AAAAAAAA- holy fuck Tappei does such a great job making me uncomfortable anytime I see Joshua molding Julius into this heroic role & worship.
This guy is fully conscious that is what he is doing too (which simultaneously makes it more icky & also fascinating) but doesn’t see anything beyond his own desire to have Julius be the proxy for all the desires that he can’t achieve with his own body.
Aside from all that discomfort with the scene. It’s nice to see Julius expressing such genuine childish joy. It seems he is quite the fan of Reid here which is a bit ironic given his hero worship since I keep pointing out things dropped that imply Reid is a big asshole lol.
Idk if your reqs are open but if they are I lowkey need a tooth rotting fluffy Spencer proposal fic! Literally all the details are down to you all I ask is that spencer is the one doing the proposing and that it is as fluffy as possible!
Thank youuuuuu
-spencerscardigan
hello thank you for the request!!
i did write this one a while ago where spencer proposes to reader!! i hope this is what you were wanting haha
Summary: We all know that Reid is always going to be the smartest person in any room. Everyone has come to terms with it. What's never easy is when you're proven wrong so casually, especially after you've already screwed up once.
If you hadn't spent six years working towards your lifelong goal of being an FBI agent, you might've thrown in the towel an hour ago. You'd been cooped up in the same room all day, reading the same stack of papers over and over again. By now, you had most of them memorized, but Hotch bribed you with a bagel to read them. "We're missing something," he insisted flatly. "See what you can find."
You laid your head down on some of the scattered papers, exhausted and frustrated. Why couldn't he just get Reid to do this? He read way faster than you anyways. You stayed down like that for another moment or two, resting your tired eyes, before gathering up the stack and heading out of your dungeon, intent on finding your team.
"Excuse me?" You spoke up, approaching an officer by the coffee machine. "Did you see where my team went?"
"Oh, sure." She nodded. "They're in the conference room. It's the one all the way at the end of the hall."
You thanked her quickly and made your way down the aforementioned hallway, steeling yourself to admit your shortcomings.
The team was settled around the oval table, Morgan's phone open in the center. Garcia's voice came through it, rattling off some facts about the latest victim. Nobody even looked up as the door shut behind you. Reid scribbled in his notebook, hanging off Garcia's every word. You waited patiently, standing awkwardly in front of the door. There weren't enough chairs for you to sit with them.
Finally, when Garcia hung up, Prentiss gave you her attention. Not all of it-- her eyes bounced from Reid's notes to you-- but some of it. "Hey," she greeted peacefully. "You find anything?"
"No," you replied. "Hotch, I really don't think there's anything left to infer. We already sucked all the information out of our notes; there's nothing left."
Hotch sighed, clearly unhappy with your results, but didn't send you back to solitary confinement. "All right, then. Why don't you join us? We're looking at victim profiles right now."
You nodded but didn't move. With nowhere to sit, you'd have to participate from the wall. "What do we know so far?"
"Six victims so far, all female. They were all found in the Brightmoor neighborhood, and they each were strangled. They all looked different, so we're not thinking that there's a specific appearance he likes. Other than that, they have nothing in common."
"Do we know any names? Or age or anything?" You inquired.
"They were young," JJ said. "The youngest one looked to be in her early twenties, but the others are probably between twenty and thirty. We only have one name, though." She pointed to the whiteboard. The latest victim was the only column with a real name over it instead of Jane Doe and a number-- Felicia Nicholson. "She was the only one with an ID."
"Do we think maybe they were sex workers?" You pondered, crossing your ankles. "I mean, our unsub clearly has no real 'type,' they're in a bad neighborhood and found in secluded spots, and only one had her ID with her."
"No," Reid cut in abruptly. "They're not. The ME never found any signs of--"
"Well, that's true; yes. But maybe they just didn't get that far. I mean, think about it, Reid. In almost every other case we've worked--"
"I thought about it, and so did the rest of us. They weren't prostitutes."
"Do we know for sure, though? What evidence do we have to suggest that they weren't, when we have--"
"You've done this long enough to know that just because women exist in a bad part of town, doesn't mean they work the streets. Just because they weren't carrying an ID with them doesn't mean they were doing something illegal." He didn't sound mad, exactly. Maybe frustrated, or tired, but not calm enough to keep the condescendence out of his tone. "When are you going to learn that no case is the same?"
You shrunk back into the wall, an embarrassed heat creeping up your neck. "I-- I know that, Reid. It's just that--"
"If you know it, then act like it."
"Jesus, Reid. What was that for?" Morgan asked, furrowing his brow. "She has a point, man. We could be wrong. It's happened before."
"She's not considering the fact that the ME didn't find anything to suggest that they--"
"Right, but she still is right to consider that the victims and the unsub just didn't get that far. In my honest opinion, I think we should go ask around; see if anybody working knew these girls. And even if they didn't, we can still--"
"You're not listening," Reid interrupted. He seemed to be having a hard time waiting for his turn today. "They're not prostitutes. She's been wrong a million times before. Even earlier today, when she thought the fake ID on the fifth victim was a real one. I've never been wrong."
The embarrassment turned to shame. In your defense, it was the most realistic fake ID you'd ever seen. Even Hotch thought it was valid at first glance. But just because you'd taken longer to discern the difference, and just because you weren't perfect pretty-boy Reid, your theories and logic got tossed into the garbage can.
"Excuse me," you mumbled, pulling the door open and sliding out. You closed it gently, although you wanted to slam it. For a moment, you just stood on the other side, chest heaving. You weren't going to cry. You couldn't. Spencer was just tired, like everybody else, and he wasn't trying as hard to filter his thoughts. Yes; that was it. That was the only thing wrong. Not you; just him.
Then again, he was right. You had misjudged the ID, and you had made mistakes before. Spencer hadn't. Not to your knowledge, anyways.
"God..." You whispered, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting back both exhaustion and tears. "What's wrong with me?"
"You look rough," Lieutenant Hall noted, approaching you. "How'd it go in there? Did you guys figure out anything else?"
"No," you replied a little too quickly, swallowing your emotions. "Not yet. We're floating a couple ideas, but nothing new yet."
"Are you okay?" He asked, squinting at you. "You don't look so good."
"I'm just tired, is all." It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't necessarily a lie, either. "It's been a long day."
"I can make you some coffee," he offered. "There's a machine in the breakroom. My sergeant just got a bunch of these new syrup flavor things to try instead of using cream and sugar, and they're pretty good."
"Sure," you agreed. Even if the coffee was shit, you'd be glad to get away from the room you knew people were stilling talking about you in. "I'd appreciate that."
Lieutenant Hall walked you to the breakroom, yapping incessantly about how glad he was that the unit came all this way to help, how he knew the community would be so relieved once the unsub was caught, how good of a job you were doing. You tried not to listen. Maybe as a team, your efforts were valiant, but you felt you brought the score from a ninety percent down to an eighty. You couldn't admit it out loud, but the thought bumped along in your brain.
"Okay, okay. We got vanilla, caramel, chocolate, and cinnamon," he rattled off, grabbing a k-cup from the cupboard. "Take your pick."
"I don't know. Which one do you like?"
"I've only had the vanilla one, but it tasted exactly like creamer. Supposedly, caramel is good, too."
"Vanilla's fine."
"All right." He pressed the 'brew' button on the machine. A thick, warm smell filled the air as your coffee poured out. "You know, I had a thought about all these victims. Do you guys think maybe they were prostitutes?"
Jesus, here we go again.
"It's, um... it's something we've briefly talked about, but not really in depth," you muttered, skirting around the part where you said the same thing and got torn up for it.
"I think it might be worth a conversation," Lieutenant Hall continued. "I've lived and worked in Detroit for the past twenty-six years. I've seen my fair share of these sorts of deaths. Just... y'know, never this many all at once."
"Yeah." God, could your coffee take any longer to brew? "We're thinking about it."
"What's that Frankenstein-guy think about it? He seems like he's in charge. What're his thoughts?"
"He-- he wasn't there when we talked about it, so..." You kept your eyes down, hoping you sounded convincing enough.
"Oh. Well, next time you see him, maybe bring it up." He reached into the same cupboard the k-cup came from, grabbing the bottle of vanilla syrup.
"Excuse me?"
You both turned at the same time. Reid stood in the doorway, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides.
"Do you mind if I talk with her for a minute?" He asked, glancing briefly at you. "It's important."
"Oh, yeah. Don't let me get in your way." Lieutenant Hall set the bottle down on the counter. "Start with a pump, but you can add more if you like. Let me know what you think."
"I will; thank you."
He gave you a nod, then squeezed past Reid, who still lingered in the threshold. For a moment, Spencer didn't say anything. Just looked at you. You could only look back for so long before it became insufferable. Instead, you grabbed your coffee and pumped an intentionally slow shot into your cup, hoping Reid would either speak first or go away.
You didn't hear him approach. When he spoke, though, his voice came from directly behind you. It wasn't as blunt as it had been in the conference room. "I'm sorry," he admitted quietly. "I shouldn't have acted like that."
"But you were right," you sighed. "You don't make mistakes. I've made plenty."
"That doesn't mean you're wrong, though. It just means you're..."
"Not as smart as you?" You finished. "Yeah. I know."
Reid swallowed. "I was thinking maybe 'eager,' or something. But, yes. You're not as smart as me. But that's not your fault. And I shouldn't have reacted like that. It... it does look like they might have been sex workers, but still, there's no physical evidence to suggest that."
"It doesn't mean I'm wrong." You fought back a sniffle. "Even Lieutenant Hall thought they might have been. We were just talking about that before you came in. He says he's seen a lot of cases like this with prostitutes, just never this many. Don't-- don't you know about Ridgway? Or-- or Robert Lee Yates?"
"They operated in well-known red-light districts in Washington. There's almost ten miles to either of the nearest ones from Brightmoor."
"That doesn't mean that they don't travel," you huffed, finally turning to look at him. "I don't care what the ME did or didn't say they found. I think Morgan's right. We should at least go talk to some of the girls and see if they know any of our victims."
He let out a long sigh, considering this. People did own cars and often drove out a ways for late-night endeavors. "I'm not going to agree with you yet," he started slowly. "But if you feel this passionately about it, I will talk to Hotch."
"Thank you," you said, struggling to speak around the lump in your throat.
Spencer frowned. Maybe he wasn't the best at socializing, but he could still recognize what tears sounded like. "Why are you so upset?" He inquired in a gentler tone.
"Because you offended me, Reid. In front of the whole team." You looked up at him, eyes shining. "Even Hotch said the ID looked real. And-- and Morgan's been wrong before, and you've never said anything like that about him. Same with Prentiss, and Rossi. So why me? What's so stupid about me that you felt the need to call me out like that?"
"You're not stupid," he insisted. He hesitated before hesitantly putting a hand on her bicep. "And I don't know why I did that. I-- I'm tired, and frustrated, but that's no excuse. I'm sorry."
"We're all tired, Reid. We're all frustrated." It was your turn to sound harsh. "At this point, there's two options: we either wait for DNA results and hope they give us something, or we go talk to people. Sitting and twiddling our thumbs because you don't think they were working isn't an option."
"I get it, okay?" He slid his hand off your arm, opting to place it on your back instead. "I get it. Getting worked up isn't going to help anything either. So, take a deep breath--"
"You take a deep breath," you mumbled.
Reid drew his lips into a tight line, debating with himself. He knew it wasn't worth trying to reason with you while you were like this, but at the same time, he caused this, at least in part. That made him responsible for fixing it.
He steeled himself, taking a breath before placing his free hand on your back, right beside the first one. He pulled you in until your chest bumped his and your cheek came to rest right over his heart. You could hear it underneath his sweater, thumping away like a drum.
"What are you doing?" You demanded, too stunned to move. You'd never known Reid to hug anyone. There was legend of him hugging Hotch-- the least huggable man in the whole bureau-- after he was kidnapped, but you'd never been shown any evidence. And here he was, hugging you.
"I'm hugging you," he said quietly, almost right in your ear. "It lowers cortisol, and I think you need one."
You couldn't argue there. Hugs did tend to come in handy when emotions ran high. As much as you wanted to push back, to treat him the same way he treated you, you didn't. Instead, you let your shoulders drop from their defensive position and let out a little breath. Reid rewarded you with gentle strokes of his thumb between your shoulder blades.
"I know you're tired, and I know I didn't help things," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
You didn't say anything. Verbally accepting apologies always felt awkward. "I accept your apology" was too formal, and you didn't want to tell him that it was okay, because it wasn't. Understandable, sure, but not okay. You opted just to nod, the wool of his sweater rustling under your hair.
"Guys." Hotch's flat voice sounded suddenly. You lifted your head to look at him, slightly flustered to be caught like this. "There's another victim. Let's go."
Reid released you with a sigh. "I guess it's our time to shine, then."
"I suppose," you returned, starting for the door.
"Hey-- hang on a second." He reached out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. "For now, I wouldn't look at this like we know they're sex workers, okay? We don't know for sure."
"Reid--"
"But I want you to keep the idea in mind, okay? Not in the front, but... not on the back burner, either."
You blinked. You'd been anticipating another argument, not for him to give you the go-ahead to pursue your theory. Well, not outright, but still.
"Okay," you concurred, voice cracking slightly.
"Come on, then. They're probably waiting for us." He let go of your wrist, striding past you. The more he considered it, the more he wanted to believe you. He'd never admit it out loud, especially not because he just ridiculed you about it, but he'd make sure you weren't the only one looking for signs this time.
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…your telling me that shady Western building I pointed out earlier is now being said to have been once a “fierce battleground” and I’m somehow supposed to not look at it funny with what I mentioned then?
Nope! This mansion is too sus. Bet it’s where Reid and co occupied prior to what obviously was a fight with Volcanica prior to the Covenant formation.
Anyhow. Of course that’s what Helaine said. Casually trying to skimp around the Six Tongue aspect of it. I’m sure Rachins understands that aspect however given the specific sequence of tongue clicking he did.
