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catching up on smallville and oh my god tom welling
#did they make him in a LAB?????#WHAT????#the only other person to clark kent like he clark kent-ed is david corenswet i think#except for the obvious of course nothing but respect to mr reeves#but oh my GOD SMALLVILLE???? WHERE TF HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE (it was right there the whole time i was just lazy as FU-)#smallville#smallville save me#smallville clark kent save me#smallville clark kent#tom welling#clark kent#superman#smallville the show you are
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HEYYY!! Godspeed on your semester <33!! You got this. đ«¶đŒ
Fic idea: Reader is Reidâs roommate and is pretty laid-back (easily mistaken for a slacker because they donât take on rigorous tasks often) and stumbles across a stumped Reid whoâs trying to solve a case. Very casually Reader makes an insane prediction, and Reid learns that theyâre basically a genius⊠who doesnât really know theyâre a genius?? (Because when they think âgeniusâ the reader usually thinks of nerdy and scrawny people like Reid)
I hope that makes sense vro đđ
Baby you have been in my inbox for a MONTH i am so sorry i hope you like it đ„
Lazy
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader words: 1.2k warnings: Language summary: You, a chronically underachieving genius accidentally solve an active FBI case over takeout and crime scene photos. Spencer Reid blurts out an "I love you" before sprinting out the door in mismatched socks. a/n: fluffity fluff in the end for a little bit hehe <3
Truth be told, you hated that word. Lazy. You preferred efficient. Your 9-to-5 was soul sucking, much like any other 9-to-5, so you did the only thing you could to make sure this job doesn't eat you aliveâ the bare fucking minimum.
A report due by 5? Alright, it'll be on the desk at 5, not a minute sooner, and not a minute later. A task needs doing? Oh, it'll be done. Flawlessly, in fact. But that's it. No fanfare, no extras, exactly what is required, nothing more. Meetings? You speak only when necessary. Deadlines? Met to the second. No matter how convoluted the problem or the task, you found the cleanest, simplest way through.
You did just the right amount, never showed your true potential, and it never raised any questions. If you asked your coworkers, they'd say you were a joy to be around. With your social capital? You were never getting fired. It was the perfect ruse.
But when you reached home with takeout, took your shoes off at the end of the day, you left your job along with them at the doorstep of your house. 5-to-9 is your time. And no one was taking that away from you. Alright, maybe one person was taking that away from you. But truth be told, you didn't really complain.
Spencer Reid was an enigma. Living with him was never dull, be it because he was actually, quite literally, the best flatmate a person could ask for in all thinkable ways, or because he challenged you the way you liked bestâ intellectually. Today was apparently a latter kind of day.
"Reid-o. What's got you all worked up?"
"Reid-o?" he asked, looking up from the papers strewn about his desk.
"Term of endearment. You didn't answer my question."
The first thing you noticed after coming home was the pair of Converse that were clearly taken off in a hurry and left there haphazardly. The living room smelled of the strongest espresso in all of land, like a truck of coffee had decided to explode in your house, of all places. The room was relatively dark, except for the lamp burning over the desk where he was huddled over. He was so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he hadn't even noticed you come home. Ergo, he was stressed.
A heavy sigh, one hand running through his hair. You made a mental note of his stress level: medium-high. A few more hours of this and heâd either fall asleep at his desk or start quoting obscure philosophers.
"It's this case," he admitted finally, his voice sounding almost defeated. "I have been poring over the case files and the crime scene photos, and the interviews for hours, and I have basically no pattern or connection between any of the victims. So, how was your day?"
"Better than yours," you scoffed, "Can I have a look?"
âI thought you hated this stuff.â
âI hate paperwork and bureaucracy. Big difference.â
He hesitated, then pushed the files toward you, still half sceptical. âTheyâre all women, different ages, different occupations. Killed two days apart. Same method, no evidence left behind, nothing to tie them together. Weâre missing something.â
You skimmed through the reports, flipping through pages with zero urgency. You tapped your finger on the crime scene photos, brows slightly furrowed at the gore; they were crime scene photos, after all. But you kept your focus on just the crime scene. Just the way it was staged. You tapped your finger on the last photo, humming thoughtfully.
âHow did he get in?â you asked.
Spencer sighed again. âWe donât know. Thatâs part of the problem. No signs of forced entry, no tampering, no secondary footprints, nothing on any of the security footage. Just the victims entering their homes alone, like normal.â
âNo delivery men, no dates, no door dash?â
âNothing. Clean. Like no one else was ever there.â
You tilted your head, squinting at the arrangement of one of the living rooms. âAlright. So, letâs say the footage is legit, no one else enters or leaves the premises. The simplest explanation?â
He gave you a look. âOccamâs Razor?â
âExactly. The simplest explanation is that no one entered because they were already inside.â
He blinked. âYouâre saying the unsub wasââ
âAlready in the house. Yeah.â
âThat would mean... he snuck in before the victims got home. Hid. Waited. Killed them. Then left... somehow.â
âWithout triggering a single alarm or camera. Meaning either the cameras were looped at just the right timeâ which youâre saying they werenâtâ or he never walked past them to begin with.â
Spencer stood now, pacing a little. âBut how? Every entry point was covered.â
You leaned back into the couch, arms crossed. âThen maybe weâre not thinking three-dimensionally enough. You need to look at the architectural plans. House blueprints. Vents, crawlspaces, dumbwaiters, hell, even hollow walls. If heâs getting in and out without being seen, itâs because heâs not using the doors. Or windows.â
Spencer froze mid-step, then slowly turned to you, eyes wide.
âHoly shit,â he whispered. âOh my god.â
âWhat? Did you get something?â you asked, sitting up a little straighter.
Spencer blinked, still stunned, like the gears in his mind had just snapped into overdrive.
âThe houses, every single one of the victimsâ homes, were renovated within the last year,â he said, more to himself than to you, âThatâs why we didnât consider construction anomalies. We assumed standard layouts, but what ifâ what if they all used the same contractor?â
You raised an eyebrow. âYou think the unsub is the person who remodeled their houses?â
âOr someone connected to the company. Maybe he installed hidden access points, crawlspaces, false walls, and vent systems wide enough to move through. Places where someone could hide for days.â
He rushed back to the files, flipping through them like a man possessed. âThis would explain everythingâ the lack of evidence, the absence of footage, the precision in timing...â
He looked up suddenly, eyes shining like the sun just rose inside his skull.
âDid you know youâre a genius?â
You smirked, stretching your arms behind your head. âI have my days.â
âNo, no, Iâm serious.â He was talking fast now, gathering files, tugging his coat from the back of his chair. âYou just cracked the entire case with, like, three questions.â
"Guess I've lived with you long enough for it to rub off on me, huh?"
He laughed at that, face serious for a split second. âYouâre incredible.â
That actually made your stomach flip. âYeah, well, that makes two of us.â
âI gotta go,â he muttered suddenly, stuffing folders into his messenger bag hurriedly like he was trying to stop them from escaping, âHotch needs to see this now. But, oh my god, I love you so much right now.â
And before you could even react, he leaned over, pressed a quick, distracted kiss to your cheek, and bolted out the door, his shoes half on.
You sat there, stunned.
ââŠCool,â you mumbled, touching your cheek where his lips had been a moment ago.
#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader fluff#maya writes#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#requested â.Ë
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Doctor Doctor
house md x criminal minds muahahahaha (reduce your expectations to zero)
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.7k warnings: FLUFFIEST FLUFF IN ALL LAND, language, canon doesn't even exist at this point rip, established relationship, spencer and reader being sooooooo in love, House is in it for like 2 minutes T_T, new jersey slander, vegas slander, florida slander (only for funsies, i have never been anywhere except vegas teehee), minor Chase slander (this is solely for the plot i love my problematic daughter) a/n: listen i TRIED but house has like 2 minutes of screen time I'm SORRY I'M SORRY OKAY? I only now got back after the hiatus and I didn't know how to end it and well yada yada yada this cesspool of disappointment happened. also apparently I cannot write a fic of anything without making a brooklyn 99 reference so here you fucking go <3
Getting shot did not feel as badass as expected. It hurt like a bitch. Damn every single movie that made it look cool. And damn every single paramedic who said you were lucky it didn't hit any vital organs. My brother in Christ, I am the most vital organ. It hit ME. I am in inexplicable pain. Fuck you, you thought.
A case in Princeton? What could go wrong? Well, several things, apparently. A, you had been shot, as we already know. B, you were probably going to run into Chase, which was the last thing you needed right now. C, much worse, by the end of your little adventure, your boyfriend was going to be well acquainted with Gregory House, for all the wrong reasons.
You didn't exactly have a say in which ER they were rushing you to, but even in the barely conscious haze, you tried to mutter "Mercy... Mehr...," before you passed out, which the paramedics unfortunately interpreted as you begging for mercy. What you were actually trying to say was that you wanted to be taken to Mercy General Hospital, and by no means, Princeton Plainsboro. You were taken to Princeton Plainsboro.
You had no idea how much time had passed. All that you were aware of at the moment was the static white noise that you'd been hearing for hours on end slowly dissolving into proper sounds that your brain could interpret. Shrill beeping of medical equipment, the faint hum of the AC, muffled voices and rushed feet, presumably outside whatever room you were in, pages being turned. Pages being turned? Of course. A sound you were well accustomed to. Spencer. You were instantly at ease.
You opened your eyes as slowly as you could, so as to not overwhelm your eyes with all the light after being unconscious for so long. It didn't work. It was still too bright. You couldn't see shit for a few seconds. After taking a couple of seconds to adjust, you carefully looked around the room.
It was a typical room for a hospital, you thought. Simple, minimalist, boring, mildly drab, if we were being honest. But something about the interiors seemed... off. Familiar. The walls. This sickly shade of green (which was a poor design choice, by the wayâ no sick person would get better in this sorry excuse of a room). You knew this place. Oh, shit.
You tried to call out for Spencer, let him know you're up, but then decided you didn't want to do it like this. You wanted to wake up all nonchalantly, like it didn't matter that you were shot by a bullet; you were still extremely cool and awesome. You thought to ask "Enjoying your book?" so you'd seem mysterious and also convey that even in this state, you were observant enough to know what was going on around you.
While in the process of deciding how to soft-launch your newly found consciousness, your throat, your very own throat, betrayed you. The only sound that left your throat, despite having an entire monologue ready in your head, was a pained cough. But it got his attention, so that's something? He quickly shut his book and sprinted from across the room to be at your side, his entire focus on you.
"Hey. You're awake."
"You're, like, so pretty right now."
"Really? Oh, uhâ well, thankâ thank you. You, uh, you look really pretty too," he managed to muster up, clearly caught off guard by your declaration, despite the fact that you were his girlfriend of well over months at that point.
"Sorry. Painkillers," you explained, even though it was a completely conscious decision to make him blush like that. "You okay?"
He exhaled a laugh at your question. "You ate a bullet, and you're worried about me right now?"
"Yeah, I'm considerate like that. You still didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, his eyes soft as he scanned you. You never stopped catching him off guard, be it with your concern, your intellect, your care, your love, or even just your mere presence, captivated him. He loved being loved by you. "You feeling okay? Doctors said you'll be fine, mostly, save for some internal bleeding."
"It's okay. That's where the blood's supposed to be."
Spencer gave you a deadpan look, clearly not amused.
"Actually, though, my mouth is feeling a bit tingly?"
"Oh. Well, that's not normal. You shouldn't be feeling anything right now, also you got shot in the abdomen, so it reallyâ"
"Yeah, yeah, I was hoping you could just kiss it better for me? You know, cause technically you're a doctor and everything?" He visibly relaxed after he understood what you were actually doing.
"Gotta say. You make a compelling argument. That is the prescribed treatment, yes," he played along, as he leaned in to close the distance between you.
Every time you kissed him, it felt like the first. This time was no exception. Modern medicine be damned, you could survive just off his kisses. He kissed you like a man starved, and you, well, you were a giver. The smile on your faces as you broke apart couldn't be erased even if you tried. Just pure joy and bliss.
"Next time, though, you can just, you know, ask me to kiss you. Radical concept, I know. But I'm your boyfriend. We sorta tend to do that. It's all part of the package."
"Yeah, it's these crazy painkillers, man. I swear. It's like I'm horny for you, but, like, emotionally."
"And they say romance is dead."
You exhaled a laugh, straining slightly as it reverberated through your wound. It wasn't an exaggeration that your laugh was music to his ears. Any time you laughed, it was instinct for him to laugh along with you. With love like this? Romance could never die.
"Seriously, though, you're okay?"
"Never better, Spence," you promised, noting that his concern didn't reduce one bit. "Seriously. I'm, like, zooted out of my mind right now. I can't feel a thing. I'm fine. I swear."
He deflated a little, knowing that you weren't in as much pain as he thought. Still, he had to be sure you were okay.
"I'll go tell your doctor you're up. Just in case."
"Honey, I'm fiâ"
"We're just making sure."
You sighed, knowing there was no winning this. Besides, it's probably a good thing. The sooner your doctor was convinced you were okay, the sooner you can get the fuck out of this place.
"Hey, Spence?"
"Hmm?" he questioned, stopping halfway out the door, already on his way to call your doctor.
"Who's my attending?"
"Oh, Dr House."
The few minutes you were alone in that room were pure agony. This did not make sense. Even Remotely. House was your attending? Gregory House, who famously does not see patients, doesn't even do clinic duty or help at the ER when the hospital is short-staffed, was your attending physician. Either something truly drastic had happened since you left, you were actually in a coma and hallucinating, or he was fucking with you. Which does sound like a very House thing to do.
You watched as House entered first, cane tapping against the tile, followed by Spencer, whose face screamed I am doing my best to be polite, but I have so many questions. House, to your horror, was wearing his white coat. Clean-shaven. Professional. Smiling. There was a clipboard in his hand. Coma theory wasn't looking all too far-fetched right now. You were definitely hallucinating. This was The Bad Place.
âThere she is,â House said, flipping through a chart that probably wasnât even yours. âThe FBIâs own bullet sponge. Looking good, Agent.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYouâre being nice?â
âIâm being professional,â he corrected. âYou know, the thing you insisted I didnât know how to be.â
Spencer raised a brow at you.
âIâŠâ you gestured weakly, âmay have painted a picture.â
âDonât worry,â House said smoothly, still not looking up from the chart. âIâm sure you told Beautiful Mind over here that Iâm a misanthropic, narcissistic, cane-wielding reprobate who shouldnât be allowed near scalpels or people. Which is why Iâve decided to dedicate the rest of this week to being the poster boy for medical decency.â
Your eyes narrowed further. âYouâre fucking with me.â
âAbsolutely,â he said brightly, still not breaking character. âI took one look at him and thought, yeah, letâs make her eat her words,â he taunted, the last part of the sentence in faux glee.
Spencer, clearly still confused, looked between you two. âIâm sorryâ whatâs happening right now?â
âDon't worry about it, honey,â you said, your voice too high-pitched to be reassuring. This day couldn't end faster.
"I can't exactly help it, I'm yourâ"
âBoyfriend,â House interrupted. âI picked that up when she asked you to kiss her gunshot wound better," he explained, stressing on gunshot wound.
"Okay, how the hell do you knâ" You were interrupted before you could finish, once again by House.
"Just FYI, thatâs not in the AMAâs list of recommended interventions.â
Spencerâs ears pinked, but he stood his ground. âActually, sheâs not wrong. Oxytocin release from affectionate touch can lower cortisol levels and reduce perceived pain.â
House blinked once. âSo it talks back. And it knows things.â
"House," you warned.
âHe's right,â House replied, now facing Spencer. âUnless her libido is compensating for cranial trauma. In which case, you should maybe keep the tongue down until we run an MRI.â
Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. You knew that sound all too well. That was the sound of Spencer Reidâs neural pathways short-circuiting.
"House, I swear to Godâ"
âNo, no, this is good!â he beamed at Spencer, ignoring you completely. âYouâre weird. I like that. And considering your girlfriend once got back together with Chase for exactly 3 days because he made her a mixtape, you're something of an upgrade.â
Was that... was House giving you his blessing? Is that what this was? Or were you reading too much into it? Either way, you couldn't get out of there any damn sooner.
You buried your face in your hands. âOh, God. Sedate me. I beg you.â
"Relax. The bullet didn't hit anything. You'll be up and gun-slinging in no time." He snapped the chart shut. âReid. Want to come talk about your girlfriendâs insides with me in the hallway?â
Spencer looked at you for permission, ever the gentleman. Also, he looked sceptical. And mildly afraid.
âGo. Please. Maybe heâll behave if youâre watching.â
âI wonât,â House said cheerfully. âBut weâll both pretend I will, and thatâs basically the same thing.â
As they left, you heard House murmur, âSo. You ever try Vicodin recreationally?â
"Dilaudid, actually."
You slowly reached for the morphine dispenser and set it on the highest possible level.
~
The morphine wore off soon. Too soon, honestly. You were up, staring into bright white lights and sad green walls in no time. Spencer, thankfully, was by your bed. Alone. House-less. That was vaguely terrifying, actually. He looked confused. Confuddled. Not exactly dumbfounded or scared, but very concerned. Typical House interaction aftershock.
"Honey? You okay?"
"Either everything he said was definitely sarcastic, or we need to deliver a profile as soon as we possibly can."
You managed to muster an amused laugh, which quickly died down after you sensed the genuine horror in his face.
"Oh, you're seriâ honey, he was kidding. He likes to mess with people, that's all. He wasn't being serious, I promise." Well, for the most part. But he didn't have to know that. He needed reassurance right now. He needed to know he wasn't crazy. Again, typical House interaction aftershocks.
"Okay, that helps a bit. A tiny bit. Although I definitely have questions."
"How about I answer them while I cuddle my boyfriend in this huge-ass bed?"
"It's like you're Romeo," he teased, as he climbed into said huge-ass bed.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the interrogation began.
"Exactly how are you acquainted with Greg?"
"Oh, he's Greg now?"
"Long story. Again, how do you know him?"
"Well, you know how I joined the team as a forensic pathologist? Before that, I had a brief stint as a medical fellow in his differential diagnosis team at this here hospital," you admitted, like just the memory had mildly inconvenienced you.
"Somehow, I'm more disturbed that you had to live in New Jersey."
"Hey. Just because I'm too tired to argue doesn't mean I'll tolerate New Jersey slander."
"The state animal of New Jersey is the orange construction cone."
"Please, like Vegas is any better. What happens in Vegas stays the fuck there 'cause no one else wants it."
"Alright, compromise. Florida sucks," he suggested a truce. His eyes were on you, already waiting to lock it in.
"Florida sucks," you concurred with a satisfied smile, closing the deal and the distance between you. He broke away after god knows how long, albeit begrudgingly. Damn oxygen.
"Alright. Next question."
"Shoot. I'm so ready right now."
"So... Chase." He begins. Well, you weren't prepared for that.
"Alright, maybe not that ready."
"No, no, I'm just curious. Was it, like, a really good mixtape, orâ"
You hit him with the pillow you had at your side for support, just as he braced for impact and failed. The bastard laughed at your agony and pulled you in closer, into a harder embrace.
"I'm kidding. I'm just messing with you. If you don't want to talk about it, we donâ"
"No, no. I do. It's not a touchy topic or anything. He was just... well, a lousy boyfriend."
"Hmm. Lousy how?"
"He did try. I'll give him credit. But whenever he fucked up, it was big, you know? And having House meddling the entire time didn't help either. It's just, it never felt right. Like it was so close to being what I wanted, but no matter how much we tried, it could never be... that."
"What about me? Am I what you want?" he inquired, his tone playful, yet you sensed the hesitation that lingered.
"Honey, you are what I need."
"I think we need to renegotiate on the painkillers."
He drew another laugh from you and joined you in your glee as he admired you in silence. Just as he was thinking about how much he loved you, he was met with a revelation.
"You know, in a weird, twisted way, we wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for House."
Your face scrunched into pure disgust, and much to your chagrin, he was right.
"Ugh, honey, I need you to promise never to tell him that."
"Agreed. Also, follow up on the last question."
"Come at me, lover."
"Oh wow, okay. Moving on. So, if I were to over majorly screw up, what songs would you prefer on the mixtâ"
You hit him with the pillow once again.
"Truce, truce," he proposed for the second time that day, still laughing.
"You are so lucky you're cute."
"I am aware, yes," he replied, his voice all playful.
"Are you? 'cause you're blushing real hard right now."
"I think I'm allowed to be flustered by my girlfriend's shameless flirting."
You fake an exaggerated gasp. "Who you callin' shameless? You know, I could take you in a fight, Reid."
"Oh, we're on last names now?"
"Keep deflecting, I'll show you what a proper uppercut looks like."
"I'd rather you don't rip your stitches, actually. You're still very much healing."
"I'm letting you go. For now," you warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly. Menacingly.
"I am shivering in fear. On the inside. I swear." He kissed your temple and got off the bed rather unceremoniously. It made you laugh, so he'd take it.
"Rest, okay? Get some sleep."
"I'll be dreaming of you."
"I take it back. I love your painkillers."
He heard you laugh yet again, his favourite sound in the entire world. Part of him wanted to record it and play it on loop. Other parts of him wanted that sound, that music, etched on the insides of his ear.
"Oh, and before you go to sleep, I do have one last question."
"Ask away, darling."
"I met Greg's oncologist friend earlier?" he posed it like a question, like he wasn't really sure if he was right.
"Wilson?"
"Yeah, him. It's just, do theyâ do they know gay marriage is legal now?"
#icymi <3#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds x you#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x y/n#robert chase x reader#house md x reader#criminal minds crossover#maya writes#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid x self insert#house md crossover#house md x criminal minds
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1k??? kissing all of you on the mouth THANKYOU
request for spenceeeee (literally my boyfriend)
bau!reader and spencer are dating now, and they're just like talking about how they met and stuff casually and he's like you know i sorta tried to ask you out when we met? she's like what? you're telling me we could've started dating years ago??? he's like hey it's no big deal, ig you just weren't really into me back then and she's like not into you??? my brother in christ i stuttered and rambled for 3 entire minutes when we met what made you think i didn't like you
a whole lot of fluff badically thanks x
helloooo <3333 thank you so much for the request!!!! i had a WIP with sort of a similar theme as the ask so decided to combine them, i really hope you like it xo
Um, actually
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: A flashback to when you first met spencer helps you realize just how oblivious you were. But so was he, so it's all good. warnings: fluffffffff, possibly incorrect etymology facts, Spencer being a horrible cook for funsies, minor Brooklyn 99 reference (if you caught it i love you so much), glasses spencer !!!!! (not really all that relevant to the plot but i am a sucker for glasses!spence <3), established relationship
"Beeves? Really? Come on, that cannot be a real word."
Dinner conversations were always lively with Spencer. More often than not, it involved facts about the recipe, the origins, the historical significance, different interpretations of the same dish in other cultures, and whatnot. Today, it was etymology.
"It is!" he exclaimed, pointing towards you with his fork, way too excited about beef etymology in the most endearing way possible.
"You see, in the context of 'meat from cows', the plural of beef would just be beef. If we're talking about fights, disagreements, that kind of beef? It would be beefs. But beef also refers to an adult cow, steer or bull. So in this case, the plural would beâ"
"Beeves?"
"Bingo."
"Huh, the more you know. You got more weird plurals?"
"Well,"
"Of course you do."
"There's moose, whose plural is actuallyâ"
"Meese, obviously."
"Oh, no."
Eventually, dinner was done, dishes were put away, and you were now cuddled on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bicep over the sleeve of your sweater.
It was quiet. Silent. But not the kind of silence that came with warnings and omens. It wasn't the kind of silence filled with premonition that you had so gotten used to with your job. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it wasn't foreboding. It was the kind of stillness that settled like morning fog over a quiet lake. Gentle, unmoving, and content to simply exist. The air bore a sort of warmth and hope that neither of you had been familiar with in years. Ever, if you're being honest. Beautiful thing, domesticity. Naturally, you were reminiscing.
"Spence?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Remember how we met?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully, lips pressing together as though deep in concentration. âHmm⊠you know, I have an eidetic memory, but I canât say I doââ
You smacked him with the throw pillow. He laughed, pulling you a little closer. âOf course I do. It's one of my favourite memories of us," he admitted, kissing your forehead. He smiled into your hair. âCrazy how much has changed, huh?â
You nodded, eyes still on the soft knit of his sweater sleeve. âYeah. Feels like a lifetime ago.â
âYou know,â he said, suddenly bashful, âI tried to ask you out that day.â
Wait, what? Your head snapped toward him. âYou did not.â
"Oh yeah. Crashed and burned splendidly."
"Spencer, honey, I feel like I would remember that."
âUm, actually,â he said, adjusting his glasses with mock seriousness, âthatâs literally the first thing I did.â
You stared at him, slack-jawed. âWhâ what do you mean? We⊠we could have started dating ages ago?â
He chuckled lightly, shrugging one shoulder. âI mean, maybe? I thought I was pretty obvious about it. But you didnât seem interested, so I figuredââ
âNo, no,â you interrupted, practically sitting up. âBelieve me, I was interested, alright? Spencer, I stuttered andâ and rambled for like three entire minutes when I met you. I forgot to tell you my name. IâI asked you if you wanted the extra ticket toâ"
His eyes widened as he realized where this was going. âWait, wait. That was supposed to be flirting?â
"Yeah!?" you exclaimed, so exasperated it almost sounded like a question. "Honey, what else did you think it was?"
"I thought you were being polite! And Iâ I definitely flirted back," he promised, clearly going through that memory inside his head as he spoke.
"Sweetie, when?"
"You know, when I said there was someone I'd like to go with?" He stressed on the word someone far too much, waiting, hoping you would catch his drift. You finally did, after 10 really long seconds.
"Me? You meant you'd want to go with me?" you asked, still incredulous at what he had implied.
"Uh-huh!? Honey, who elseâ"
"Spencer, Oh my god, I thought you were telling me you had a girlfriend."
"...Oh."
You both sat there for a moment, letting that truth settle between you like dust in late-afternoon light. You couldnât help but laugh softly, shaking your head. âWow. Canât believe we missed out on years.â
âI know,â he said, his voice just above a whisper, eyes trained on the space between you, like he was watching the shape of time itself. âWe're idiots, aren't we?â
"Possibly, but at least we're idiots together now," you responded, leaning further into him, leaving no more space between you, if that was even possible with how close you were sitting in the first place.
"Agreed. If anything, I think our love makes me a better person. Remember when I boiled that egg last week?"
"That was really big. I'm proud of you," you affirmed, your voice sincere.
"Crazy how much hasn't changed, though."
"What do you mean?" you asked, head tilting to look at him. His eyes were already on you, fond, like he was enamoured with you. Like he was going to tell you he loved you, and even after you had already heard it a hundred times by then, it still made you nervous.
"You still don't double-check the mail, even after I specificallyâ"
Another throw pillow found him, this time directly across his face, muffling the rest of his declaration. He laughed in response to that yet again, smug bastard that he is. You feigned offence at that and attempted to push him off of you, and sat a couple of feet away from him, hands crossed across your chest, face neutral.
But he knew what you were expecting to hear. He also knew that he didn't have to say it loud for you to know. It went without saying how much you loved each other. With every word you ever exchanged, every sentence ever spoken, the unspoken part? The subtext? It was always there. I love you.
He sensed that he had to make it up to you now. He also knew that you weren't really mad, probably loving the banter just as much as he was. Still, he always enjoyed making it up to you way more than he'd ever care to admit, so if it meant he had to come up with an elaborate ruse to rile you up first and then pretend to ask for your forgiveness, then so be it. His arms were around you in record time.
Bonusâ a flashback: how our idiots actually met
You were grasping the tickets tight. There had been an oversight. On your part, mostly (entirely, if we're being honest), but you had to fix it as soon as you could, nonetheless. The tickets in your hand did not belong to you. And the longer you were holding them, the more it started to feel like they were burning a hole in your hand. You had to give it to whoever was expecting it, apologize, and get out of their face before you started sensing their judgement. The tickets belonged to one Spencer Reid. Who the hell was Spencer Reid?
A small part of you wanted to get to know him immediately. You donât find a lot of federal agents who take Halloween seriously, let alone someone willing to spend Halloween weekend at Phantasmagoria. Someone with that good of a taste? Sign me up, you thought.
Your eyes scanned the bullpen of the BAU, searching for any face that might look like it belonged to a âSpencer Reid.â You didnât know what he looked like. But there was a tall, lanky guyâ glasses, brown hair, cardigan layered over a dress shirt, tie slightly askew, gun holster hanging off his waist like it had no business being there. (Is that even allowed?) He was holding a cup of coffee and making his way toward a desk.
Unfortunately, the first thought your caveman brain was able to come up with wasâ cute. Nope. You were on a mission. You had to focus. Focus, damn it. You figured, if this nice, fine (really fine) and distinguished gentleman, whoever he was, wasn't Spencer Reid, at the very least, he looked approachable and helpful enough to point you in the right direction. Personally, you didn't want haphazard gun holster guy to be Spencer Reid. Hell of a first impression you'd be making, if that were the case.
âHi! Sorryâ um, where can I find Spencer Reid?â
He paused, blinking. âHmm? That would be me.â
Well, shit.
âOh? ThatâIt, uh. You?â Brilliant. Very eloquent today, evidently.
âUh-huh,â he nodded, a little amused.
You nodded like that would help shake your embarrassment off. Be normal, you thought. You're a normal person. Words are easy. Speak. Say things.
âRight. Cool. Hi. Iâm Sex Crimes. I meanâ I work Sex Crimes. The division. Of the FBI. I donâtâ I donât go around committing sex crimes around town. You already knew that. Obviously. Why am I explaining this?â Oh, sweet Jesus.
He was staring politely now, wide-eyed and politely stunned.
âAnyway!â you barreled on, desperate to claw back whatever dignity you had left, if any. âLester, the mail guy, yeah, he came in today with this orange envelope? With the pumpkins on it? I assumed they were my Phantasmagoria tickets, so I just took them. To be fair, he tried to, um, stop me, but I was sort of way too excited to listen, and it wasnât until I got back that I remembered Iâd asked for mine to be delivered to my house, not here. So then I looked at the envelopeâ which, yeah, is what I probably shouldâve done in the first placeâand surprise surprise, they didnât have my name on them. They had yours.â
You shoved the envelope into his hands like it might bite you if you held onto it any longer. âSo yeah. Sorry. These are yours, is what I am trying to say with way too many words than necessary. I took them by accident. Please take them away from me. Thank you.â
You were looking down at the ground, waiting for it to open up and swallow you whole. The seconds of silence that followed your very passionate ramble were not helping. Any time now, ground. His voice snapped you right back into reality.
âFirstly,â he said, smiling, âthank you. Seriously. And secondly, you donât get a lot of FBI crowd at Phantasmagoria.â
He glanced down at the envelope. âYou said tickets? Plural?â
You nodded. âYeah. I booked them in August, thinking Iâd go with my boyfriend. And, well, come October⊠I am yet to find him. August me was a little too optimistic.â Exactly why you trauma dumped about your love life to this stranger, you may never know. But he didn't seem to mind all too much, so yeah, what do you know?
He smiled again, warmer this time. It made your stomach flip in a way you did not have time to examine. NO. Nuh-uh. You promised yourself no workplace crushes, and you meant it. Did you mean it? In retrospect, maybe you weren't all that serious. You could make an exception, right? For him? Oh, absolutely. Well, that was a quick change of heart.
âBut now that you mention it,â you continued, âthereâs an extra ticket. I donât really need it. So, if you know anyone who might want to go with youâŠâ Smooth. Real subtle. Oh, yeah. Asking him if he's single? You were so smart, you should've been an FBI agent or something. You should've gotten a raise.
âWell, actuallyâŠâ he started, almost sheepish. âThere is someone Iâd love to go with. But I have a feeling she already has a ticket.â
Of course, Halloween Jesus wasn't single, you thought. He was too good to be true, right? Your sweet, foolishly sweet brain, interpreted his advance asâ Oh, he's taken. Well, couldn't blame a girl for trying (you would later be upset about this for a while).
âOh. Right. Okay. Well, if thereâs anyone else who might need a ticket, Iâm two floors down.â You offered a tight smile and turned to leave before you could make it worse. His face contorted in confusion, a hint of disappointment flickered across too, before he quickly recovered.
âHeyâ Sex Crimes?â
You turned.
âYou got a name?â
a/n: this is all so how i met your mother to me hence the song, in this house we stan idiot4idiot romance, we â„ïž imbeciles, hope you liked it lol<3333
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i need a lego psych movie it would cure my mental issues i think
#lego shawn spencer and lego burton guster and lego lassiter and lego jules and lego shawn's dad and lego chief and lego woody and nvdkjfv#it would be perfect methinks i am soooooo right#psych#psych tv#psych usa#shawn spencer#burton guster#carlton lassiter#juliet o'hara#chief vick#henry spencer#woody strode#lego movie#psych the show#psych the movie#psych the musical#lego psych movie#lego psych#HEAR ME OUT
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Doctor Doctor
house md x criminal minds muahahahaha (reduce your expectations to zero)
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.7k warnings: language, canon doesn't even exist at this point rip, established relationship, spencer and reader being sooooooo in love, House is in it for like 2 minutes T_T, new jersey slander, vegas slander, florida slander (only for funsies, i have never been anywhere except vegas teehee), minor Chase slander (this is solely for the plot i love my problematic daughter) a/n: listen i TRIED but house has like 2 minutes of screen time I'm SORRY I'M SORRY OKAY? I only now got back after the hiatus and I didn't know how to end it and well yada yada yada this cesspool of disappointment happened. also apparently I cannot write a fic of anything without making a brooklyn 99 reference so here you fucking go <3
Getting shot did not feel as badass as expected. It hurt like a bitch. Damn every single movie that made it look cool. And damn every single paramedic who said you were lucky it didn't hit any vital organs. My brother in Christ, I am the most vital organ. It hit ME. I am in inexplicable pain. Fuck you, you thought.
A case in Princeton? What could go wrong? Well, several things, apparently. A, you had been shot, as we already know. B, you were probably going to run into Chase, which was the last thing you needed right now. C, much worse, by the end of your little adventure, your boyfriend was going to be well acquainted with Gregory House, for all the wrong reasons.
You didn't exactly have a say in which ER they were rushing you to, but even in the barely conscious haze, you tried to mutter "Mercy... Mehr...," before you passed out, which the paramedics unfortunately interpreted as you begging for mercy. What you were actually trying to say was that you wanted to be taken to Mercy General Hospital, and by no means, Princeton Plainsboro. You were taken to Princeton Plainsboro.
You had no idea how much time had passed. All that you were aware of at the moment was the static white noise that you'd been hearing for hours on end slowly dissolving into proper sounds that your brain could interpret. Shrill beeping of medical equipment, the faint hum of the AC, muffled voices and rushed feet, presumably outside whatever room you were in, pages being turned. Pages being turned? Of course. A sound you were well accustomed to. Spencer. You were instantly at ease.
You opened your eyes as slowly as you could, so as to not overwhelm your eyes with all the light after being unconscious for so long. It didn't work. It was still too bright. You couldn't see shit for a few seconds. After taking a couple of seconds to adjust, you carefully looked around the room.
It was a typical room for a hospital, you thought. Simple, minimalist, boring, mildly drab, if we were being honest. But something about the interiors seemed... off. Familiar. The walls. This sickly shade of green (which was a poor design choice, by the wayâ no sick person would get better in this sorry excuse of a room). You knew this place. Oh, shit.
You tried to call out for Spencer, let him know you're up, but then decided you didn't want to do it like this. You wanted to wake up all nonchalantly, like it didn't matter that you were shot by a bullet; you were still extremely cool and awesome. You thought to ask "Enjoying your book?" so you'd seem mysterious and also convey that even in this state, you were observant enough to know what was going on around you.
While in the process of deciding how to soft-launch your newly found consciousness, your throat, your very own throat, betrayed you. The only sound that left your throat, despite having an entire monologue ready in your head, was a pained cough. But it got his attention, so that's something? He quickly shut his book and sprinted from across the room to be at your side, his entire focus on you.
"Hey. You're awake."
"You're, like, so pretty right now."
"Really? Oh, uhâ well, thankâ thank you. You, uh, you look really pretty too," he managed to muster up, clearly caught off guard by your declaration, despite the fact that you were his girlfriend of well over months at that point.
"Sorry. Painkillers," you explained, even though it was a completely conscious decision to make him blush like that. "You okay?"
He exhaled a laugh at your question. "You ate a bullet, and you're worried about me right now?"
"Yeah, I'm considerate like that. You still didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, his eyes soft as he scanned you. You never stopped catching him off guard, be it with your concern, your intellect, your care, your love, or even just your mere presence, captivated him. He loved being loved by you. "You feeling okay? Doctors said you'll be fine, mostly, save for some internal bleeding."
"It's okay. That's where the blood's supposed to be."
Spencer gave you a deadpan look, clearly not amused.
"Actually, though, my mouth is feeling a bit tingly?"
"Oh. Well, that's not normal. You shouldn't be feeling anything right now, also you got shot in the abdomen, so it reallyâ"
"Yeah, yeah, I was hoping you could just kiss it better for me? You know, cause technically you're a doctor and everything?" He visibly relaxed after he understood what you were actually doing.
"Gotta say. You make a compelling argument. That is the prescribed treatment, yes," he played along, as he leaned in to close the distance between you.
Every time you kissed him, it felt like the first. This time was no exception. Modern medicine be damned, you could survive just off his kisses. He kissed you like a man starved, and you, well, you were a giver. The smile on your faces as you broke apart couldn't be erased even if you tried. Just pure joy and bliss.
"Next time, though, you can just, you know, ask me to kiss you. Radical concept, I know. But I'm your boyfriend. We sorta tend to do that. It's all part of the package."
"Yeah, it's these crazy painkillers, man. I swear. It's like I'm horny for you, but, like, emotionally."
"And they say romance is dead."
You exhaled a laugh, straining slightly as it reverberated through your wound. It wasn't an exaggeration that your laugh was music to his ears. Any time you laughed, it was instinct for him to laugh along with you. With love like this? Romance could never die.
"Seriously, though, you're okay?"
"Never better, Spence," you promised, noting that his concern didn't reduce one bit. "Seriously. I'm, like, zooted out of my mind right now. I can't feel a thing. I'm fine. I swear."
He deflated a little, knowing that you weren't in as much pain as he thought. Still, he had to be sure you were okay.
"I'll go tell your doctor you're up. Just in case."
"Honey, I'm fiâ"
"We're just making sure."
You sighed, knowing there was no winning this. Besides, it's probably a good thing. The sooner your doctor was convinced you were okay, the sooner you can get the fuck out of this place.
"Hey, Spence?"
"Hmm?" he questioned, stopping halfway out the door, already on his way to call your doctor.
"Who's my attending?"
"Oh, Dr House."
The few minutes you were alone in that room were pure agony. This did not make sense. Even Remotely. House was your attending? Gregory House, who famously does not see patients, doesn't even do clinic duty or help at the ER when the hospital is short-staffed, was your attending physician. Either something truly drastic had happened since you left, you were actually in a coma and hallucinating, or he was fucking with you. Which does sound like a very House thing to do.
You watched as House entered first, cane tapping against the tile, followed by Spencer, whose face screamed I am doing my best to be polite, but I have so many questions. House, to your horror, was wearing his white coat. Clean-shaven. Professional. Smiling. There was a clipboard in his hand. Coma theory wasn't looking all too far-fetched right now. You were definitely hallucinating. This was The Bad Place.
âThere she is,â House said, flipping through a chart that probably wasnât even yours. âThe FBIâs own bullet sponge. Looking good, Agent.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYouâre being nice?â
âIâm being professional,â he corrected. âYou know, the thing you insisted I didnât know how to be.â
Spencer raised a brow at you.
âIâŠâ you gestured weakly, âmay have painted a picture.â
âDonât worry,â House said smoothly, still not looking up from the chart. âIâm sure you told Beautiful Mind over here that Iâm a misanthropic, narcissistic, cane-wielding reprobate who shouldnât be allowed near scalpels or people. Which is why Iâve decided to dedicate the rest of this week to being the poster boy for medical decency.â
Your eyes narrowed further. âYouâre fucking with me.â
âAbsolutely,â he said brightly, still not breaking character. âI took one look at him and thought, yeah, letâs make her eat her words,â he taunted, the last part of the sentence in faux glee.
Spencer, clearly still confused, looked between you two. âIâm sorryâ whatâs happening right now?â
âDon't worry about it, honey,â you said, your voice too high-pitched to be reassuring. This day couldn't end faster.
"I can't exactly help it, I'm yourâ"
âBoyfriend,â House interrupted. âI picked that up when she asked you to kiss her gunshot wound better," he explained, stressing on gunshot wound.
"Okay, how the hell do you knâ" You were interrupted before you could finish, once again by House.
"Just FYI, thatâs not in the AMAâs list of recommended interventions.â
Spencerâs ears pinked, but he stood his ground. âActually, sheâs not wrong. Oxytocin release from affectionate touch can lower cortisol levels and reduce perceived pain.â
House blinked once. âSo it talks back. And it knows things.â
"House," you warned.
âHe's right,â House replied, now facing Spencer. âUnless her libido is compensating for cranial trauma. In which case, you should maybe keep the tongue down until we run an MRI.â
Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. You knew that sound all too well. That was the sound of Spencer Reidâs neural pathways short-circuiting.
"House, I swear to Godâ"
âNo, no, this is good!â he beamed at Spencer, ignoring you completely. âYouâre weird. I like that. And considering your girlfriend once got back together with Chase for exactly 3 days because he made her a mixtape, you're something of an upgrade.â
Was that... was House giving you his blessing? Is that what this was? Or were you reading too much into it? Either way, you couldn't get out of there any damn sooner.
You buried your face in your hands. âOh, God. Sedate me. I beg you.â
"Relax. The bullet didn't hit anything. You'll be up and gun-slinging in no time." He snapped the chart shut. âReid. Want to come talk about your girlfriendâs insides with me in the hallway?â
Spencer looked at you for permission, ever the gentleman. Also, he looked sceptical. And mildly afraid.
âGo. Please. Maybe heâll behave if youâre watching.â
âI wonât,â House said cheerfully. âBut weâll both pretend I will, and thatâs basically the same thing.â
As they left, you heard House murmur, âSo. You ever try Vicodin recreationally?â
"Dilaudid, actually."
You slowly reached for the morphine dispenser and set it on the highest possible level.
~
The morphine wore off soon. Too soon, honestly. You were up, staring into bright white lights and sad green walls in no time. Spencer, thankfully, was by your bed. Alone. House-less. That was vaguely terrifying, actually. He looked confused. Confuddled. Not exactly dumbfounded or scared, but very concerned. Typical House interaction aftershock.
"Honey? You okay?"
"Either everything he said was definitely sarcastic, or we need to deliver a profile as soon as we possibly can."
You managed to muster an amused laugh, which quickly died down after you sensed the genuine horror in his face.
"Oh, you're seriâ honey, he was kidding. He likes to mess with people, that's all. He wasn't being serious, I promise." Well, for the most part. But he didn't have to know that. He needed reassurance right now. He needed to know he wasn't crazy. Again, typical House interaction aftershocks.
"Okay, that helps a bit. A tiny bit. Although I definitely have questions."
"How about I answer them while I cuddle my boyfriend in this huge-ass bed?"
"It's like you're Romeo," he teased, as he climbed into said huge-ass bed.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the interrogation began.
"Exactly how are you acquainted with Greg?"
"Oh, he's Greg now?"
"Long story. Again, how do you know him?"
"Well, you know how I joined the team as a forensic pathologist? Before that, I had a brief stint as a medical fellow in his differential diagnosis team at this here hospital," you admitted, like just the memory had mildly inconvenienced you.
"Somehow, I'm more disturbed that you had to live in New Jersey."
"Hey. Just because I'm too tired to argue doesn't mean I'll tolerate New Jersey slander."
"The state animal of New Jersey is the orange construction cone."
"Please, like Vegas is any better. What happens in Vegas stays the fuck there 'cause no one else wants it."
"Alright, compromise. Florida sucks," he suggested a truce. His eyes were on you, already waiting to lock it in.
"Florida sucks," you concurred with a satisfied smile, closing the deal and the distance between you. He broke away after god knows how long, albeit begrudgingly. Damn oxygen.
"Alright. Next question."
"Shoot. I'm so ready right now."
"So... Chase." He begins. Well, you weren't prepared for that.
"Alright, maybe not that ready."
"No, no, I'm just curious. Was it, like, a really good mixtape, orâ"
You hit him with the pillow you had at your side for support, just as he braced for impact and failed. The bastard laughed at your agony and pulled you in closer, into a harder embrace.
"I'm kidding. I'm just messing with you. If you don't want to talk about it, we donâ"
"No, no. I do. It's not a touchy topic or anything. He was just... well, a lousy boyfriend."
"Hmm. Lousy how?"
"He did try. I'll give him credit. But whenever he fucked up, it was big, you know? And having House meddling the entire time didn't help either. It's just, it never felt right. Like it was so close to being what I wanted, but no matter how much we tried, it could never be... that."
"What about me? Am I what you want?" he inquired, his tone playful, yet you sensed the hesitation that lingered.
"Honey, you are what I need."
"I think we need to renegotiate on the painkillers."
He drew another laugh from you and joined you in your glee as he admired you in silence. Just as he was thinking about how much he loved you, he was met with a revelation.
"You know, in a weird, twisted way, we wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for House."
Your face scrunched into pure disgust, and much to your chagrin, he was right.
"Ugh, honey, I need you to promise never to tell him that."
"Agreed. Also, follow up on the last question."
"Come at me, lover."
"Oh wow, okay. Moving on. So, if I were to over majorly screw up, what songs would you prefer on the mixtâ"
You hit him with the pillow once again.
"Truce, truce," he proposed for the second time that day, still laughing.
"You are so lucky you're cute."
"I am aware, yes," he replied, his voice all playful.
"Are you? 'cause you're blushing real hard right now."
"I think I'm allowed to be flustered by my girlfriend's shameless flirting."
You fake an exaggerated gasp. "Who you callin' shameless? You know, I could take you in a fight, Reid."
"Oh, we're on last names now?"
"Keep deflecting, I'll show you what a proper uppercut looks like."
"I'd rather you don't rip your stitches, actually. You're still very much healing."
"I'm letting you go. For now," you warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly. Menacingly.
"I am shivering in fear. On the inside. I swear." He kissed your temple and got off the bed rather unceremoniously. It made you laugh, so he'd take it.
"Rest, okay? Get some sleep."
"I'll be dreaming of you."
"I take it back. I love your painkillers."
He heard you laugh yet again, his favourite sound in the entire world. Part of him wanted to record it and play it on loop. Other parts of him wanted that sound, that music, etched on the insides of his ear.
"Oh, and before you go to sleep, I do have one last question."
"Ask away, darling."
"I met Greg's oncologist friend earlier?" he posed it like a question, like he wasn't really sure if he was right.
"Wilson?"
"Yeah, him. It's just, do theyâ do they know gay marriage is legal now?"
#y'all i did it i did the crossover#also hi im back from biatus whoop whoop#this is a scheduled time zone rb ;')#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader fluff#maya writes#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#house md x criminal minds#house md crossover#criminal minds crossover#house md x reader#robert chase x reader#house md
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Doctor Doctor
house md x criminal minds muahahahaha (reduce your expectations to zero)
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.7k warnings: FLUFFIEST FLUFF IN ALL LAND, language, canon doesn't even exist at this point rip, established relationship, spencer and reader being sooooooo in love, House is in it for like 2 minutes T_T, new jersey slander, vegas slander, florida slander (only for funsies, i have never been anywhere except vegas teehee), minor Chase slander (this is solely for the plot i love my problematic daughter) a/n: listen i TRIED but house has like 2 minutes of screen time I'm SORRY I'M SORRY OKAY? I only now got back after the hiatus and I didn't know how to end it and well yada yada yada this cesspool of disappointment happened. also apparently I cannot write a fic of anything without making a brooklyn 99 reference so here you fucking go <3
Getting shot did not feel as badass as expected. It hurt like a bitch. Damn every single movie that made it look cool. And damn every single paramedic who said you were lucky it didn't hit any vital organs. My brother in Christ, I am the most vital organ. It hit ME. I am in inexplicable pain. Fuck you, you thought.
A case in Princeton? What could go wrong? Well, several things, apparently. A, you had been shot, as we already know. B, you were probably going to run into Chase, which was the last thing you needed right now. C, much worse, by the end of your little adventure, your boyfriend was going to be well acquainted with Gregory House, for all the wrong reasons.
You didn't exactly have a say in which ER they were rushing you to, but even in the barely conscious haze, you tried to mutter "Mercy... Mehr...," before you passed out, which the paramedics unfortunately interpreted as you begging for mercy. What you were actually trying to say was that you wanted to be taken to Mercy General Hospital, and by no means, Princeton Plainsboro. You were taken to Princeton Plainsboro.
You had no idea how much time had passed. All that you were aware of at the moment was the static white noise that you'd been hearing for hours on end slowly dissolving into proper sounds that your brain could interpret. Shrill beeping of medical equipment, the faint hum of the AC, muffled voices and rushed feet, presumably outside whatever room you were in, pages being turned. Pages being turned? Of course. A sound you were well accustomed to. Spencer. You were instantly at ease.
You opened your eyes as slowly as you could, so as to not overwhelm your eyes with all the light after being unconscious for so long. It didn't work. It was still too bright. You couldn't see shit for a few seconds. After taking a couple of seconds to adjust, you carefully looked around the room.
It was a typical room for a hospital, you thought. Simple, minimalist, boring, mildly drab, if we were being honest. But something about the interiors seemed... off. Familiar. The walls. This sickly shade of green (which was a poor design choice, by the wayâ no sick person would get better in this sorry excuse of a room). You knew this place. Oh, shit.
You tried to call out for Spencer, let him know you're up, but then decided you didn't want to do it like this. You wanted to wake up all nonchalantly, like it didn't matter that you were shot by a bullet; you were still extremely cool and awesome. You thought to ask "Enjoying your book?" so you'd seem mysterious and also convey that even in this state, you were observant enough to know what was going on around you.
While in the process of deciding how to soft-launch your newly found consciousness, your throat, your very own throat, betrayed you. The only sound that left your throat, despite having an entire monologue ready in your head, was a pained cough. But it got his attention, so that's something? He quickly shut his book and sprinted from across the room to be at your side, his entire focus on you.
"Hey. You're awake."
"You're, like, so pretty right now."
"Really? Oh, uhâ well, thankâ thank you. You, uh, you look really pretty too," he managed to muster up, clearly caught off guard by your declaration, despite the fact that you were his girlfriend of well over months at that point.
"Sorry. Painkillers," you explained, even though it was a completely conscious decision to make him blush like that. "You okay?"
He exhaled a laugh at your question. "You ate a bullet, and you're worried about me right now?"
"Yeah, I'm considerate like that. You still didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, his eyes soft as he scanned you. You never stopped catching him off guard, be it with your concern, your intellect, your care, your love, or even just your mere presence, captivated him. He loved being loved by you. "You feeling okay? Doctors said you'll be fine, mostly, save for some internal bleeding."
"It's okay. That's where the blood's supposed to be."
Spencer gave you a deadpan look, clearly not amused.
"Actually, though, my mouth is feeling a bit tingly?"
"Oh. Well, that's not normal. You shouldn't be feeling anything right now, also you got shot in the abdomen, so it reallyâ"
"Yeah, yeah, I was hoping you could just kiss it better for me? You know, cause technically you're a doctor and everything?" He visibly relaxed after he understood what you were actually doing.
"Gotta say. You make a compelling argument. That is the prescribed treatment, yes," he played along, as he leaned in to close the distance between you.
Every time you kissed him, it felt like the first. This time was no exception. Modern medicine be damned, you could survive just off his kisses. He kissed you like a man starved, and you, well, you were a giver. The smile on your faces as you broke apart couldn't be erased even if you tried. Just pure joy and bliss.
"Next time, though, you can just, you know, ask me to kiss you. Radical concept, I know. But I'm your boyfriend. We sorta tend to do that. It's all part of the package."
"Yeah, it's these crazy painkillers, man. I swear. It's like I'm horny for you, but, like, emotionally."
"And they say romance is dead."
You exhaled a laugh, straining slightly as it reverberated through your wound. It wasn't an exaggeration that your laugh was music to his ears. Any time you laughed, it was instinct for him to laugh along with you. With love like this? Romance could never die.
"Seriously, though, you're okay?"
"Never better, Spence," you promised, noting that his concern didn't reduce one bit. "Seriously. I'm, like, zooted out of my mind right now. I can't feel a thing. I'm fine. I swear."
He deflated a little, knowing that you weren't in as much pain as he thought. Still, he had to be sure you were okay.
"I'll go tell your doctor you're up. Just in case."
"Honey, I'm fiâ"
"We're just making sure."
You sighed, knowing there was no winning this. Besides, it's probably a good thing. The sooner your doctor was convinced you were okay, the sooner you can get the fuck out of this place.
"Hey, Spence?"
"Hmm?" he questioned, stopping halfway out the door, already on his way to call your doctor.
"Who's my attending?"
"Oh, Dr House."
The few minutes you were alone in that room were pure agony. This did not make sense. Even Remotely. House was your attending? Gregory House, who famously does not see patients, doesn't even do clinic duty or help at the ER when the hospital is short-staffed, was your attending physician. Either something truly drastic had happened since you left, you were actually in a coma and hallucinating, or he was fucking with you. Which does sound like a very House thing to do.
You watched as House entered first, cane tapping against the tile, followed by Spencer, whose face screamed I am doing my best to be polite, but I have so many questions. House, to your horror, was wearing his white coat. Clean-shaven. Professional. Smiling. There was a clipboard in his hand. Coma theory wasn't looking all too far-fetched right now. You were definitely hallucinating. This was The Bad Place.
âThere she is,â House said, flipping through a chart that probably wasnât even yours. âThe FBIâs own bullet sponge. Looking good, Agent.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYouâre being nice?â
âIâm being professional,â he corrected. âYou know, the thing you insisted I didnât know how to be.â
Spencer raised a brow at you.
âIâŠâ you gestured weakly, âmay have painted a picture.â
âDonât worry,â House said smoothly, still not looking up from the chart. âIâm sure you told Beautiful Mind over here that Iâm a misanthropic, narcissistic, cane-wielding reprobate who shouldnât be allowed near scalpels or people. Which is why Iâve decided to dedicate the rest of this week to being the poster boy for medical decency.â
Your eyes narrowed further. âYouâre fucking with me.â
âAbsolutely,â he said brightly, still not breaking character. âI took one look at him and thought, yeah, letâs make her eat her words,â he taunted, the last part of the sentence in faux glee.
Spencer, clearly still confused, looked between you two. âIâm sorryâ whatâs happening right now?â
âDon't worry about it, honey,â you said, your voice too high-pitched to be reassuring. This day couldn't end faster.
"I can't exactly help it, I'm yourâ"
âBoyfriend,â House interrupted. âI picked that up when she asked you to kiss her gunshot wound better," he explained, stressing on gunshot wound.
"Okay, how the hell do you knâ" You were interrupted before you could finish, once again by House.
"Just FYI, thatâs not in the AMAâs list of recommended interventions.â
Spencerâs ears pinked, but he stood his ground. âActually, sheâs not wrong. Oxytocin release from affectionate touch can lower cortisol levels and reduce perceived pain.â
House blinked once. âSo it talks back. And it knows things.â
"House," you warned.
âHe's right,â House replied, now facing Spencer. âUnless her libido is compensating for cranial trauma. In which case, you should maybe keep the tongue down until we run an MRI.â
Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. You knew that sound all too well. That was the sound of Spencer Reidâs neural pathways short-circuiting.
"House, I swear to Godâ"
âNo, no, this is good!â he beamed at Spencer, ignoring you completely. âYouâre weird. I like that. And considering your girlfriend once got back together with Chase for exactly 3 days because he made her a mixtape, you're something of an upgrade.â
Was that... was House giving you his blessing? Is that what this was? Or were you reading too much into it? Either way, you couldn't get out of there any damn sooner.
You buried your face in your hands. âOh, God. Sedate me. I beg you.â
"Relax. The bullet didn't hit anything. You'll be up and gun-slinging in no time." He snapped the chart shut. âReid. Want to come talk about your girlfriendâs insides with me in the hallway?â
Spencer looked at you for permission, ever the gentleman. Also, he looked sceptical. And mildly afraid.
âGo. Please. Maybe heâll behave if youâre watching.â
âI wonât,â House said cheerfully. âBut weâll both pretend I will, and thatâs basically the same thing.â
As they left, you heard House murmur, âSo. You ever try Vicodin recreationally?â
"Dilaudid, actually."
You slowly reached for the morphine dispenser and set it on the highest possible level.
~
The morphine wore off soon. Too soon, honestly. You were up, staring into bright white lights and sad green walls in no time. Spencer, thankfully, was by your bed. Alone. House-less. That was vaguely terrifying, actually. He looked confused. Confuddled. Not exactly dumbfounded or scared, but very concerned. Typical House interaction aftershock.
"Honey? You okay?"
"Either everything he said was definitely sarcastic, or we need to deliver a profile as soon as we possibly can."
You managed to muster an amused laugh, which quickly died down after you sensed the genuine horror in his face.
"Oh, you're seriâ honey, he was kidding. He likes to mess with people, that's all. He wasn't being serious, I promise." Well, for the most part. But he didn't have to know that. He needed reassurance right now. He needed to know he wasn't crazy. Again, typical House interaction aftershocks.
"Okay, that helps a bit. A tiny bit. Although I definitely have questions."
"How about I answer them while I cuddle my boyfriend in this huge-ass bed?"
"It's like you're Romeo," he teased, as he climbed into said huge-ass bed.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the interrogation began.
"Exactly how are you acquainted with Greg?"
"Oh, he's Greg now?"
"Long story. Again, how do you know him?"
"Well, you know how I joined the team as a forensic pathologist? Before that, I had a brief stint as a medical fellow in his differential diagnosis team at this here hospital," you admitted, like just the memory had mildly inconvenienced you.
"Somehow, I'm more disturbed that you had to live in New Jersey."
"Hey. Just because I'm too tired to argue doesn't mean I'll tolerate New Jersey slander."
"The state animal of New Jersey is the orange construction cone."
"Please, like Vegas is any better. What happens in Vegas stays the fuck there 'cause no one else wants it."
"Alright, compromise. Florida sucks," he suggested a truce. His eyes were on you, already waiting to lock it in.
"Florida sucks," you concurred with a satisfied smile, closing the deal and the distance between you. He broke away after god knows how long, albeit begrudgingly. Damn oxygen.
"Alright. Next question."
"Shoot. I'm so ready right now."
"So... Chase." He begins. Well, you weren't prepared for that.
"Alright, maybe not that ready."
"No, no, I'm just curious. Was it, like, a really good mixtape, orâ"
You hit him with the pillow you had at your side for support, just as he braced for impact and failed. The bastard laughed at your agony and pulled you in closer, into a harder embrace.
"I'm kidding. I'm just messing with you. If you don't want to talk about it, we donâ"
"No, no. I do. It's not a touchy topic or anything. He was just... well, a lousy boyfriend."
"Hmm. Lousy how?"
"He did try. I'll give him credit. But whenever he fucked up, it was big, you know? And having House meddling the entire time didn't help either. It's just, it never felt right. Like it was so close to being what I wanted, but no matter how much we tried, it could never be... that."
"What about me? Am I what you want?" he inquired, his tone playful, yet you sensed the hesitation that lingered.
"Honey, you are what I need."
"I think we need to renegotiate on the painkillers."
He drew another laugh from you and joined you in your glee as he admired you in silence. Just as he was thinking about how much he loved you, he was met with a revelation.
"You know, in a weird, twisted way, we wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for House."
Your face scrunched into pure disgust, and much to your chagrin, he was right.
"Ugh, honey, I need you to promise never to tell him that."
"Agreed. Also, follow up on the last question."
"Come at me, lover."
"Oh wow, okay. Moving on. So, if I were to over majorly screw up, what songs would you prefer on the mixtâ"
You hit him with the pillow once again.
"Truce, truce," he proposed for the second time that day, still laughing.
"You are so lucky you're cute."
"I am aware, yes," he replied, his voice all playful.
"Are you? 'cause you're blushing real hard right now."
"I think I'm allowed to be flustered by my girlfriend's shameless flirting."
You fake an exaggerated gasp. "Who you callin' shameless? You know, I could take you in a fight, Reid."
"Oh, we're on last names now?"
"Keep deflecting, I'll show you what a proper uppercut looks like."
"I'd rather you don't rip your stitches, actually. You're still very much healing."
"I'm letting you go. For now," you warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly. Menacingly.
"I am shivering in fear. On the inside. I swear." He kissed your temple and got off the bed rather unceremoniously. It made you laugh, so he'd take it.
"Rest, okay? Get some sleep."
"I'll be dreaming of you."
"I take it back. I love your painkillers."
He heard you laugh yet again, his favourite sound in the entire world. Part of him wanted to record it and play it on loop. Other parts of him wanted that sound, that music, etched on the insides of his ear.
"Oh, and before you go to sleep, I do have one last question."
"Ask away, darling."
"I met Greg's oncologist friend earlier?" he posed it like a question, like he wasn't really sure if he was right.
"Wilson?"
"Yeah, him. It's just, do theyâ do they know gay marriage is legal now?"
#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader fluff#maya writes#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#house md x criminal minds#house md crossover#criminal minds crossover#house md x reader#robert chase x reader
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holy SHIT this got love thank you so much đ«đ«đ«
chat should I make her a thing
request for spenceeeee (literally my boyfriend)
bau!reader and spencer are dating now, and they're just like talking about how they met and stuff casually and he's like you know i sorta tried to ask you out when we met? she's like what? you're telling me we could've started dating years ago??? he's like hey it's no big deal, ig you just weren't really into me back then and she's like not into you??? my brother in christ i stuttered and rambled for 3 entire minutes when we met what made you think i didn't like you
a whole lot of fluff badically thanks x
helloooo <3333 thank you so much for the request!!!! i had a WIP with sort of a similar theme as the ask so decided to combine them, i really hope you like it xo
Um, actually
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: A flashback to when you first met spencer helps you realize just how oblivious you were. But so was he, so it's all good. warnings: fluffffffff, possibly incorrect etymology facts, Spencer being a horrible cook for funsies, minor Brooklyn 99 reference (if you caught it i love you so much), glasses spencer !!!!! (not really all that relevant to the plot but i am a sucker for glasses!spence <3), established relationship
"Beeves? Really? Come on, that cannot be a real word."
Dinner conversations were always lively with Spencer. More often than not, it involved facts about the recipe, the origins, the historical significance, different interpretations of the same dish in other cultures, and whatnot. Today, it was etymology.
"It is!" he exclaimed, pointing towards you with his fork, way too excited about beef etymology in the most endearing way possible.
"You see, in the context of 'meat from cows', the plural of beef would just be beef. If we're talking about fights, disagreements, that kind of beef? It would be beefs. But beef also refers to an adult cow, steer or bull. So in this case, the plural would beâ"
"Beeves?"
"Bingo."
"Huh, the more you know. You got more weird plurals?"
"Well,"
"Of course you do."
"There's moose, whose plural is actuallyâ"
"Meese, obviously."
"Oh, no."
Eventually, dinner was done, dishes were put away, and you were now cuddled on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bicep over the sleeve of your sweater.
It was quiet. Silent. But not the kind of silence that came with warnings and omens. It wasn't the kind of silence filled with premonition that you had so gotten used to with your job. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it wasn't foreboding. It was the kind of stillness that settled like morning fog over a quiet lake. Gentle, unmoving, and content to simply exist. The air bore a sort of warmth and hope that neither of you had been familiar with in years. Ever, if you're being honest. Beautiful thing, domesticity. Naturally, you were reminiscing.
"Spence?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Remember how we met?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully, lips pressing together as though deep in concentration. âHmm⊠you know, I have an eidetic memory, but I canât say I doââ
You smacked him with the throw pillow. He laughed, pulling you a little closer. âOf course I do. It's one of my favourite memories of us," he admitted, kissing your forehead. He smiled into your hair. âCrazy how much has changed, huh?â
You nodded, eyes still on the soft knit of his sweater sleeve. âYeah. Feels like a lifetime ago.â
âYou know,â he said, suddenly bashful, âI tried to ask you out that day.â
Wait, what? Your head snapped toward him. âYou did not.â
"Oh yeah. Crashed and burned splendidly."
"Spencer, honey, I feel like I would remember that."
âUm, actually,â he said, adjusting his glasses with mock seriousness, âthatâs literally the first thing I did.â
You stared at him, slack-jawed. âWhâ what do you mean? We⊠we could have started dating ages ago?â
He chuckled lightly, shrugging one shoulder. âI mean, maybe? I thought I was pretty obvious about it. But you didnât seem interested, so I figuredââ
âNo, no,â you interrupted, practically sitting up. âBelieve me, I was interested, alright? Spencer, I stuttered andâ and rambled for like three entire minutes when I met you. I forgot to tell you my name. IâI asked you if you wanted the extra ticket toâ"
His eyes widened as he realized where this was going. âWait, wait. That was supposed to be flirting?â
"Yeah!?" you exclaimed, so exasperated it almost sounded like a question. "Honey, what else did you think it was?"
"I thought you were being polite! And Iâ I definitely flirted back," he promised, clearly going through that memory inside his head as he spoke.
"Sweetie, when?"
"You know, when I said there was someone I'd like to go with?" He stressed on the word someone far too much, waiting, hoping you would catch his drift. You finally did, after 10 really long seconds.
"Me? You meant you'd want to go with me?" you asked, still incredulous at what he had implied.
"Uh-huh!? Honey, who elseâ"
"Spencer, Oh my god, I thought you were telling me you had a girlfriend."
"...Oh."
You both sat there for a moment, letting that truth settle between you like dust in late-afternoon light. You couldnât help but laugh softly, shaking your head. âWow. Canât believe we missed out on years.â
âI know,â he said, his voice just above a whisper, eyes trained on the space between you, like he was watching the shape of time itself. âWe're idiots, aren't we?â
"Possibly, but at least we're idiots together now," you responded, leaning further into him, leaving no more space between you, if that was even possible with how close you were sitting in the first place.
"Agreed. If anything, I think our love makes me a better person. Remember when I boiled that egg last week?"
"That was really big. I'm proud of you," you affirmed, your voice sincere.
"Crazy how much hasn't changed, though."
"What do you mean?" you asked, head tilting to look at him. His eyes were already on you, fond, like he was enamoured with you. Like he was going to tell you he loved you, and even after you had already heard it a hundred times by then, it still made you nervous.
"You still don't double-check the mail, even after I specificallyâ"
Another throw pillow found him, this time directly across his face, muffling the rest of his declaration. He laughed in response to that yet again, smug bastard that he is. You feigned offence at that and attempted to push him off of you, and sat a couple of feet away from him, hands crossed across your chest, face neutral.
But he knew what you were expecting to hear. He also knew that he didn't have to say it loud for you to know. It went without saying how much you loved each other. With every word you ever exchanged, every sentence ever spoken, the unspoken part? The subtext? It was always there. I love you.
He sensed that he had to make it up to you now. He also knew that you weren't really mad, probably loving the banter just as much as he was. Still, he always enjoyed making it up to you way more than he'd ever care to admit, so if it meant he had to come up with an elaborate ruse to rile you up first and then pretend to ask for your forgiveness, then so be it. His arms were around you in record time.
Bonusâ a flashback: how our idiots actually met
You were grasping the tickets tight. There had been an oversight. On your part, mostly (entirely, if we're being honest), but you had to fix it as soon as you could, nonetheless. The tickets in your hand did not belong to you. And the longer you were holding them, the more it started to feel like they were burning a hole in your hand. You had to give it to whoever was expecting it, apologize, and get out of their face before you started sensing their judgement. The tickets belonged to one Spencer Reid. Who the hell was Spencer Reid?
A small part of you wanted to get to know him immediately. You donât find a lot of federal agents who take Halloween seriously, let alone someone willing to spend Halloween weekend at Phantasmagoria. Someone with that good of a taste? Sign me up, you thought.
Your eyes scanned the bullpen of the BAU, searching for any face that might look like it belonged to a âSpencer Reid.â You didnât know what he looked like. But there was a tall, lanky guyâ glasses, brown hair, cardigan layered over a dress shirt, tie slightly askew, gun holster hanging off his waist like it had no business being there. (Is that even allowed?) He was holding a cup of coffee and making his way toward a desk.
Unfortunately, the first thought your caveman brain was able to come up with wasâ cute. Nope. You were on a mission. You had to focus. Focus, damn it. You figured, if this nice, fine (really fine) and distinguished gentleman, whoever he was, wasn't Spencer Reid, at the very least, he looked approachable and helpful enough to point you in the right direction. Personally, you didn't want haphazard gun holster guy to be Spencer Reid. Hell of a first impression you'd be making, if that were the case.
âHi! Sorryâ um, where can I find Spencer Reid?â
He paused, blinking. âHmm? That would be me.â
Well, shit.
âOh? ThatâIt, uh. You?â Brilliant. Very eloquent today, evidently.
âUh-huh,â he nodded, a little amused.
You nodded like that would help shake your embarrassment off. Be normal, you thought. You're a normal person. Words are easy. Speak. Say things.
âRight. Cool. Hi. Iâm Sex Crimes. I meanâ I work Sex Crimes. The division. Of the FBI. I donâtâ I donât go around committing sex crimes around town. You already knew that. Obviously. Why am I explaining this?â Oh, sweet Jesus.
He was staring politely now, wide-eyed and politely stunned.
âAnyway!â you barreled on, desperate to claw back whatever dignity you had left, if any. âLester, the mail guy, yeah, he came in today with this orange envelope? With the pumpkins on it? I assumed they were my Phantasmagoria tickets, so I just took them. To be fair, he tried to, um, stop me, but I was sort of way too excited to listen, and it wasnât until I got back that I remembered Iâd asked for mine to be delivered to my house, not here. So then I looked at the envelopeâ which, yeah, is what I probably shouldâve done in the first placeâand surprise surprise, they didnât have my name on them. They had yours.â
You shoved the envelope into his hands like it might bite you if you held onto it any longer. âSo yeah. Sorry. These are yours, is what I am trying to say with way too many words than necessary. I took them by accident. Please take them away from me. Thank you.â
You were looking down at the ground, waiting for it to open up and swallow you whole. The seconds of silence that followed your very passionate ramble were not helping. Any time now, ground. His voice snapped you right back into reality.
âFirstly,â he said, smiling, âthank you. Seriously. And secondly, you donât get a lot of FBI crowd at Phantasmagoria.â
He glanced down at the envelope. âYou said tickets? Plural?â
You nodded. âYeah. I booked them in August, thinking Iâd go with my boyfriend. And, well, come October⊠I am yet to find him. August me was a little too optimistic.â Exactly why you trauma dumped about your love life to this stranger, you may never know. But he didn't seem to mind all too much, so yeah, what do you know?
He smiled again, warmer this time. It made your stomach flip in a way you did not have time to examine. NO. Nuh-uh. You promised yourself no workplace crushes, and you meant it. Did you mean it? In retrospect, maybe you weren't all that serious. You could make an exception, right? For him? Oh, absolutely. Well, that was a quick change of heart.
âBut now that you mention it,â you continued, âthereâs an extra ticket. I donât really need it. So, if you know anyone who might want to go with youâŠâ Smooth. Real subtle. Oh, yeah. Asking him if he's single? You were so smart, you should've been an FBI agent or something. You should've gotten a raise.
âWell, actuallyâŠâ he started, almost sheepish. âThere is someone Iâd love to go with. But I have a feeling she already has a ticket.â
Of course, Halloween Jesus wasn't single, you thought. He was too good to be true, right? Your sweet, foolishly sweet brain, interpreted his advance asâ Oh, he's taken. Well, couldn't blame a girl for trying (you would later be upset about this for a while).
âOh. Right. Okay. Well, if thereâs anyone else who might need a ticket, Iâm two floors down.â You offered a tight smile and turned to leave before you could make it worse. His face contorted in confusion, a hint of disappointment flickered across too, before he quickly recovered.
âHeyâ Sex Crimes?â
You turned.
âYou got a name?â
a/n: this is all so how i met your mother to me hence the song, in this house we stan idiot4idiot romance, we â„ïž imbeciles, hope you liked it lol<3333
#yapper!reader? ramble!reader? dumbass!reader? HI#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader fluff#maya writes#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#requested â.Ë
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help đ
house md x criminal minds just because i want house and spencer to interact
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watching a movie in russian with spencer and he's whisper translating for you cause there's no subtitles and well you know where the rest of this is going
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started almost immediately
house md x criminal minds just because i want house and spencer to interact
#TRUST THE PROCESS#this will be out in 6 to 7 months /j#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#house md#cm x house
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house md x criminal minds just because i want house and spencer to interact
#i could write this#i would if i wasn't having a fucken WRITERS BLOCK but oh well a girl can try#house md#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#cm x house
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peraltiago but it's actually spencer and bau!fem!reader
#should i write this#i should write this#idiot for idiot romance we love it in this house#spencer reid x reader#maya writes#peraltiago
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gamechanger is something the bad place would come up with
#which further reiterates my theory that sam reich is secretly a fire squid slash demon neighbourhood architect#specifically the one where the only rule is that brennan cannot win like#cue Brennan having an eleanor level revelation#This is The Bad Place#the good place#tgp#dropout#dropout tv#gamechanger#game changer#sam reich
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i love when a character is just. emotionally doomed. but like pretty about it.
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request for spenceeeee (literally my boyfriend)
bau!reader and spencer are dating now, and they're just like talking about how they met and stuff casually and he's like you know i sorta tried to ask you out when we met? she's like what? you're telling me we could've started dating years ago??? he's like hey it's no big deal, ig you just weren't really into me back then and she's like not into you??? my brother in christ i stuttered and rambled for 3 entire minutes when we met what made you think i didn't like you
a whole lot of fluff badically thanks x
helloooo <3333 thank you so much for the request!!!! i had a WIP with sort of a similar theme as the ask so decided to combine them, i really hope you like it xo
Um, actually
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: A flashback to when you first met spencer helps you realize just how oblivious you were. But so was he, so it's all good. warnings: fluffffffff, possibly incorrect etymology facts, Spencer being a horrible cook for funsies, minor Brooklyn 99 reference (if you caught it i love you so much), glasses spencer !!!!! (not really all that relevant to the plot but i am a sucker for glasses!spence <3), established relationship
"Beeves? Really? Come on, that cannot be a real word."
Dinner conversations were always lively with Spencer. More often than not, it involved facts about the recipe, the origins, the historical significance, different interpretations of the same dish in other cultures, and whatnot. Today, it was etymology.
"It is!" he exclaimed, pointing towards you with his fork, way too excited about beef etymology in the most endearing way possible.
"You see, in the context of 'meat from cows', the plural of beef would just be beef. If we're talking about fights, disagreements, that kind of beef? It would be beefs. But beef also refers to an adult cow, steer or bull. So in this case, the plural would beâ"
"Beeves?"
"Bingo."
"Huh, the more you know. You got more weird plurals?"
"Well,"
"Of course you do."
"There's moose, whose plural is actuallyâ"
"Meese, obviously."
"Oh, no."
Eventually, dinner was done, dishes were put away, and you were now cuddled on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bicep over the sleeve of your sweater.
It was quiet. Silent. But not the kind of silence that came with warnings and omens. It wasn't the kind of silence filled with premonition that you had so gotten used to with your job. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it wasn't foreboding. It was the kind of stillness that settled like morning fog over a quiet lake. Gentle, unmoving, and content to simply exist. The air bore a sort of warmth and hope that neither of you had been familiar with in years. Ever, if you're being honest. Beautiful thing, domesticity. Naturally, you were reminiscing.
"Spence?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Remember how we met?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully, lips pressing together as though deep in concentration. âHmm⊠you know, I have an eidetic memory, but I canât say I doââ
You smacked him with the throw pillow. He laughed, pulling you a little closer. âOf course I do. It's one of my favourite memories of us," he admitted, kissing your forehead. He smiled into your hair. âCrazy how much has changed, huh?â
You nodded, eyes still on the soft knit of his sweater sleeve. âYeah. Feels like a lifetime ago.â
âYou know,â he said, suddenly bashful, âI tried to ask you out that day.â
Wait, what? Your head snapped toward him. âYou did not.â
"Oh yeah. Crashed and burned splendidly."
"Spencer, honey, I feel like I would remember that."
âUm, actually,â he said, adjusting his glasses with mock seriousness, âthatâs literally the first thing I did.â
You stared at him, slack-jawed. âWhâ what do you mean? We⊠we could have started dating ages ago?â
He chuckled lightly, shrugging one shoulder. âI mean, maybe? I thought I was pretty obvious about it. But you didnât seem interested, so I figuredââ
âNo, no,â you interrupted, practically sitting up. âBelieve me, I was interested, alright? Spencer, I stuttered andâ and rambled for like three entire minutes when I met you. I forgot to tell you my name. IâI asked you if you wanted the extra ticket toâ"
His eyes widened as he realized where this was going. âWait, wait. That was supposed to be flirting?â
"Yeah!?" you exclaimed, so exasperated it almost sounded like a question. "Honey, what else did you think it was?"
"I thought you were being polite! And Iâ I definitely flirted back," he promised, clearly going through that memory inside his head as he spoke.
"Sweetie, when?"
"You know, when I said there was someone I'd like to go with?" He stressed on the word someone far too much, waiting, hoping you would catch his drift. You finally did, after 10 really long seconds.
"Me? You meant you'd want to go with me?" you asked, still incredulous at what he had implied.
"Uh-huh!? Honey, who elseâ"
"Spencer, Oh my god, I thought you were telling me you had a girlfriend."
"...Oh."
You both sat there for a moment, letting that truth settle between you like dust in late-afternoon light. You couldnât help but laugh softly, shaking your head. âWow. Canât believe we missed out on years.â
âI know,â he said, his voice just above a whisper, eyes trained on the space between you, like he was watching the shape of time itself. âWe're idiots, aren't we?â
"Possibly, but at least we're idiots together now," you responded, leaning further into him, leaving no more space between you, if that was even possible with how close you were sitting in the first place.
"Agreed. If anything, I think our love makes me a better person. Remember when I boiled that egg last week?"
"That was really big. I'm proud of you," you affirmed, your voice sincere.
"Crazy how much hasn't changed, though."
"What do you mean?" you asked, head tilting to look at him. His eyes were already on you, fond, like he was enamoured with you. Like he was going to tell you he loved you, and even after you had already heard it a hundred times by then, it still made you nervous.
"You still don't double-check the mail, even after I specificallyâ"
Another throw pillow found him, this time directly across his face, muffling the rest of his declaration. He laughed in response to that yet again, smug bastard that he is. You feigned offence at that and attempted to push him off of you, and sat a couple of feet away from him, hands crossed across your chest, face neutral.
But he knew what you were expecting to hear. He also knew that he didn't have to say it loud for you to know. It went without saying how much you loved each other. With every word you ever exchanged, every sentence ever spoken, the unspoken part? The subtext? It was always there. I love you.
He sensed that he had to make it up to you now. He also knew that you weren't really mad, probably loving the banter just as much as he was. Still, he always enjoyed making it up to you way more than he'd ever care to admit, so if it meant he had to come up with an elaborate ruse to rile you up first and then pretend to ask for your forgiveness, then so be it. His arms were around you in record time.
Bonusâ a flashback: how our idiots actually met
You were grasping the tickets tight. There had been an oversight. On your part, mostly (entirely, if we're being honest), but you had to fix it as soon as you can, nonetheless. The tickets in your hand did not belong to you. And the longer you were holding them, the more it started to feel like they were burning a hole in your hand. You had to give it to the whoever was expecting it, apologize, and get out of their face before you started sensing their judgement. The tickets belonged to one Spencer Reid. Who the hell was Spencer Reid?
A small part of you wanted to get to know him immediately. You donât find a lot of federal agents who take Halloween seriously, let alone someone willing to spend Halloween weekend at Phantasmagoria. Someone with that good of a taste? Sign me up, you thought.
Your eyes scanned the bullpen of the BAU, searching for any face that might look like it belonged to a âSpencer Reid.â You didnât know what he looked like. But there was a tall, lanky guyâ glasses, brown hair, cardigan layered over a dress shirt, tie slightly askew, gun holster hanging off his waist like it had no business being there. (Is that even allowed?) He was holding a cup of coffee and making his way toward a desk.
Unfortunately, the first thought your caveman brain was able to come up with wasâ cute. Nope. You were on a mission. You had to focus. Focus, damn it. You figured, if this nice, fine (really fine) and distinguished gentleman, whoever he was, wasn't Spencer Reid, at the very least, he looked approachable and helpful enough to point you in the right direction. Personally, you didn't want haphazard gun holster guy to be Spencer Reid. Hell of a first impression you'd be making, if that were the case.
âHi! Sorryâ um, where can I find Spencer Reid?â
He paused, blinking. âHmm? That would be me.â
Well, shit.
âOh? ThatâIt, uh. You?â Brilliant. Very eloquent today, evidently.
âUh-huh,â he nodded, a little amused.
You nodded like that would help shake your embarrassment off. Be normal, you thought. You're a normal person. Words are easy. Speak. Say things.
âRight. Cool. Hi. Iâm Sex Crimes. I meanâ I work Sex Crimes. The division. Of the FBI. I donâtâ I donât go around committing sex crimes around town. You already knew that. Obviously. Why am I explaining this?â Oh, sweet Jesus.
He was staring politely now, wide-eyed and politely stunned.
âAnyway!â you barreled on, desperate to claw back whatever dignity you had left, if any. âLester, the mail guy, yeah, he came in today with this orange envelope? With the pumpkins on it? I assumed they were my Phantasmagoria tickets, so I just took them. To be fair, he tried to, um, stop me, but I was sort of way too excited to listen, and it wasnât until I got back that I remembered Iâd asked for mine to be delivered to my house, not here. So then I looked at the envelopeâ which, yeah, is what I probably shouldâve done in the first placeâand surprise surprise, they didnât have my name on them. They had yours.â
You shoved the envelope into his hands like it might bite you if you held onto it any longer. âSo yeah. Sorry. These are yours, is what I am trying to say with way too many words than necessary. I took them by accident. Please take them away from me. Thank you.â
You were looking down at the ground, waiting for it to open up and swallow you whole. The seconds of silence that followed your very passionate ramble were not helping. Any time now, ground. His voice snapped you right back into reality.
âFirstly,â he said, smiling, âthank you. Seriously. And secondly, you donât get a lot of FBI crowd at Phantasmagoria.â
He glanced down at the envelope. âYou said tickets? Plural?â
You nodded. âYeah. I booked them in August, thinking Iâd go with my boyfriend. And, well, come October⊠I am yet to find him. August me was a little too optimistic.â Exactly why you trauma dumped about your love life to this stranger, you may never know. But he didn't seem to mind all too much, so yeah, what do you know?
He smiled again, warmer this time. It made your stomach flip in a way you did not have time to examine. NO. Nuh-uh. You promised yourself no workplace crushes, and you meant it. Did you mean it? In retrospect, maybe you weren't all that serious. You could make an exception, right? For him? Oh, absolutely. Well, that was a quick change of heart.
âBut now that you mention it,â you continued, âthereâs an extra ticket. I donât really need it. So, if you know anyone who might want to go with youâŠâ Smooth. Real subtle. Oh, yeah. Asking him if he's single? You were so smart, you should've been an FBI agent or something. You should've gotten a raise.
âWell, actuallyâŠâ he started, almost sheepish. âThere is someone Iâd love to go with. But I have a feeling she already has a ticket.â
Of course, Halloween Jesus wasn't single, you thought. He was too good to be true, right? Your sweet, foolishly sweet brain, interpreted his advance asâ Oh, he's taken. Well, couldn't blame a girl for trying (you would later be upset about this for a while).
âOh. Right. Okay. Well, if thereâs anyone else who might need a ticket, Iâm two floors down.â You offered a tight smile and turned to leave before you could make it worse. His face contorted in confusion, a hint of disappointment flickered across too, before he quickly recovered.
âHeyâ Sex Crimes?â
You turned.
âYou got a name?â
a/n: this is all so how i met your mother to me hence the song, in this house we stan idiot4idiot romance, we â„ïž imbeciles, hope you liked it lol<3333
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