begging you so sweetly that you find yourself nodding wordlessly.
This time, the silence sticks as Spencer walks by your side to your apartment complex. It’s a short walk from the parking lot to the second floor, and soon, the two of you stand outside apartment 240. You fidget with your keys slowly as you turn around to face him; you watch him awkwardly shuffle on his feet– seemingly unsure of what to do with himself, you were sure.
“Well, this is me.” You feel stupid saying it, but you can’t stop yourself. You knew this wasn’t a date, so why does it feel like the end of one?
Spencer licks his lips nervously and softly says, “Yeah, it is.”
You give him a faint smile but can’t find the strength to step back from him and open your door. You should get inside. A voice in you is screaming Go inside! Don’t you dare! But you don’t seem to listen as you tilt your head to the side. “I had a great time,”
Spencer grins and nods, his eyes looking at your door for a second before gazing back into yours. “Any notable moments?”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. “Holding your hand through the first act was lovely,” Fuck you!
Spencer seems to perk up slightly, his heart beating faster as he takes a small step closer to you. “It was lovely?” He questions you carefully, noticing how your pupils dilate a little under his gaze.
“I thought so. It was very” You swallow as you search for some smidgen of confidence “Charming. You’ve been charming all night, actually.”
“I think you’re the only person in the world who thinks that,” He teases softly, a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he takes another step closer.
You shake your head, a giddy grin spreading on your face. “No, a lady at the restaurant thought we made a pretty charming couple.”
“Ah,” He holds up two fingers, “So two people.”
You give him a sweet chuckle and hold two fingers with him. “And your mom, maybe, " you say as you hold up three fingers.
“I should make a list,”
“Your favorite hobby.” You say in a joking whisper. His body was close enough to touch now, and you were frozen– stuck between wanting to get inside and wanting to touch him in any way he’d let you. Your eyes kept trekking down to his feet, watching as they took careful steps closer before looking up at his eyes again. And for the first time all night, you let them dip down to his lips.
Spencer feels his breath catch in his throat, his body already hyper-aware of your presence. He’s silently debating over closing the gap between the two of you, and he fears that seeing that– a physical sign that you want him the way he wants you, confirms that he should. Only, there's the matter of how. He wants to be romantic and bold. He just wants to grab your waist and pull you in, but he can’t.
It’s you that initiates something, “The longest kiss ever recorded was fifty-eight hours,”
Spencer feels like laughing, and he does—a small chuckle escapes his lips as he finds the courage to reach for your waist. When his fingers wrap around it, he gently pulls you toward him, his chest bumping against yours for a second. “Let’s not compete with that,” He whispers to you gently as one of his hands cups the side of your face, his nose bumping against yours slightly as you smile wide. The witty comeback that attempts to leave your lips doesn’t stand a chance as Spencer’s lips capture yours.
Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up to get a better angle in the kiss. His lips are soft and smooth as they press against yours. He pulls away a little, but you reconnect your lips quickly. Spencer slowly presses into you, the hand on your waist pressing down in a way that sends electricity up your spine.
Your hands reach for his tie, pulling him closer with a soft motion. The kiss deepens at that. A shaky breath can be heard from Spencer as he moves the hand that was cupping your cheek to the nape of your neck, his fingertips grazing your hair.
You let out a soft hum as you pull at his bottom lip, pulling away momentarily just to kiss him again. Your breathing gets slightly heavier as you tentatively trace your tongue against his bottom lip. As Spencer slowly invites your tongue into his mouth, a door slams shut down the hall, and you pull away.
Your eyes open as your hands leave Spencer’s tie and fly to your lips. You stutter gently as Spencer slowly pulls his hands away from you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he whispers, “Did I-”
You shake your head before he can finish, and you remember the keys still in your hand, holding them up, “No, I-” You stutter over your words gently as you turn to unlock the door, “I- I have to, I can’t,” you manage a shaky sigh, glancing over your shoulder at him, “Goodnight.”
Spencer watches your eyes look away from his, slipping into your apartment before he can get a word in. He stares at the numbers on your door for a second, feeling a dreadful pit forming in his stomach. “Goodnight.” His voice is timid as he speaks to the closed door and turns, walking back to his car alone.
Day Two Hundred and Fifty
Spencer has been out of it all week. He isn’t sleeping much or reading as much, and now, he’s lagging with this geographical profile. He excelled in this area, and he needed to focus on it. He needed to stop worrying about why you haven’t returned his calls all week—well, for the past four days, thirty-seven minutes—Focus!
He sighed as he traced a street with his fingers, a marker in the other, and focused on the previous dump sights. He mutters quietly as he outlines a district on the map, leaning back slightly as he lets himself get lost in his work. This feels good—almost calming.
JJ touches his arm, indicating that she is talking to him, and he hasn’t heard a single word. “I’m sorry,” He sighs as he looks at her.
JJ shakes her head a little, a silent way of letting him know that she doesn’t take offense. “Rossi and Morgan just found another victim.” Her fingers point to a location inside the outlined area on the map, and Spencer makes a note. If he can focus on this case, he feels they might have a profile before the UnSub’s next kill.
Day Two Hundred and Fifty-Nine
It had been two weeks since Spencer last saw you. Since you last spoke to him, touched him, or kissed him. He felt like he was losing one of his best friends and someone who could be the love of his life all at once. It was devastating. He had occasionally been short with the team, always quick with his apology and briefly explaining that he was going through something personal.
He didn’t want to be this tall, awkward ball of misery. He hated this feeling. At the moment, fourteen days ago, you seemed to be happy to kiss him. It seemed like the fatal mistake that was killing his relationship with you. He had tried to keep his calls maxed out one a day, three a week. Instead, he called you seven times in two weeks. He was starting to feel desperate as he listened to your voicemail message for the seventh time. He sighed as he looked around the BAU break room.
“Hey, uh, it’s me. I was just wondering if you wanted to talk… again.” He repeated parts of his last message as he groaned softly before whispering a gentle “I’m really sorry” into the phone. He hangs up in a hurry, seeing Derek rounding the corner.
His phone clatters on the table as Derek gives Spencer an odd stare. It’s a stare that says, ‘To-talk-to-pretty-boy-to-not-talk-to-pretty-boy-that-is-the-question.’
Derek decides that he should talk to Pretty Boy after all. “Does the boy genius have any plans for the weekend?” He decides that casual conversation might be the best way to get Spencer to open up.
Spencer shakes his head, dragging his gaze from Derek back to his phone on the table. Derek lets out a hum as he stares at Spencer’s phone. “Waiting on a call from someone?”
“No, yes, I-” Spencer sighs as he slumps a little in the chair, “I don’t know.”
“Is that what’s been bugging you for the past two weeks? Expecting an important call?” Derek asks as he fills his coffee mug up. Spencer gives him a little annoyed look that slowly melts into one of uncertainty. “Reid,” Derek says his name with a grin, taking the seat across from Spencer. “JJ caught you mumbling something about some ballet two weeks ago in Seattle, and you got defensive when she asked why you were talking about the ballet. Then, when Hotch asked you what was happening in Tampa, you got defensive again.”
He stares at Spencer with a kind smile, “If you need to get something off your chest, I’m happy to listen.”
Spencer finds himself chewing on his bottom lip as he slowly nods, “I know. I’ve been avoiding talking about it with the team because I,” he pauses, looking at Derek. “I think I messed up.” It’s the best he can manage. He doesn’t feel like opening up when he knows he should, and he wants to be patient with his feelings. He wanted you to reach out on your own time, but he didn’t want to keep with this silent torture he kept experiencing day after day.
Derek gave him a slightly concerned look, “Messed up how? Something with a case or worse?” Spencer stares at him for a second as he tries to read between the lines of Derek’s question. Once it comes to him, he quickly shakes his head ‘no,’ which makes Derek smile. “Is it..” He trails off for a second, his eyes trailing to Spencer’s phone on the table, and it clicks, “No…”
Spencer feels his cheeks flush as he frowns at Derek’s Cheshire grin. He’s ready for some mandatory teasing when he hears JJ’s voice, “No, what?” She questions Derek with interest as she grabs a bottle of water.
Spencer desperately shakes his head at Derek, but he’s already spilling what he thinks he knows, “I believe that Mr. Pretty Boy has found a Pretty Girl.”
JJ releases an excited gasp and walks over to the table. “No way,” She mutters as she stares down at Spencer’s slightly red face, “Is this why you’ve been so weird lately? Trouble in paradise?”
“It’s not like that,” Spencer retorts softly as he pulls at a loose thread on his button-up.
“How’d you mess up?” Derek cuts to the chase as he takes a sip of his coffee.
Spencer looks between JJ and Derek as he struggles to find the right words. His problems surrounding romance are sparse and, previously, tragic. He’s not sure how to go about this. “I, Uhm, might have kissed her.”
“Kissed who?” JJ presses.
Spencer looks at Derek, “Do you remember that friend of mine? The one Penelope and you met-”
“In the bar, yeah. I thought she had a boyfriend?” Derek’s brows furrow.
Spencer scrunches up his nose a little at the mention of Josh and sighs, “They broke up, and she had plans to see Swan Lake with him two weeks ago as an early anniversary date. She was going to cancel, but I offered to go with her so she didn’t miss out on it.” He continued slowly, looking at both of their faces for some show of emotion. “And at the end of the night, we kissed.”
Derek sighs, glancing at JJ, who seems to be just as confused as he is. “Kid, that’s a great thing. How is that a mess up?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer groans, “It all happened so fast, and she looked… perturbed. I think I messed up, and I’ve been trying to get a hold of her ever since, but..” His eyes look at his phone.
“Maybe she wasn’t ready for it,” JJ offers with a sad smile.
Derek nods, pointing a little at JJ, “Could be, but you should have seen her with him. All smiles and heart eyes for Reid.”
Spencer frowns at Derek before looking at JJ pleadingly, “What do I do to fix it?”
JJ winces a little, twisting her lips, “Spence, it's not something you can control.”
“I know, I just can’t,” Spencer pauses for a second, looking away. “I thought she wanted to kiss me.”
Derek laughs a little, earring a slight glare from JJ before he holds up his hands. “Okay, describe it for us.”
Spencer snaps his head toward Derek. “What?” His voice sounds slightly higher than usual. “No.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Just the lead-up,” he explains further, moving his fingers in a circle through the air.
“No,” Spencer insists again.
JJ joins this time, “Maybe he’s onto something, come on.”
Spencer hesitates as he considers it, ultimately deciding it’s worth a shot despite being humiliated. “I walked her up to her door,” JJ nods along, silently giving Spencer some points for being a gentleman in her books. “She said she had a great time, so I asked if any notable moments in the evening stood out to her.”
Spencer didn’t want to say that he had held your hand through the first act of Swan Lake, but “She said that holding my hand through the first act was lovely.” Derek’s eyebrows raise at that, not expecting something like that from Spencer.
“And she said I was charming. We briefly joked back and forth, and then it got quiet.” Spencer avoids eye contact, staring holes into the table beneath his fidgeting hands.
After a beat of silence, JJ whispers, “And then?”
“She said,” he smiles a little, his eyes still downcast. “That, well, the longest kiss ever recorded was fifty-eight hours long.”
“Not what you said, what she said.” Derek jokes softly, Spencer’s eyes flicking up to him with a confused gaze.
“That is what she said,”
“Oh my god,” JJ covers her lips feebly to hide her smile.
Spencer can feel the heat reaching the tips of his ears as Derek laughs. “She did!” Spencer whines. He rolls his eyes a little as the laughter continues. “I said that we shouldn’t compete with that, and we kissed. Happy?”
JJ smiles openly now and nods, her hands moving as she talks. “I think that’s promising.” Spencer sends her a glare, thinking that she is joking at first, but after seeing the earnest look on JJ’s face, he calms down. “Maybe she’s just surprised,” JJ suggests with a convinced nod.
“It doesn’t make sense, though. Why be so forward with wanting to kiss you just to ignore you after?” Derek's eyes narrow.
JJ scoffs softly, “She’s scared of her own feelings, Derek.”
Spencer repeats his question from earlier now, “So what can I do to fix it?”
Derek and JJ are quiet for a second before JJ says, “We should talk to Penelope.”
Spencer wasn’t exactly thrilled as two of his closest friends dragged him down the halls to Penelope’s office. Nor was he thrilled to repeat what he had said in the breakroom to JJ and Derek a second time. Now he’s stuck in an office chair with three of his closest friends throwing suggestions on what he should do on the clock when they should all be doing paperwork.
“Send her a gift basket!”
“I’m not trying to bribe her into being my girlfriend, Penelope.”
Penelope coos softly, “You want her to be your girlfriend?”
Spencer lets his head fall into his hands, leaving her question unanswered as JJ jumps onto the suggestion train. “Write her a love letter.”
Derek lets out a breathy chuckle, “Just go to her apartment,”
Penelope squeals in agreement, “Yes! A big declaration of love.”
Spencer was sure that big declarations of love weren’t his thing, and he thought he fell into the range of quiet love. Whispers of adoration? Maybe. Annotated novels? Absolutely. Watching movies out of his comfort zone? Done. Acting out of his comfort zone? He could hardly imagine holding a boombox over his head and screaming your name. But he was running out of options. He had stuck in his comfort zone, and you were ignoring him. “How big of a declaration?”
It was late. There was so much to do. You were pacing back and forth in your apartment with a book in hand, fingers thumbing at the pages occasionally. Soft music played from your laptop speakers as you ended the second week of ignoring one, Doctor Spencer Reid.
You had listened to all of his voicemails, some multiple times, but had managed to resist the urge to call him back for two weeks. When your heart got the best of you, you did what you were doing now–listening to variations of dad rock, pop, indie, oldies, classical, anything to drown out the urge to call him back.
The books were a new addition, as you had given up on making online private playlists last Sunday.
After holding a conference call with Molly, Sabrina, Christina, and anyone else who would listen, you made a joint decision to keep your feelings to yourself. And by joint decision, you meant ignoring their advice. Sabrina brought up the point that if Josh could physically cheat on you and be happy, you could be happy, too. The rest of your friends agreed in one form or another with that, but you just… couldn’t. You were terrified.
Josh had left his mark on you. He had cut deep gashes in your self-esteem. In the moments where you weren’t struggling with thinking you were too much, burdensome, or taxing to those you love, you were fretting over the idea that you were a terrible person. Sometimes, in moments of respite, you would reminisce on your time spent with Spencer.
You wanted to know his opinion, and in another life, you would seek him out and ask for it—the phantom pains of past love gone wrong ghosted over your heart and cursed you.
Maybe you could be happy with someone else who wasn’t Spencer. Is there anyone dead or alive as good as Spencer Reid? Your thumbs falter on the edge of the page as the thought crosses your mind, your eyes glancing over at the time.
Setting your book face down on your coffee table, you glide across the room to the lights– you can read and ignore Spencer in bed. As you switch off the kitchen light, a soft knock on your door startles you. Tilting your head around the wall to stare at your front door skeptically, you wait for another knock.
Two more knocks make you rush to your front door, leaning in to look into the peephole. Your breath catches your throat as you see Spencer Reid rocking back and forth on his heels on the other side. “Go away, Spencer!” You yell through the door, hand holding the locked doorknob cautiously.
You watch as his face falls into a heartbreaking expression, “Let me just talk to you,”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Please,” His eyes travel up to the peephole, his eyes somehow managing to make you breathless through the door. “I miss my best friend.”
You don’t say anything to that, because you miss him too. You watch him silently. His maroon tie against that white button-up reminds you of how you grabbed him two weeks ago– hungry, desperate, starved.
His eyes cast down to his hands for a second, his mouth opening and closing multiple times until he manages to get out, “Do you remember the first day we met? I helped you carry your groceries, and you asked me if I believed in fate.” His voice sounds shaky and muffled as your fingers play with the lock silently.
“I told you I don’t, I still don’t.” He stammers softly, a hand combing through his curls roughly. You give up on watching him through the peephole, listening with your forehead pressed against the door.
After a few seconds of fumbling with his words, he steadies himself. “What I’m trying to say is,” he stares at the door, scared to death you aren’t listening. He gingerly continues, “I don’t care if you need me to believe in fate, love at first sight, soulmates, or predetermined endings– if you need me to, I will.” His legs feel weak at the knees, “If Zeus split my soul in two, please be the other half. If there is a god, if someone created me for anyone, let it be you. If it was fate for me to meet you two-hundred and fifty-nine days ago, let it be fate. If it means I get to love you, I’ll believe in any theology, ideology, or philosophy you need me to.”
He couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. “If you don’t want me, or if you don’t feel the same, I’ll never bring it up again. I’ll go back to being nothing more than your friend, no questions asked, and I’ll be happy to do it.” His chest rises and falls heavily as he finishes, staring holes at your door. He’s sure you’ll ignore him further, make him walk back to his car alone again, or worse, open the door and laugh at his confession. He feels all of his anxieties rising in his throat as he goes to say something else when he hears the rattle of the chain on your door.
A few more clicks, and the door is swinging open. Spencer sucks in a breath as he catches the sight of you in your pajamas, staring at him a little tongue-tied. How were you supposed to follow that? You stare up at him in silent awe as deep, honeyed eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks. As you stare into his eyes, you realize he meant every word.
Your eyes fall from his and take the rest of him in, looking from his head to his shoes and back up again. “How many times did you practice that on the way here?”
“Three,”
You crack a slow smile at that and nod slowly, not knowing what to say next. You do the only thing you can think of, act. Your left hand reaches up slowly, your feet moving in tandem as you hook your fingers in Spencer’s collar carefully. Your gaze locks on his as you slowly pull him closer to your height, pulling him inches from your face. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to believe in anything you, he didn’t need fate or soulmates, none of it mattered anymore, not with him right here in front of you. You focus on how his nose brushes awkwardly against yours for a second and how you can hear his breathing coming out quicker.
You close your eyes before kissing him, pressing your lips to his softly, timidly. Despite his confession– his begging– you can’t help but feel like it’s all too good to be true. But then, he’s kissing you back. His lips move against yours with the same nervousness, his hands reaching up to cup your face.
You smile into the kiss as you feel his large palms on your face, making Spencer pull away with a slightly concerned expression for a second, wondering if he’d done something to make you laugh at him. As he stares at your blissful smile, he quickly realizes that you aren’t laughing at him at all. You’re happy, effervescent even, shaking your head at him pulling away.
He doesn’t make you wait long as he kisses you again, this time with a slight increase in force. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine as he hears the way you hum into the kiss, the sound making him feel desperate to hear more.
The two of you stand in your doorway like that for a second, kisses getting deeper and feverish as you pull Spencer to walk with you into your apartment blind. You stumble for a second as you walk backward into your apartment, your lips still locked with his. He pulls away a little at that, tilting your head up with his hands on your cheeks as his thumbs gently rub a single circle against the soft skin.
“Are you real?” He whispers, inches away from your face.
You give him a breathless laugh and nod, hands moving to his wrist, your fingers gently tracing the veins on his wrists absentmindedly. Spencer’s foot searches for the edge of the door to kick it closed, but he slips a little and looks at you with soft, doe eyes of apology.
Pulling away from him carefully, you shut your front door and lock it. You don’t know where to go from here. You hadn’t thought about what you’d do once you had him inside. Music is still playing on your phone, and you can hear a soft, raspy chuckle behind you as Spencer playfully asks. “Is this Brahms?”
When did this even come on? You sigh as you walk over to your phone to turn the music off, “I missed you too, you know.” You admit into the silent room, your eyes avoiding his.
“I know,” He replies, and you can hear his footsteps getting closer. Your gaze stays fixed on the floor, looking up in surprise at the feeling of his hands grabbing your waist tentatively. Turning your body to look up, you give him a nervous smile. Spencer’s nerves are shot all over the place as he swallows down his anxieties. “I don’t mind waiting. If you aren’t ready or need more time, I’ve waited for you so long, what’s-”
“No,” Your voice comes out louder than intended before you clear your throat. “No, I don’t need more time. I’m tired of not forgiving myself. I deserve to be happy, too. I’ve already spent so much time denying myself that.” Your body relaxes in his hands, your chest squeezing pleasantly as you move to be chest to chest with him again. “No more wasting time.”
Spencer studies your eyes as you speak, searching for some hint of uncertainty, but finds none. He licks his lips nervously, eyes dipping to your lips quickly, “Did you know that men initiate more than seventy percent of kisses?”
Taking this as an obvious sign that Spencer wants to kiss you again, you move your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Don’t have the exact number?”
“Seventy-nine point seventeen percent.” His voice raises an octave at the feeling of your hands holding onto his shoulders, your body pressing against his gently.
You nod, half-listening, as you look at his lips, one of your hands sliding up the front of his neck as you hold his chin. The feather-like touch of your thumb on his bottom lip makes him feel dizzy as you whisper, “That’s nice.”
Spencer’s lips are parted slightly as he gives you a weak-sounding ‘uh-huh’ as he participates in a statistic, gently brushing your thumb away to kiss you again.
The start of this kiss isn’t nearly as tentative or timid as the last one. His head tilts to the side as he presses his lips against yours, a little needy now as your hands move to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the feeling, how you so readily deepen the kiss, how intense this feels.
Your movements sync with Spencer’s as you kiss each other with fervor. Your knees feel a little weak from a mix of anxiety, excitement, and arousal. The feeling makes your hands hold the back of Spencer’s neck tighter. Your body flush against his as the two of you kiss in the middle of your living room.
An experimental movement from Spencer earns a sharp inhale from you as his tongue slowly brushes against your bottom lip. Your lips part into the kiss as he slides his tongue into the kiss with surprising skill. It doesn’t feel messy; instead, it’s incredibly controlled. You silently wonder how much practice Spencer has with French kissing and with who?
The thought is secondary to a terrifyingly primal feeling of arousal that zips up and across your spine as you feel him start to suck your tongue lightly into his mouth. You press against him a little harder, causing the poor man to stumble and lose focus, his skilled lips stopping for a second—a slight pull away to check if you’re alright before he kisses you again.
Now it's messy—an excellent messy. Not a slobbering mess that you want to pull away from, but a slightly erratic move against your lips that lets you know that he’s just as hungry for you as you are for him.
Your feet stumble backward, the familiar route to your bedroom in the back of your mind as you try to pull Spencer with you. He follows but reluctantly pulls away, breathless, as he stops short of the doorway to your bedroom. His lips open and close nervously as he catches his breath. “It's not that I don’t, I want to, not that I’m expecting us, I just,” He closes his mouth, swallowing hard as he tries to make head or tails of the situation. “I don’t want you to think I’m only here for…” He trails off, his cheeks growing red as he flicks his hazel eyes over to your bedroom and then back to you. “Sex.”
It’s terrible because you want to laugh. Spencer has been nervous around you before, but never like this. You’d seen him trip over his words countless times, but this time, watching him explain his intentions toward you, how sweet he looked as he explained himself. How did you go this long in your friendship with him without jumping his bones?
You press a reassuring hand to his arm, “I didn’t think you were.” You watch his shoulders relax a little, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, just at the moment, I th-”
“No!” he almost yells, the tips of his ears turning a little pink now. “No, I want to.” He reiterates, “I, well, I, Are you sure it’s okay?”
Staring up into his eyes, you realize what he’s asking: Is this just a rebound from Josh? Is this the hormones talking? Will this mean anything after tonight? There was unspoken communication, but you had mulled over those questions for the past two weeks.
Their answers were what scared you the most. It frightened you how ready you were to leave all your memories of Josh in the gutter and start something with one of your best friends. The scary part was how easy it was to want, care for, and miss him. You gave him a slow nod, “I’m not going anywhere you can’t follow.”
Spencer’s worried gaze softened as the edges of his lips quirked up into a slight smile, leaning closer, “Stuck with you? Forever?” He sucks in air through his teeth dramatically, his eyes flicking around your face cautiously.
You roll your eyes at his playful tone, “M’tired of talking,” Your lips close the gap before he can say anything back.
Spencer doesn’t protest as he kisses you back—soft, slow, sensual movements against your lips. Pulling away here and there just to kiss you again, his lips gently pulling your bottom lip whenever he pulls away. You graze your teeth against his bottom lip, careful not to bite him as you cup his face, his large hands holding onto your waist.
His hands press down on your hips, firmly keeping you in place as he pushes against you slowly. His chest presses against yours, his hands start to pull your hips closer to his. A soft groan can be heard, and you can’t pinpoint who makes the sound as your mind becomes hazy from the way he kisses you.
You almost don’t register that he’s led you towards your bed. The feeling of your bed hitting the back of your legs makes you register that you walked with him to your bed. You pull away, inching back onto your bed carefully as soft panting fills the dimly lit room, staring up at him from your bed.
You watch as he kicks off his shoes before crawling onto the bed, looming above you as you slowly slide your body up the bed. He’s pressing a hand near your head as the other brushes a stray hair from your eyes, his lips leaving fleeting kisses across your face, slowly trailing down to your neck.
His kisses start to get deeper once he passes the area of your jaw, gently sucking on the area just below your ear before letting the sensitive skin go and dragging his lips lower to repeat the act.
Soft, pleasured sighs escape your lips as he kisses and lightly sucks on the sensitive skin that is your neck. One of your hands reaches for his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls as he sucks on your collarbone. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight on the bed is trailing down your chest slowly, reaching the hem of your shirt as he tentatively slips the tips of his fingers under it carefully. “That okay?” he pulls away from your collarbone to look down at you.
You let out a sweet ‘mhm’ before you smile up at him. Spencer smiles back as he leans in to kiss your lips again. Your lips part almost immediately so he can slip his skilled tongue into your mouth, and he does just that.
His tongue carefully traces yours as his hand slowly starts to trail up your stomach, his touch making you shiver as his slightly cold hands inch toward your unsupported breasts, gasping softly against his lips at the feeling of his fingers slowly cupping your right breast. The movement of his tongue against yours slows for a second as his thumb traces around the taut bud of your nipple, gently rubbing and circling patterns until he earns a little whine from you,
His lips pull away from yours, but he stays close, brushing against yours as he speaks. “Good?”
You let out a breathless “Very.” before he repeats the pattern, his index finger joining now as he gently pinches the aroused bud. A shaky sigh escapes your lips, your lips trembling lightly against Spencer’s as he watches you, pulling his head back to get a better look.
His eyes study your face—the way your nose sometimes scrunches up in pleasure, how dilated your pupils are when you look at him, and his favorite, how you gently pull your bottom into your mouth with your teeth in a vain attempt to hold in your quiet moans.
He watches as you give him an embarrassed expression. “You’re staring,” your voice is a sweet whisper, eliciting a shiver that crawls up his spine.
He looks away with a mutter of an apology, giving you a quick smile. His fingers slip away from your chest to slide down to the hem of your shirt. He looks into your eyes as he fiddles with the fabrics. “Can I see you?”
A quick nod from you gives him your answer as he quickly pulls your shirt over your head, his eyes quick to trail over your face down to your exposed chest. He watches the way your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as he slowly moves his head down to place gentle kisses on your collarbone.
Kissing a trail down to the valley between your breasts, he slowly makes his way over to your left breast, his eyes looking up at you as he gently places his lips around the bud of your nipple.
Your eyes watch him as he gently flicks his tongue against the sensitive peak before sucking on it lightly. Your mouth falls open as you watch him, breathing heavily as you feel his free hand reaching up to play with your other nipple.
Quiet, breathy sounds are all Spencer can hear now– a gasp here, a shaky sigh there, and occasionally a closed-mouth moan. He likes watching the way your head falls back as he adds a little more pressure with his tongue, rubbing wet circles around your erect nipples.
He feels like he’s moving too fast and taking too long simultaneously. He wants to hear you, he wants you to relax under his touch, and he wants to take his time with you. On the other hand, he’s dreamt about this moment more times than he can count. He wants to tell you that it’s even better than what he imagined, but the idea sounds stupid, given he’s only sucking on your nipples right now. He hasn’t even been inside you, and he doesn't want to risk sounding inexperienced right now.
He decides that pleasing you further speaks louder than words as he slides his hand on your other breast down your chest slowly, creeping toward the waistband of your pajama pants. His fingers trace along the edge of your pants as his lips keep sucking.
You squirm under him as you move your hands down to start pulling your bottoms off as fast as you can manage, accidentally forcing Spencer’s lips off your chest in the process. He watches you briefly, laughing softly as he helps you out of your pajama pants before tossing them to the side.
Spencer’s eyes focus on your thighs, his fingers tracing slow paths from your outer right thigh to your inner thigh. He is trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, testing out areas with his fingers to see which one excited you the most based on the hitching of your breath when he touches it.
“Higher,” Your voice makes him jump a little, a small smile forming on your face as he does so. He swallows and grins, moving his fingers higher now inches from the edge of your underwear.
“Higher?” He questions playfully, his deep caramel eyes looking into yours as he watches you nod. His fingers glide over to your underwear, pressing against the center, his fingers touching your folds through the fabric.
You sigh softly as his fingers rub up and down the fabric, pressing in harder with each stroke. “You’re so pretty,” Spencer’s voice sounds strained, earning him a weak smile from you.
“Just pretty?” You moan quietly as he slips his hand into your underwear suddenly, the feeling making you gasp.
Spencer’s index and middle fingers do most of the exploring as he stares at you, “No, not just pretty. Gorgeous, beautiful, captivating, astounding.” His fingers find your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves teasingly slow.
You’re breathing heavily through your nose now as you move your hips against his fingers to let him know it feels good. “Is,” you relax your shoulders carefully. “Is astounding a look I pull off well?”
“Very well,” he answers honestly, even though he knows you’re joking. His fingers begin to rub slow, tight circles as he leans in to kiss you again. The kiss swallows up any moans you start to let out as Spencer’s fingers make electric arousal build up in your lower abdomen, your legs feeling weak as you spread them further.
Spencer hums against your lips as he quickly deepens the kiss, his hips absentmindedly grinding against your thigh as his fingers move away from your clit to yank your underwear down. You help him, kicking them away with your eyes closed, your tongue dragging along Spencer’s.
His middle finger teasingly drags your wetness down to your entrance, pressing against the area quickly before hesitating. He pulls away slightly from your lips, but you’re already answering his question before he can ask it. “Yes,” You whisper against his lips, moving your hips down against his finger.
He lets out a breathy laugh as he slowly pushes his index finger into you, his own eyes almost rolling back into his head as he hears the shaky moan you let out. He’s quick to chase that high as his fingers curl inside of you, searching for that spot that will make you let out more sounds for him to enjoy.
Your brows furrow as your eyes flutter closed, chasing the needy feeling inside of you that is too desperate to wait for him to find your g-spot on his own. Your hips grind down, guiding him slightly until his fingers curl against the slightly rough patch of nerves inside you. A sharp gasp, followed by a breathy chuckle, leaves your lips as you open your eyes to look at Spencer. “Right there,”
He’s always been so good at following instructions, so he knows not to change much regarding his fingers, curling and dragging against that sweet spot inside of you slowly. His lips kiss your collarbone softly, kissing up to your ear. “Wanna hear you,”
How could you deny such a sweet voice? Especially when that sweet voice belongs to the man you’ve been pining over for weeks. It also helps when he has his fingers inside of you. Your lips parted as you let out a soft groan, followed by a shaky gasp of air.
Spencer’s finger picks up the pace gradually, going faster and rougher with every sound from your lips. A cry of pleasure? Faster. A loud moan? Rougher. You wondered what sound you needed to make for him to add a second finger.
It wasn’t a sound so much as simply having to tell him, “Add another finger,” You breathe out between moans, and Spencer is quick to push his index finger into the waves of pleasure he’s causing throughout your body.
It’s not long before your hips are raising slightly, loud whines and groans escaping your lips as he brings you closer to your release with every curl and drag of his fingers. You could feel Spencer’s breath hot against the shell of your ear now as your eyebrows furrowed tightly, focusing on every feeling he gave you.
He’s relentless, listening to how your breathing hitches and moans increase with specific tempos, learning the kind of pressure you like simply based on sound. Has a man ever done that before? You weren’t sure; all you knew was that you were getting closer to an orgasm. You wanted to be hopeful and think it would be the first of many.
Short gasps were escaping your lips as your head tilted back into the mattress, “That’s it.” Spencer’s lips are on your exposed neck now, gently sucking, kissing sweetly against your pulse point as you inch closer to your climax. “Sound so good.” His voice is a little muffled, not to mention hard to hear over the sounds of your moans, but it’s making your hips stutter as they grind against his fingers.
Then you’re crashing hard. Your body tenses, shaking under him, you cry out as your orgasm rips through you. Small whimpers and moans are spilling from your lips as your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping them until your knuckles turn white.
A groan leaves his lips as he watches you. It's a sight he wants to commit to memory. He wants to close his eyes and draw it if he can, memorize every shudder, every stutter of your hips, the way your eyes open to look at him afterward– pupils’ dilated and shimmering under a haze of lust.
You whine a little when he pulls his fingers out of you, and Spencer wonders how he has so much self-control. He’s about to ask you how you’re feeling, to check in on you, but then you're grabbing his wrist.
You’re dragging his hand to your lips terribly slow, and Spencer feels his breathing stop for a second as he watches you drag his index and middle fingers into your mouth to suck yourself off them. His next breath comes out as a stuttering mess, watching as your tongue slides between his fingers, your eyes staring into his before fluttering closed.
It’s his turn to whine when you’re done sucking his fingers clean. He was already painfully hard while he was fingering you, but now he feels like he might burst into flames if he cannot have you. “Please,” He whispers, his hips grinding against your outer thigh timidly.
A part of you almost feels bad for him; he feels so hard against your outer thigh, and he still has all his clothes on. He has to be desperate– the thought makes your mouth water.
Your hands are quick to help him out of his pants, undoing his button and zipper. As he pulls the pants down his legs, you’re sliding your hands under his shirt. You hum with soft desire as you feel the curves and dips of muscles on his surprisingly toned chest. He shivers at the feeling of your fingers dragging along his chest, inching closer to the waistband of his boxers.
Your fingers stop before reaching his boxers, slipping out from under his shirt, and going for his tie. A tie already loose and halfway forgotten. You slip your fingers around the maroon tie, pulling it off quickly and with no complaint from Spencer as you do so. Your eyes trail up to meet his, looking up at him through your lashes.
Spencer could feel your fingers thumbing at the buttons on his shirt, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from your eyes. He’s so captivated by your eyes on his that he completely misses what you say. “What?” His voice comes out breathy as you undo the second button on his shirt.
You let out a soft chuckle, looking away from his eyes to peak at his partially exposed chest. “I asked if it would be okay to leave some hickeys on your chest,”
Spencer’s breathing hitches in his throat as he lets out a bashful “Yes.” He can hear another laugh leave your lips as his eyes trail down to your fingers working on the last button on his shirt, how they hook around the edge and pull the material away to expose his chest fully. He’s enraptured, caught in a trance as he watches you lean your head down to his chest, soft kisses sending electric shivers down his spine.
You kiss down his sternum, trailing off to the left of his chest and sucking lightly. A breath is ripped away from him at the feeling, and he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to whine. He fights the urge as he sighs again, your lips slowly sucking and kissing down his chest, leaving some light and dark purple spots in your wake.
It’s hard to pull his eyes away from your work. Each time you leave a mark on his lower chest, Spencer’s eyes linger on it before they follow you to your next location. He feels sensitive all over, his body humming–tingling–with desire. He wonders if you’d think he’s pathetic if he begs for something more.
But you catch on before he embarrasses himself.
You sit up straight as your hands rest on his lower stomach, looking down at his crotch before looking up into his eyes curiously. “May I?” You ask with a half-hearted chuckle like it’s funny.
He knows you aren’t laughing at him; you’re laughing because you already know his answer. A soft whine is pulled from his throat as he says, “Yes,”
Your eyes leave his, trailing down his body slowly as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and start to pull them down. Spencer’s eyebrows knit together at the feeling, the material dragging against his hard cock slowly.
As he kicks his boxers away, he is pleasantly surprised when you straddle his lap. Your hips hover inches from his as you lean down towards him slowly, your hands pressing against his chest for stability. Your hair falls in your face as you whisper a slow, seductive, “Does this work for you?”
Spencer can feel his heart stutter lightly against his chest as he nods like a madman, cheeks flushed as he stammers out a little, “Ab-absolutely, anything you want, we don’t– I mean– we can do anything you want, I won’t mind.”
His nervous rambling is cut off with a hiss of pleasure as he feels you wrap your hand around his cock, guiding it to your entrance carefully. The slow drag of his head against your folds has him letting out a stuttering sigh, his hands instinctively moving to your hips. His eyes shut tight as you sink down on him, a soft sigh falling from your lips as you slowly take every inch. He feels the urge to beg again.
You’re watching him from his lap, a little smile gracing your face as you watch the way his mouth falls open as you adjust your knees slightly to fully sit down on his cock. A slight muffled whine can be heard from Spencer as his eyes slowly open to take in the sight of you bare and preparing to ride him– it makes him feel dizzy.
It's your turn for your lips to part, a shaky sound of pleasure leaving your lips as you start to move your hips up slowly. He’s so hard inside of you that you’re sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you as you slowly move up and down.
You can feel the way his slender fingers start to grip your hips tighter, gently digging into your skin at the tortuous pace you’re beginning to set. It’s building, that’s for sure. You’re panting lightly as soft moans fill the room.
You let out a soft yelp, feeling Spencer’s hips chase yours when you slow down slightly, looking down at him with a surprised expression. He sends you an apologetic look and whispers, “I’m sorry, I just need– I’m sorry.” His voice sounds strained like you’re putting him through the worst torture imaginable.
You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head a little as you brace yourself on your knees a little more, “Greedy boy,” you tease him lightly as you press down harder on his chest with your palms, giving him a taste of the pace he so desperately craved.
Spencer lets out a shaky laugh that dies away into a groan as your hips move at a slightly faster pace, his hands beginning to guide you down onto his cock. He’s trying to be respectful of the pace you’re setting every time– honest! This feels too much like a fantasy, like a wet dream he’s sure he’s had many times before, one that has every instinct in his bones telling him to go as hard and fast as possible.
It's an incredibly tempting stupid instinct. He knows that the faster you ride him, the faster this moment is over, but it feels so good. The drag of his painfully hard cock against your walls– add to that the lewd sounds that keep escaping your lips whenever you give him an experimental roll of your hips. He’s panting when he feels you picking up the pace again, his fingers flexing against your hips. It’s still not enough. He’s not sure he’ll ever have enough of you.
You’re breathing heavily as you flick your head to the side to get a better look at him. He’s starting to sweat a little as his eyes trail down your body. Whenever his eyes catch a slight of his cock disappearing inside of you, he licks his lips, dragging his bottom lip into his lip for a second as his eyes move back up to your face.
You give him a quick, breathless smile as you whisper a saccharine, “You like that?” You begin, dragging your hips forward slightly on your way down his length. “ You like watching your cock disappear inside me?”
Spencer’s eyes widen for a second as he gives you a quick nod, “Yes-” He lets out a whine, his hips chasing yours again as you slow down quickly, teasingly dragging your hips against his, driving him crazy.
As you experimentally roll your hips, you can feel his head brushing against your g-spot, and you’re quick to ignore his pleasure to chase your own. You aim for the feeling again, your hands leaving his chest as you move them back to his knees, causing you to lean back slightly.
The sight is intimate and extremely erotic as Spencer watches the way you grind your hips against his cock, gasping out harshly whenever it hits the rough patch of nerves inside of you. He elevates his hips slightly for you, his mouth falling open as he looks at you, completely starstruck.
You give him another flash of a smile as you move faster down on him, friction wise it doesn’t feel as good as when you were riding him, but just seeing the way you’re getting yourself off on his cock has him feeling like he’s about to burst.
He wants you to cum around his cock more than so desperately that he gives up on caring about embarrassing himself, stammering out dirty talk as fast as he can, “You look so good, so fucking good.” He gasps out, watching as your eyes close.
The sound of his voice helps you chase that high as wanton moans accompany your movements, leaving him feeling encouraged. “Wish I could record you like this. I need to remember how you look right now. Would you let me?” He stammers out between his shaky moans.
Your head is nodding before you can genuinely process what he’s saying. Your fingers digging into his skin lightly, “Feels so good, Spencer.”
He’s sure that’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard as he lets out a shaky, “Ye-Yeah? Do you want me to rub your clit? You want me to make you cum right now?”
He’s asking for direction, but it doubles as dirty talk for you as your eyes open and meet his. You’re sure you’re saying the words ‘yes’ repeatedly, but you don’t actually hear the sound coming from your lips. The only thing you can focus on now is the way one of Spencer’s hands is sliding from your hip to your clit. His thumb dragging fast, tight circles on your clit.
Spencer watches as your eyebrows crinkle together and gasps of air leave your lips. He feels your walls flutter around him. He’s careful to raise his hips to push deeper into you as you reach your second orgasm of the night with his cock deep inside you.
Your walls squeeze around him so tight that he feels weak in the knees as you let out a high-pitched cry of pleasure, your body shaking on top of him. He’s happy to keep moving his thumb against your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm to your heart's content.
Eventually, the shaking on your thighs calms, and you’re hissing out with overstimulation, whispering gently, “Wait, wait, wait.” You relax briefly, your hips still stuck against Spencer’s as he stops moving his thumb. Your eyes meet his, and your heart squeezes at the look he’s giving you. Something that was a mix of complete adoration and desire.
His eyes flicker over your face nervously as he licks his lips slowly, his eyes still occasionally dipping down to your hips flush against his. You tilt your head slightly as you watch him, a small smile on your face as you lean forward, your chest pressing against his gently as you give him a soft kiss.
It’s a short kiss, but Spencer still ends up following your lips by the end of it. “Should we switch positions?” Your voice is curiously sweet, and Spencer immediately nods at the idea.
You lift your hips off of him and slide off his lap slowly, your legs only feeling a slight sting from riding him. You lay on the bed and watch as Spencer moves to hover over you. His eyes stare directly at your dripping cunt, and he looks like he’s lost in thought, something that earns a soft laugh from you as you shake your head at him a little. “Something on your mind?”
It was a good-natured tease, but he answers honestly nonetheless, “Can’t decide if I want to eat you out or go back to fucking you.” His eyes leave the dripping wet area between your legs to look into your eyes.
It almost sounds strange coming from his mouth, you could probably count on your fingers the number of times he’s cursed in front of you. Nor did you expect something so… erotic. Then again, he did say some rather dirty things just moments prior. It didn’t phase you then because you had other things on your mind, i.e., cumming on his cock.
You gave him a playful smile, his eyebrows raising slightly with interest, “Spencer Reid, are you… sexy?”
He chuckles as he moves his body closer, slotting his body between your spread legs, “You tell me.”
You laugh a little at that, and your eyes take him in—how he looks with his hands on your knees, gently pushing them to get you to spread them wider. With a wide grin, you whisper, “You are.”
One of his hands is pressing into the bed to the left of you as he hovers over you, his other moving to your face to brush a stray hair out of your face gently. You can tell he’s trying not to feel embarrassed at the compliment as you gently move a hand up to his hair– fingers raking through his curls. “I vote you go back to fucking me.”
Your words cause a slight shiver to roll down his spine as he lets out a soft “Mhm,” his hand leaving your face to guide his cock back inside of you slowly. He lets out a soft sigh as he presses into you, his gaze scanning your face for any sign of pain.
He sees none as he watches your head tilt back onto the bed slightly, eyes closing for a second. The pace he starts is timid and gentle. He knows a slow build to a fast pace is better, wiser, and he’ll last longer. But it’s getting hard to remember with the way you feel around him, how deliciously you squeeze around him whenever he thrusts into you a little deeper than the time before.
“Move your hips faster,” You mutter softly as your hips grind on his cock slowly, the slow pace making you feel embarrassingly impatient.
He doesn’t mind, of course. He’s all too happy to start moving his hips faster. Soft moans fall from his lips as he picks up the pace, his hands moving from bracing himself up on the bed to the area behind your knees, gently lifting your legs up and apart, leaving them slightly bent in his hands.
It happens so fast that you stare at him in awe for a split second as he readjusts himself to drive his hips into you again, and with the way he has you now, you can feel him thrusting deeper inside. You whine loudly at the feeling and nod quickly, a wordless attempt to let him know how good it feels.
He shows you a half smile as he takes that as a sign to go deeper, grunts falling in time with his pace– seemingly becoming slightly ruthless. Your mouth fell open at the feeling of his cock reaching deeper inside you, quivers of pleasure racing through your body, your legs, everywhere. You’re sure you’re being too loud now, your cunt starting to squelch with every drag of his hips.
Spencer feels like he’s in heaven, listening to your body respond to his, feeling your legs tremble under his touch, and watching how your eyebrows knit together when he picks up the pace slightly. He’s sure there is nobody, dead or alive, that makes him feel the way you’re making him feel right now.
It’s exhilarating, intoxicating, and it’s making his orgasm get closer. Panting heavily, he moves your legs to wrap around his waist as he braces himself on the bed again, and he starts to roll his hips into you quickly. He lets out a breathless laugh when you yell a little, “Oh!” Pride fills his senses, knowing how good he can make you feel.
“I’m getting close,” He rasps out with another sharp, fast roll of his hips.
You nod quickly as you mouth a silent ‘yes’ to his warning. You’re not sure you can speak in coherent sentences with the way his cock keeps brushing against that spot inside you that has you gushing around him effortlessly.
“Do you want me to pull out?” he stubbles out sweetly between his moans.
You shake your head at that, “No!” You cry out, eyes locking on his as you moan out, “Inside.”
He looks at you for a second, his hips slowing to a frustrating stop, “Are you sure, because missionary-” He heaves out a soft sigh, looking at the way you’re lust-filled eyes stare up at him, “Are you sure?”
A gentle smile appears on your face, and Spencer feels like he’s staring at an angel. The feeling grows as you move your hands to pull his face to yours, brushing a light kiss on his lips with the soft, reassuring answer he needs to hear, “I’m sure,”
Spencer grins against your lips, kissing you deeper as he starts to thrust his hips into you again. Your eyes roll back slightly at the rough feeling of his lips on yours and his hips snapping into you over and over again.
Muffled moans came from both of you as you gently slipped your tongue into the kiss, eliciting a growl from the man thrusting into you. He pulls away to press his forehead against yours. Physical intimacy for Spencer always fell second to emotional. Now, feeling how your hands hold his shoulders and hearing you whisper strings of soft praise to him, he realizes that combined, they turn into the most ethereal experience he’s ever felt.
Guttural-sounding moans are escaping his throat as he chases his climax like a madman, “You feel so good, so good.” Is all he can manage to gasp out between moans as your nails dig into his shoulders.
You mewl under him as he gasps out a short, “I’m- god, fuck, I’m cu-” his erratic hips stutters against yours, thrusting as deep as he can into you as he reaches his climax. His breathing stutters as he lazily drags his hips in and out with his orgasm, doing his best to make it last longer for the both of you. With a final sharp thrust, he empties into you.
Sometime after, he’s slowly pulling out and disappearing into your bathroom to get something to clean you up. You laugh as he insists on cleaning you up himself, his hands gentle as he drags the towel against your cum soaked folds.
Once you fall asleep, Spencer finds him playing with the ends of your hair, watching how your chest rises with each deep breath. He smiles into the dark as he leans into your ear, not caring if you hear it in your sleep, “I’m going to marry you the first chance I get.”
Day One Thousand Thirty-Three
“Spencer,” Your voice carries across the BAU bullpen, an unmistakable smile of amusement on your face as you approach his desk. “Spencer Reid,”
After two years of being with him, he’s not sure he’s ever gotten sick of that smile. Dazzling, patient, sweet, and almost always constant when you’re around him– a permanent fixture on your face now that you live with him.
“You are late, Doctor Reid. Hop to it!” You tap against his desk playfully. You’re already dressed for dinner tonight at Rossi’s– or that’s what you think it is anyway– and you look stunning. Even under the harsh lights of the bullpen, you look glowing, so gorgeous that Spencer feels like spoiling the surprise right now.
“It’s barely past five. We’re fine.”
“He’s gone already,” You move your hand dramatically towards Rossi’s empty office… most of the bullpen is empty now that you think about it. Why was your boyfriend the only one staying fifteen minutes after five? To be fair, he was waiting for you, and you were the one running late, so you feel a little guilty as you watch Spencer pack up his things.
He looked especially good this morning, wearing one of his light brown suit combos that always had you messing up his tie before he left for work that day. You hum softly as you and Spencer walk side-by-side toward the elevators. “Do you know why Rossi said to dress up a little this time? Last time, everyone seemed pretty casual.”
Spencer offers you a little tight-lip smile with a slight shake of his head, “No, he does have a flare for the dramatic sometimes.” He’s praying to whatever deity listening that you don’t catch on to the lie.
You scoffed out a soft laugh, looking at him with a raised brow, “And you don’t?”
“I’d like to think I’m more grounded in facts and reason than dramatics,” He defends himself with a laugh, hitting the button for the first floor. “Living with you has made me more dramatic. If anything, I’m mirroring you when I,” he does air quotations with his finger as he finishes, “Am being dramatic.”
“You are so lucky you’re a federal agent,”
“I am pretty hard to kill.” He says with a serious-looking nod, but the smile growing on his face as you walk through the parking lot to your car is telling.
Your smile falls slightly as you nudge his shoulder softly. “Don’t remind me,” you tease him in a melancholy tone. More than two years ago, if someone had asked you if you’d be sad if Josh died tragically, you would have simply said yes. Now, with Spencer, if someone asked you that same question, you know you would start crying on the spot at the idea of the man next to you dying.
It’s funny how people can affect other people. Through all his challenges, Spencer Reid was incredibly patient, kind, and devoted to his loved ones—including you. He was the air you breathed, and you were his. Every look he gave you, every smile he showed, and every touch confirmed it– you were going to grow old with him, one way or another.
Spencer headed into Rossi’s villa first, and you grabbed some wine and the charcuterie board, something that the host himself requested. You were happy to help, considering he was cooking for everyone, but the lack of direction with the wine threw you slightly. Rossi loved food, loved hosting these team meals, and was… to put it bluntly, a control freak.
You picked up a label you vaguely remembered him talking about once as you headed in after Spencer. The house looks… dark? You open the door, peeking your head in slightly. “Spencer?” A dark front room greets you. Your eyes quickly adjust as you close the front door behind you.
You hear something moving from the kitchen, the hairs on your neck standing up as you tip-toe towards it. “Rossi?” you call out in a whisper. It definitely smells like food—chicken piccata.
More darkness, you blink and mouth a silent “What the fuck?” Then, you catch a glimpse of some light from outside. You quietly set the board and wine on the granite countertop and head for the back door.
From what you can see, the lanterns are on in the backyard, but more twinkling lights have been added along some trees. If you weren’t so terrified, you’re sure you would find it beautiful. But considering the team’s line of work, you were always afraid of something like this– well, whatever this was anyway. All you knew was that you no longer trusted dark houses at night.
You made sure not to turn your back to the outside, carefully looking around and closing the door behind you. Now you knew they were out here. You could hear shushing.
Then there he was, a big smile on his face, and everything clicked. Oh.
Oh.
“Spencer Reid, this better not be what I think it is.”
He’s standing in the center of the backyard on a patch of patio tile, candles and flowers leading up to him. He laughs a little as you approach him. He can see tears forming in your eyes, and he hasn’t even started with the proposal. “I’m afraid it is,” he mutters as his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, red velvet box.
He bends down on one knee, staring up at you as you smile through tears, “I’ve had the pleasure of being with you for seven hundred and seventy-four days, but if someone asked me how many days I’ve been in love with you, I would have to tell them that I have been in love with you for one thousand thirty-three days.” His fingers are shaking as he opens the ring box, his eyes scanning your face carefully to see your reaction to the ring.
Garcia and you often scrolled through Pinterest board together, an app that Spencer didn’t quite understand. Which explains why he asked Garcia to go with him to get the ring, because she didn’t want him to quote ‘mess it up, Aidan from Sex and the City style’ —whatever that meant.
He was so calm when he bought it, but on the way home, he recalls looking over at Penelope in the car and asking, ‘What if she doesn’t like this one?’ in a terrified tone.
Seeing your face now– the way your eyes light up as you wipe away falling tears and how you’re laughing through them, he knows he’s made the right choice. “I want to love you for twenty thousand more. I want to love you through every wrinkle, every laugh, every bad day, indefinitely. I want to love you when our hair turns grey. I want you to be the rest of my life, and, at the end of it, I know I’ll see you flash before my eyes.”
He’s watching the way you hike up your dress to your shins and get on both knees, cupping his face gently as you sniffle through happy tears. His eyes soften slightly as he becomes level with you, moving to sit on his knees. “My question is, will you let me? Will you marry me?”
You let out a scoff, nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, in a thousand different languages, yes!” You laugh out sweetly as you kiss him. He smiles into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your middle tightly.
The two of you only pull away when the sound of confetti starts popping on either side of you. You laugh as you watch Penelope step out from her hiding place with half the team following behind her. Moving your head to the other side, you can see Rossi clapping softly with the other half.
You try to dry your eyes again as small strands of confetti reach your head, Spencer’s arms slipping away from you to carefully slip the ring on your left hand. He then looks over at Penelope, “You didn’t say anything about confetti poppers.” He says in a playfully stern voice, standing up slowly before extending a hand to you.
She simply shrugs and squeals, “She said yes!”
Then they’re all on you like a pack of wolves, hugging, kissing cheeks, laughing as you gather your composure. After a few moments of congratulations, all you can think to say is, “I almost had a heart attack.”
The night begins and ends with laughter. On the drive home with Spencer, you can’t help but think that there are twenty thousand more nights to come and how none of them will ever measure up to this one. It’s one of those nights that linger in the air after everyone’s already said goodbye, and it’s perfect.
Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.
Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist
Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star
Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3
WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.
Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.
Word Count: 3,721
March 2, 20XX
After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door.
You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building.
It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.
You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom.
When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you?
It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.
Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.
Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound.
Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark.
March 5, 20XX
Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.”
The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment.
To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist.
Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?”
Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay.
Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.”
Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,”
“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her.
“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.”
She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor.
She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’”
“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room.
“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand.
“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh.
Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,”
“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?”
“Derek has a ride or die,”
“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia.
Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.”
March 3, 2024
You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where?
Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way.
Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued.
Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’
Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins.
Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick.
Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand.
A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.
There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.
You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here?
Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream?
Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?
Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity.
Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances.
The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were.
Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you.
Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room.
“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”
You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse.
She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair.
As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic.
You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands.
“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.”
You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked.
She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her.
“Heather Alexander,”
She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup.
“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago.
Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.”
As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down.
“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.”
“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.”
“My name isn’t Catherine,”
“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”
“My name is not Catherine,”
Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”
“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-”
“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly.
“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands.
“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head.
You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came.
You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.”
Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so.
“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off.
She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly.
Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly.
And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.
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Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.
Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist
Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star
Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Tape #4
WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.
Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.
Word Count: 6,296
Then- January 10, 20XX
Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name.
So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else.
She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners.
Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’?
But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late.
Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita.
The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought.
She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling.
It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy.
At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.
At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could.
When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that?
The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend.
Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base.
Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet.
Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her.
Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back.
His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her.
That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.
Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine.
When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again.
David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface.
She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting.
She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner.
She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed.
She had to have you.
Now- March 5, 20XX
Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?”
Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”
Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.”
Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded.
“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall.
Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up.
Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room.
Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him.
The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought.
Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,”
And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that.
March 6, 20XX
You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you.
A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out.
You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much.
You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine.
You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up.
You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys.
You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking.
Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key.
Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever.
You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible.
You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep.
March 6, 20XX
JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner.
Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.”
JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.”
Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.”
“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women.
Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.”
“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk.
JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her.
Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone.
Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway.
“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.”
Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?”
“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.”
Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope.
Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.”
“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.”
“You are an angel, Garcia.”
“I always aim to please,”
“And you never fail, baby girl.”
JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go?
Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record.
As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb.
“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise.
His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.
Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that.
It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle?
She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father.
She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David.
Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van.
Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday.
She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house.
Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before.
Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.
They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.”
The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?”
“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.”
“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?”
“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?”
Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,”
Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?”
Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,”
Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her.
JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.”
Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage.
JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned.
“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch.
He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door.
“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.”
“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage.
“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,”
Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?”
“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.”
Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.”
Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?”
“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.”
Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears.
His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh.
“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?”
JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding.
Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-”
“Spencer, go!”
Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s.
“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest.
Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.”
Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.”
“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.”
Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.”
Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.”
Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-”
“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment.
Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’
“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently.
“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him.
“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently.
“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.”
Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift.
She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger.
Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.
Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face.
You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”
You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.
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