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swftlore · 3 months ago

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atlabeths gideon reader return ohhhh you knew i was having a bad day this was the sunshineeee

"You sleep better next to Spencer than you have in months."

oh so we're coming out swinging i guess.

“It’s not crazy if it could have happened,” Spencer says sharply. “And frankly, nothing is too crazy if it concerns your safety.”

this genuinely got me like YOU ARE EVILLL. elle greenaway please come home the kids miss you they keep asking where's our mommy :((( this was sooo good and all of your works are fantastic but baby this chapter was goooooooood. like kicking my feet under my blankets good. splendid as always cant wait for the next one

growing sideways

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer have separate talks with parts of the team. it becomes clear that this case is nowhere close to over, and neither of you really know how to feel about each other.

a/n: this chapter FOUGHT with me for some reason but we're here! lol. can you tell that they love each other's eyes? anyways enjoy. this was much longer but then i decided to cut it here so. yeah.

another new banner bc when i lose inspo i make a new one for funsies

wc: 4.8k

warning(s): the usual. reader and spence DONT argue for once ? some angst, some fluff

You sleep better next to Spencer than you have in months.

Maybe it’s the weight of his body against the mattress, his soft breathing next to you, maybe it’s just the knowledge that someone else is with you—but for the first time since all of this has started, you feel safe.

Nightmares have been a constant part of your life for as long as you can remember. The standard fare when you were young, fears of the dark and the monsters that lived under your bed.

You usually had to weather the storm on your own. Some babysitters were understanding, would sit on your bedside until you fell back asleep. Others couldn’t have cared less. And of course, once you got older and could start taking care of yourself, you just stared at the ceiling until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You still have them, more often than any well-adjusted person probably should. But like most unfavorable things in your life, you ignore it as much as you can.

But for once you wake up naturally, blinking the grogginess out of your eyes as you slowly come to. Your gaze darts over to the other side of the bed, and some sort of disappointment settles in your chest when you find it empty.

Normally you’d try and push that sort of thought away as soon as it popped into your head. But lately…

Lately, you didn’t really know what to do. About anything, really, but Spencer most of all. And that kind of said something when you were actively dealing with a stalker.

It was so much easier when you hated him—when you could believe he hated you. Now you were… friends? Acquaintances? Just two people that didn’t hate each other anymore?

You just didn’t know what to do about him. But as you catch sight of the clock, 8:34 blinking back at you, you decide that you have to start your day first before going any further into this mess.

For some reason, you reach out and touch Spencer’s side of the bed. It’s cold. You never really pegged him as the type to get up early, but he’s been proving you wrong as of late.

You try not to let Spencer Reid envelop any more of your thoughts as you get out of bed, rubbing the remaining weariness out of your eyes. You go through your morning routine but don’t change out of your pajamas—that room still makes your skin crawl.

You walk out and head to the kitchen. Once again, coffee is already made. The mug you used for last night’s (this morning?) liquor sits in front of the machine, cleaned by someone with a more careful hand than you, alongside the sugar container. You huff. Clever.

As if he could hear your thoughts, you hear Spencer say your name. “You’re awake.”

“As ever,” you say. You fill your mug and pick it up, then start to walk over. “You’re not going to make me use sugar, no matter—”

The words die in your throat when you see someone else is sitting with Spencer, claiming the chair that you usually take. Your dad says your name with a nod of acknowledgement. “It’s good to see you.”

Your grip tightens on your coffee mug. The heat burns your hands, but you don’t really feel it. “What are you doing here, Dad?”

“We had a break in the case,” he says. “Our unsub made contact with me and Reid, and he might have been here last night, so you clearly can’t stay here anymore. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

You look at Spencer and he nods. “He showed up this morning, an hour and fifty-two minutes ago. Forensics is in the yard getting evidence.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” you ask.

Spencer shrugs. “You were exhausted. I didn’t see any reason to wake you. You deserved to rest.”

“This is more important—you should know that.” You look back at your dad. His gaze stays on Spencer for just a second too long. “So? What’s—”

“It’s not more important,” Spencer interrupts. Your brows furrow as you look back at him, his words drawing both you and your dad’s attention.

“Reid,” your dad starts, but he shakes his head.

“It’s not more important,” he repeats. “This whole thing is about you—protecting you, keeping you safe. Your health goes along with that, and I’m not going to let you continue to neglect it.”

“Reid,” your dad says again, stronger this time. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Fine,” he says. “I just care about y— your health.”

You meet Spencer’s eyes for far too long, and it’s like he refuses to look away. You hate him and his stupid doe eyes; always filled with concern, always finding you.

You hate how it feels like he’s always able to see right through you.

“We think we’ve been looking in the wrong direction,” your dad says, finally breaking the spell over you. “I thought it would be someone I’ve already put away, that’s finally gotten out and is looking for revenge.”

“But the calls we got go against that.” Spencer clears his throat and speaks up, and you finally feel the weight of his gaze move away from you. “He said Gideon ruined both of your lives—yours and his. Looping you in with him sounds like he’s got a problem with his dad as well.”

“Like I put his father away, not him,” your dad continues.

“So my stalker thinks we’re the same.” You drink some of your coffee, trying to hide your grimace. “Lovely.”

“It’s common in stalker cases,” Spencer says. “He doesn’t know you, so he’s able to idolize you. Fantasize that because you share this trait, that you think the same way too. It’s a way of coping.”

“Reid’s been using a burner phone and my personal number isn’t public, but he still got a hold of both of us. He also found this place, so he’s clearly got technical skills,” your dad says.

You shake your head. A chill runs through you despite the heat of the mug in your hands. “I don’t understand how he got here. You said this was top secret.”

“We’re not perfect,” he says. “He might have gotten a hold of it in a leak—”

“Or we’ve been compromised from the start,” Spencer suggests. “Did we check the vans for trackers? Did you check her bags for trackers? I mean, if it’s someone she knows—”

“You sound crazy,” you interrupt.

“It’s not crazy if it could have happened,” Spencer says sharply. “And frankly, nothing is too crazy if it concerns your safety.”

He meets your eyes, steely and determined. Again, his gaze is like a physical weight. This time, you look away before you can get too in your head.

“Fine,” you concede. “Say any of these crazy things have happened. Where do we go from here?”

“We’re taking you back to the BAU while we figure out our next step,” your dad says. “This place is on our unsub’s radar now; there’s too much uncertainty. You’ll be safe at the office, at least.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll go pack up.”

“In a minute.” He looks over at Spencer and gestures towards the door with his head. “Go check on forensics. Make sure they have everything they need.”

“But you already did that ten minutes ago,” Spencer says.

“Reid.”

His eyes dart from your dad to you, and then they widen as he shoots up from his seat. “Oh! Oh— yeah, of course. Yeah, I’ll go— I’ll go do that.”

He scurries away, but he looks back and meets your eyes. You quickly avert them, feeling your face heat, and you don’t look away from your coffee until you hear the door shut.

“Very subtle, Dad,” you murmur.

“He won’t mind,” he says. He stands up and walks over, eyes softening as he places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

You flinch just so at his touch, and you know he notices. You try to ignore it anyways as you clear your throat. “Fine. Clearly.”

“You don’t have to lie,” he says. “Especially with the recent advancements.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, putting extra emphasis on the word. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming last night?”

“I’m worried our comms are compromised.” He stares at you for another second before he removes his hand and clears his throat. “I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Makes sense.” You take another sip of coffee, then blink and look at your dad. “Uh— do you want a cup?”

He shakes his head. “Reid already offered when he brewed the pot.” He pauses. “Says he does it every morning for you.”

You shrug. “I never asked him to. He’s just always awake before me.”

He nods. “So the two of you are on better terms?”

“I—”

You think back to last night—to the shared bed, the murmured words beneath the cover of darkness, Spencer pulling you back from the edge without a second thought. You feel your face heat and you glance away.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “He’s tolerable.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Tolerable?”

“Yeah,” you repeat. “Give him the medal of honor.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting along with each other.” Your dad pauses, and uncertainty plagues his features in a way you’re not used to. “If you have—”

“Have what?” you interrupt. “Anything I want to talk about?”

He nods. “These are unprecedented times for you. You’re going through something incredibly traumatic. I’m here if you want to talk.”

“First time I think I’ve ever heard that from you,” you mutter.

His hand comes up like he wants to reach out to you, but he wavers. Your dad is always so unsure about you in every way, and though a part of you wants to ignore all his efforts, another part of you just wants to take the shreds of love you’ve been wanting for so long. A part of you wants to break down sobbing in his arms, let him be your dad and let yourself be his daughter.

“I—” You clear your throat, turning back to him for a second. You let your other arm drop, opening yourself up a bit. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” your dad says. “That you know I’m here for you. That—”

He’s interrupted when the door opens, Spencer already talking as he walks through.

“Forensics is wrapping up right now,” he says. “They’re headed back to the lab after this—Anders said she would reach out as soon as they have conclusive results.”

Your dad clears his throat, looking at you for another second before he nods and steps away. “Then it sounds like we should get going.”

Spencer nods, starting to move again. “I’ll pack my things up.”

“I guess I’ll do the same,” you say, but your dad puts a hand on your arm. It’s just as much a surprise to him as it is to you, and you freeze in place.

He doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead watching to ensure Spencer is out of range. Once he’s sure, he looks at you—he seems to realize his hand on your arm, because he drops it just as quickly.

“I mean it when I want you to know that you can talk to me,” your dad says softly. “About this, of course, but also anything else.”

You raise your eyebrows, and he huffs in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I know I haven’t always been there. More often than not. I hate that it took until now to fully face the facts.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do this—” you start murmuring, but he shakes his head.

“I do. I’m the reason you’re in this mess. I’m the reason you’re…” He trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“So fucked up?”

“No,” he says forcefully. “No. There is nothing wrong with you. You need to know that—and you need to know that I love you.”

You can’t help the way your eyes widen ever so slightly. Your father has never been an emotional man, at least not in front of you—

“Thank you,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “I— I love you too.”

He nods a few times, looking like he wants to say more. He opens his mouth, but he’s once again interrupted by Spencer calling your name.

“You left your sweatshirt in my room,” he says.

“Thanks.” You take it from him and clear your throat, glancing at your dad. “I should probably start packing.”

He looks between the two of you, then nods. “Alright. Move quick, both of you.”

You nod, already starting towards your room. The last thing you really want to talk about with your dad is whatever weird friendship is starting between you and Spencer. So much so that when you hear your dad start to say something to Spencer, you tune it out.

Too much idle time always lets your mind wander, and you don’t want to give it the chance. You pack as fast as possible, shoving rather than folding your clothes into your duffle. You put your sweatshirt on once you’re done, and you take one last look at the room you’ve spent the last three weeks in.

Your eyes drift to the window of their own volition and a shiver runs down your spine.

You won’t miss it.

Spencer walks in when you’re in the middle of packing your bathroom bag. You see him freeze out of your peripherals.

“Uh— sorry.” He looks a bit flustered when you turn your full attention on him. “Do you want me to—”

“I was just finishing up,” you say. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh.” He stands there still, watching as you put the last few products in your bag. “Are you doing okay?”

“Seems to be the topic of the day,” you say wryly.

“Well, yeah,” Spencer says. “It’s the whole reason we’re here.”

You shake your head with a huff. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

“Well, I am.” You zip up your bag and look at him. “I’ll be even better once we’re out of here.”

“A week ago, that would have turned into a full fledged argument,” Spencer notes.

You shrug. “I guess things have changed.”

“...I guess so,” he says.

For a moment, all you do is stare at each other. Spencer’s eyes are filled with the usual concern, but a different kind than the one than Gideon’s. It weighs on your father, heavier than anything—it does something else entirely to Spencer, something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you for last night, by the way.” You glance away, finally at your breaking point with eye contact. “It… it helped.”

“I’m glad,” Spencer says. “I want to get you through this.”

“Then finish packing up so we can get out of here, huh?” You feel like you have to break whatever’s in the air, a strange sort of tension that’s been popping up between you two too often lately. You’d almost prefer the arguments to this, if it weren’t for how upset they seemed to make Spencer.

“Of course,” he says. “You should probably finish your coffee before we leave, though.”

“Because of the benefits of black coffee,” you nod.

“Oh, no,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to deal with you when you’re going through caffeine withdrawal.”

You actually laugh at that, and his lips quirk in a smile. “Spencer Reid, was that a joke?”

“No,” he says. “It’s serious. I’m scared of you.”

You laugh again, and you shoulder your way past him. “Alright, boy genius. Finish packing before I throw your things out the door myself.”

You feel his eyes on you as you leave and you don’t look back. But for once, you leave the room smiling.

The ride back goes smoother than the ride over. A few members of the forensics team took your spare car back—your dad didn’t want to split the three of you up, especially during a time like this—so you’re all together, but there are no arguments, which is more than anyone can ask for.

Your dad talks more about the team’s process and what they’ve been up to while you and Spencer were isolated. You don’t like that they’ve been tearing into every part of your life, but you don’t really have much control over it at this point.

It mostly consists of Spencer talking with your dad, catching up on everything he’s missed. They talk a lot about the profile the team has made, about possible suspects and leads and things you don’t know if you’ll understand. You stare out the window for most of the ride, trying your best to tune them out.

Maybe it’s stupid, but you don’t care. You just want this all to be over so your life can go back to normal. You miss your kids, your classroom, Friday night drinks with your coworkers—god, you miss sunlight, as pathetic as it sounds. You want to walk down the street without looking over your shoulder, but even after this is over you think you’ll stay paranoid for a while.

You make it back to the BAU with little pomp, which you’re thankful for. Spencer is still talking with your dad while you’re exiting the car, and you open the trunk to get your things. You reach for your duffle, but you instead hit another hand.

You look over at Spencer, who, for once, isn’t already looking at you.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Getting your bag,” he says. “Do you need to get your eyes checked?”

“Why are you getting my bag?” you ask instead.

“Because I want to.” Spencer takes it out and your hand falls off of his, and he raises his eyebrows at you. “I thought we were past this stage of our friendship.”

“I don’t need you to do things for me when I can do them myself,” you say.

He shrugs. “If I want to, why would I make you?”

Spencer doesn’t give you a chance to protest as he grabs his suitcase and walks towards the building, and you stare at your dad.

“Is he always like this?”

“You just spent two weeks with him,” he says. “You tell me.”

You scoff and shake your head, choosing to just file in beside your dad. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Spencer, meanwhile, is trying to cope with his brain going into overload.

It’s not just enough that he has to deal with this case. Spencer has solved 17 stalking cases with the team since he joined the FBI, and he’s read about a lot more. And as everyone likes to keep bringing up, he’s already played the bodyguard role once and it went fine. Mostly.

Honestly, solving the case would be the easy part if you weren’t involved in it, because you are the hard part. You’re a loose cannon, an enigma—your story is more similar to Spencer’s than you would like to admit, and yet he still doesn’t know what to ever expect from you.

Being back in the BAU doesn’t help. He walks in with you and Gideon in tow, and all eyes are immediately on them. Morgan stands up first with a grin on his face.

“Pretty boy, back in the land of the living,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’ve been in the land of the living this whole time,” Spencer says. “The goal of the safe house was for both of us to stay alive, and it worked.”

Morgan just chuckles. “Believe it or not, I missed that.” He looks over at you. “How was rooming with our resident genius?”

“Just what you’d expect,” you respond. “How was digging into every crack and crevice of my life?”

“Just what you’d expect,” Morgan echoes.

“How are you doing?” Elle asks. She stands and leans against her desk, her eyes darting over to Spencer momentarily before landing back on you.

“As well as I can be,” you say. You really love giving nonanswers. “Actually, uh, Agent Greenaway—”

“Elle,” she interrupts.

“Elle,” you nod. “Could I… pick your brain for a few minutes? It won’t be long, I—”

“Of course.” She doesn’t wait for you to finish adding your self-deprecating ending to lighten the load, instead just pushing herself up from the desk to walk over to you. “I have to pick up a few things anyways.”

“Thank you,” you say, and you fall into step with her as the two of you start going down the hallway. Spencer can’t even hear the beginning of your conversation, and he realizes he’s frowning when Gideon calls after them.

“Meet us in the conference room when you’re done, Elle!” She gives him a thumbs up without turning, and then Gideon looks at the rest of the bullpen. “That goes for all of you—conference room in ten.”

The rest of the team nods or says some form of acknowledgement, and he nods with a sigh before walking off. He goes to Hotch’s office instead of his own, probably to discuss things about the case.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Morgan asks.

“The case,” Spencer says. “Gideon values Hotch’s opinion on everything, and because this case includes his daughter he’s probably doubting himself more. Hotch is a voice of reason to him right now.”

“Not them,” Morgan says, gesturing down the hallway you walked down. “Them. Elle and your girl.”

Spencer frowns. “She’s not my girl.”

“You looked a lot friendlier today than you did a couple weeks ago,” JJ comments from her desk. “You actually had a conversation without fighting, for one.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Spencer Reid, you’re back and you didn’t immediately come and say hi to me?”

He turns at the interruption to see Penelope speeding over, and he smiles at the sight. He did miss her, especially their morning talks. His days aren’t the same without her.

“Garcia,” he says. “I missed you!”

“Not enough to stop by first thing,” she huffs. “What are we gossiping about?”

“We’re not gossiping—”

“Pretty boy and Baby Gideon,” Morgan interrupts. “They’re kinda having a thing.”

“We are not!” Spencer tries to defend himself but he doesn’t even think Garcia hears him.

“Oh my god!” she nearly squeals, and she hits Spencer on the arm. “I knew there was a vibe!”

“There is no vibe!” he complains.

“There was some pretty thick tension between the two of you when you came in here,” JJ muses.

“How could there be tension?” Spencer protests.

“You were carrying her bag,” Morgan points out.

“Because Gideon makes me—”

“She smiled at you,” JJ adds.

Spencer scoffs. “She never smiles.”

“You’re talking about her right now like you know her,” Garcia continues.

“We were just in a house for three weeks together!”

“Definitely enough time to fall in love,” Morgan says.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Spencer insists. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

“Yes, you do.” He looks up to see Hotch and Gideon standing together at the top of the bullpen right by the stairs, and he’s never been so thankful to be called out by his bosses. “I hope you’ve gotten all your gossiping out. Conference room in five.”

“And stop teasing Reid,” Gideon says. “He did me a favor.”

Spencer nods thankfully as the two of them walk away, and he wipes his clammy hands on his dress pants. His button-up is a little wrinkled, but in his defense, there wasn’t an iron back at the safe house. You probably would have made fun of him for using it.

“What are you smiling about?” Morgan asks.

Spencer blinks, broken out of his reverie. “Nothing. I, uh— I’m gonna grab coffee.”

He still feels their eyes on him as he speeds his way out of the conversation, can hear but not fully make out the whispers between them all. Worst of all, when he presses the palm of his hand to his cheek, it feels like he’s running a fever.

Honestly, Spencer hopes he’s sick. At least he’d have an excuse for why he’s acting so irrationally.

He can only imagine what you and Elle are talking about.

Elle is smart enough to wait until the two of you have gotten a decent way down the hall.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“No small talk?”

“I don’t really like it,” she says.

You nod. “Me neither. So thanks, I guess.”

You sigh and wring your hands, trying to figure out the way to word your multitude of thoughts. Eventually, you decide to start at the most pressing matter.

“He was there,” you say. “At the house. My… my stalker.”

“So I heard,” she murmurs. “How are you holding up?”

“People keep asking me that and I never know what to say.” You shrug. “I— I just am, I guess.

“That’s fine too,” she says. “A lot of times, people don’t know how they feel until it’s all over, when they finally have time to sit down and let the dust settle.”

“I’m angry, a- and scared, and really annoyed that this is still going on,” you say. “I’m pissed that this guy thinks he has any right to do this to me, th- that he thinks we’re anything alike.” You wrap your arms around your midsection, trying to ward off the sudden chill you feel. “I just want this to be over so I can stop feeling like everyone’s pity project.”

“Let me guess,” Elle says. “You’re tired of feeling weak and like you’re at everyone’s mercy, and you hate that you have to rely on your dad for all of this.”

You chuckle weakly. “Bullseye.”

“I think the two of us are pretty similar,” she says. “And I know that for me, there’s nothing more frustrating than not being able to solve my own problems.”

“Well, what’s the solution?” you ask. “Because I’m tired of feeling tired.”

Elle sighs. “Sometimes you have to accept that you can’t control everything. You have to trust in your dad and our team.”

You huff. “That’s harder than it sounds.”

“Believe me, I know.” Elle glances at you. “But you’re going to drive yourself crazy otherwise, and I don’t really wanna lose you.”

You smile at that. “Thanks. I like you too.”

Elle laughs and the two of you continue walking, the silence surprisingly comfortable for someone you’ve only talked to twice.

“You know,” Elle breaks the silence, and you look over at her, “a couple of people around the office were taking bets on you and Reid.”

“What?” you ask, maybe a little too defensively. “Why?”

“We had this stalker case a while ago and Reid had to guard the girl, just like you,” Elle says. “They ended up making out in a pool before the case was over.”

Your eyes widen so much you think they might pop out of your head. “What?”

Elle laughs and nods. “Yeah. That actress, Lila Archer. She had a thing for him, but it didn’t really go anywhere. Pictures would have gotten plastered all over the tabloids if it weren’t for Gideon.”

You’re still trying to process the fact that Spencer Reid, the same guy who set off the smoke alarm by burning toast and fumbles his words when he’s around you and spouts off facts like a human encyclopedia at a moment’s notice, made out with a famous actress — and his team was betting whether it would happen with you too.

No wonder he kept bringing up a damn pool. You feel your cheeks heat and you hope Elle can’t tell—you’re suddenly going through every single interaction you’ve had with Spencer, in private and public.

God, being around profilers is a nightmare. You suddenly want to avoid your dad even more.

“I didn’t take him for that kind of person,” you finally manage.

“He’s not, really. Was just a spur of the moment thing, I think.” Elle shrugs. “Seems Reid likes you, though.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you say hastily.

“Give yourself some credit,” she says. “And some slack, too. Reid’s… pretty easy to—”

The two of you are interrupted by someone calling both of your names, and you turn to see JJ standing at the bend. “Gideon wants us in the conference room.” She looks at you. “He said you can wait in his office.”

You nod, and Elle looks at you. “You know where to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Any time,” she says, and she pulls something out of her pocket and hands it to you. It’s her business card, with her number at the bottom. “And I mean that.”

You swallow the gratitude that swells in your chest and you nod a few more times. “Thank you. Seriously.”

She smiles and walks off to meet JJ, and you stare at the card in your hand for a few more seconds before you shove it into your pocket.

Two friends and a stalker.

It could be worse.

#elle greenaway let me take you away from all this 💔

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swftlore · 3 months ago

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swftlore · 3 months ago

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You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?” “You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say. “Obviously,” Peter says.

actually ridiculous. had my head spinning gwen stacy youll always haunt the narrative

truly every time you post is a gift. boy genius and girl wonder oh i know you were rubbing your hands together and cackling. another hit from atlabeth loved it sm girl

bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home.

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city.

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it.

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while?

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and—

“Babe—”

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays.

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?”

“You keep talking over me, so I really—”

“You don’t get to babe me right now!”

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is.

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice.

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend.

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back.

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!”

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?”

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse?

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.”

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse.

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.”

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional.

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?”

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.”

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—”

“I hate beer.”

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.”

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!”

This time he says your name, and you shake your head.

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head.

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.”

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct.

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock.

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.”

Good one, Parker.

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide.

“The one and only,” he nods.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.”

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it.

“I’m not stupid,” you say.

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.”

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?”

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.”

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?”

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.”

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.”

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.”

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.”

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say.

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.”

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.”

“I think I can let it slide.”

“Good.”

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company.

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.”

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds.

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!”

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero.

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?”

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to.

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?”

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.”

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.”

“And unhappy, it sounds like.”

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…”

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.”

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.”

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is?

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?”

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.”

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?”

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.”

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover.

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?”

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.”

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going.

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario.

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees.

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down.

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope.

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he?

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know.

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground.

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is.

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role.

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it.

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret.

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it.

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly.

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.”

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.”

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.”

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses.

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says.

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.”

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.”

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you.

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky.

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you.

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life.

Deal. Anything to get you an A

lol

asshole

Never

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place:

I’ll try just for you

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?)

Night, girl wonder

#'it was alright' i say as i quickly leave with a suspicious peter-parker-fic-shaped lump in my throat

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swftlore · 3 months ago

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been playing the spiderman game and now i have the strongest urge to write peter parker fanfic. this is why i never get anything done

#EVERYBODY GET UP #dancing in the streets

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swftlore · 3 months ago

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you would think that not falling for blonde guys would become part of the covey girl code. and yet

#a canon event i fear #hunger games #the hunger games #sunrise on the reaping #sotr #thg sotr #sotr spoilers #lenore dove #haymitch abernathy #stfu ollie

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swftlore · 5 months ago

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happy valentines day sadie i love you genuinely but this

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back.

an angst spencelle mention on MY dash ??? crazy

anyway this was absolutely perfect as always i love a sharing the bed trope. she was the one thing he didnt have on his list ur sooo evil

something about her

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you’re reminded why you’re really here while spencer does some unwanted self reflection.

a/n: things have been a little too fun and fluffy around these parts so i had to fix it. it’s easy to forget you’re still dealing w a stalker when you’re busy living in denial <3 enjoy the mess! this whole thing is in spencer's pov bc this all got soooo far away from me

title from the song by stephen sanchez

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): things start to ramp up! stalking, anxiety, lowkey panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, r almost has a panic attack, alcohol/mentions of alcoholism, the usual. but more bonding!!

Spencer can’t sleep.

He’s tried every trick in the book. Counting sheep, counting to one hundred, counting to one hundred backwards, going through the alphabet, going through the alphabet backwards, methods with actual scientific research backing them—none of it works. He’s stared at the ceiling for most of the night.

He feels like a hypocrite most of all, preaching the importance of adequate sleep when he’ll be lucky to get five hours. But it looks like you barely sleep as is. He probably should keep preaching to you.

There’s a myriad of reasons to explain it. His hyperactive brain has been responsible for many restless nights. He’s still in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t gotten used to sleeping on this bed yet. Lest he forget, he’s your first and only line of protection here from your stalker. That’s enough to keep anyone awake, even FBI.

But then there’s also… you in general.

Spencer can’t say he tries not to think about you, because this past week it’s felt like the only thing he’s thought about.

It’s practically impossible, even before you were shoved into this house together. You have a way of tunneling your way into a person’s mind and refusing to leave—especially his.

Again, it’s easy enough to pass off. You’re the only ones here, and the time you’re not spending alone you’re spending with each other. Your only choice beyond isolation is to talk to Spencer, and it seems you’re slowly moving past preferring it over him.

But he doesn’t think he can just pass this off.

He can’t get your smile out of his head. Your moments of levity are so few and far between that it makes them shine bright as the sun. Spencer has learned he loves how you look when you’re happy. He just wishes it wasn’t such a rarity.

Gideon’s lecture rings in his ears. He really had two jobs—keep you safe, and don’t fall for you. Hopefully he only fails the one.

It’s not like he has to worry about it, though. You might not hate him as much anymore, but you still don’t really like him. As much as it bums him out, it’s for the best. It means that in a week or two, when the team has caught the unsub and all this is over, you can both go your separate ways and you’ll never have to see Spencer again.

That bums him out even more, though.

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back.

Just then his phone rings, jolting him out what could have been a convincing play for sleep if not for his thoughts, and he groans a little. Spencer fumbles around for it without lifting his head from the pillow, only turning slightly so he can flick it open and place it against his ear.

“Gideon, why are you calling this early?” he mumbles.

“I hope you’re treating her well.”

The gravelly voice through the speaker is a shock, and Spencer doesn’t really process it. His brain still hasn’t turned on.

“Gideon?” he asks again.

“I know you ran away. Trying to protect her like you have any right.”

His blood goes cold as the words finally register.

This is their unsub. This— this is your stalker.

“What do you want?” he asks, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his words.

“You’ve hurt her the same way he has,” the voice continues. “He’s ruined our lives and you don’t care.”

Spencer’s mind is simultaneously blank and running wild. He knows he should try to profile him or talk to him to get something out of him but— but all he feels is anger.

“What do you want?” he repeats, louder this time.

“Think about your priorities, Agent Reid. I’ll be watching.”

The disconnected tone blares in his ear before he can say anything else, and Spencer stares down at his phone in confused annoyance.

What kind of bullshit game is this guy trying to play with you?

First he stalks you for a month—possibly months— then sends pictures of you to your door, then forces you into hiding and now he’s just mocking you like this?

If Gideon is the goal, this bastard is doing a great job of dragging you along.

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat all of a sudden. You.

He grabs his gun off his bedside table then lunges to the door with all the athleticism of a newborn baby giraffe, nearly tripping in his haste to get out into the hallway. He slams your door open once he gets to your room, and the relief that floods through his body when you shoot up from your previously sleeping position is almost dangerous.

“Spencer?” you grumble, still completely out of it as you rub your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You’re alive. You’re okay. You’re still here.

He opens his mouth to respond, still kind of out of breath, when his phone rings again. Spencer takes it out and is already pressing it to his ear.

“What the hell do you want from her?” he barks. The absolute nerve of your stalker to call back—

“Reid, it’s me.”

It’s Gideon’s voice that comes out of the speaker this time, and Spencer feels the wave of red hot rage boiling in his stomach crash against a wall of confusion.

“I—” He swallows deeply, his eyes flicking over to your befuddled expression momentarily before he feels himself flush bright red and look away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.”

“You got a call?”

His blood runs cold. “You mean you got one too?”

Gideon curses and he hears him move around. Pacing in his bedroom, if Spencer knew anything about him. “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“She— she is,” he stammers. “I’m with her right now.”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on?” You’re sitting up now, much more aware than you were fifteen seconds ago. “Why do you have your gun— why are you talking to my dad?”

“Do a perimeter check,” Gideon demands. “If he’s there—”

“I know.” Spencer looks back at you and sighs. “You should talk to her.”

“I know,” Gideon echoes. “Let her stay on the line with me while you figure things out.”

He nods and takes the phone from his ear. “Gideon wants to talk with you.”

You’re standing up now, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “Hold on, you still haven’t answered me! What is going on?”

“I got a call from our guy,” he says. Your eyes widen and he can see your chest still. His heart clenches at the sight. “Gideon did too.”

“What?” you breathe. “Wh— what did he want?”

“To scare you.” Spencer holds up his gun. “Can you hide in the closet while I do a perimeter check?”

You scoff. Your demeanor is still shaken, but the fire is more prominent. He’s started to admire that about you. “Spencer, I am not hiding in the closet.”

“Then lock yourself in the bathroom again!” he exclaims. He doesn’t mean for the outburst, but he can’t help it. “Just— I can’t focus if I’m worried about you, and right now the only thing I can think of is how worried I am about you, so I need to know you’re safe while I do this.”

You stare at him, and Spencer stares right back, if a little frantic. He feels his chest rise and fall from the force, a stark contrast to your still body—similar to the panic he knows is in his eyes to the steely cool of yours.

“I’m not letting you potentially face an insane stalker by yourself,” you finally say.

Spencer huffs. “I am an FBI agent. I’ve faced worse things than insane stalkers.”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you insist. “We— we can do this together too.”

He looks at you again—he can tell you’re not going to move on this. Spencer eventually sighs and holds the phone back up to his ear.

“I’m assuming you heard that?”

“Let her go with you,” Gideon says. “It’s riskier for her to be on her own than outside with you. But stay on the line, and stay alert. Nothing can happen to her—do you understand?”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says. “I meant what I said.”

“...Good.”

Spencer holds the phone out to you again, and your lip curls.

“I’m not—”

“Come on,” he interrupts, gesturing with his head into the hallway.

Your annoyance melts into acknowledgement when you realize he’s not blowing you off again, and you nod as you take the phone. Spencer wraps both hands around his gun as he starts moving, you matching his pace as you follow him.

“Yeah, Dad,” he hears you say behind him. “I’m here.”

This is what he meant by you needing to stay behind. He’s worried about you more than anything, yes, but he also can’t help but listen. Spencer has very keen ears, to everyone’s simultaneous disdain and appreciation on the team—it makes him a very good asset in the field, but also a very good asset when it comes time for office gossip.

“No, nothing’s happened yet. Yes— yes, I’m okay, I promise. Spencer’s done an annoyingly good job of keeping me safe.”

Once Spencer reaches the door, he peers through the peephole to make sure their unsub isn’t embarrassingly obvious. It’s clear, and he turns to face you and raises a hand, then places his finger on his lips.

“Uh— I have to go dark for a sec,” you say. “We’re checking the perimeter. Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anyone tries to kill me. Be back soon.”

You pull the phone away from your ear and nod at Spencer, and he holds his breath before he opens the door.

The frigid air hits both of you at once, and he hears then sees your sharp exhale of breath. It’s been a while since either of you have been outside, but it’s good to know he hasn’t been missing superb weather.

“Stay close and stay quiet,” Spencer whispers. “I’m your only line of defense out here.”

He expects you to shoot back with some remark, but you merely nod in response. Spencer hopes he hides the shock he feels before he turns away and starts walking.

Dawn isn’t for a few more hours—the only real light source is the moon high in the night sky. It doesn't exactly help his nerves to be doing all this in the dark, but part of him is almost thankful to be doing this. Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with you or any of the emotions you stir inside of him or the sleepless nights you cause because he can’t stop thinking of you—but he knows how to do his job, and he knows how to do it damn well.

He just wishes it didn’t have to come with the unfortunate side effect of you being in immense danger.

But Spencer does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind—right now, he has to have one focus.

And he does. The two of you stick close to the side of the house, his eyes darting all over as he tries to dig out any details, any possible sign that the unsub was here. The ground is still a thin layer of mud from the storm last night, so it should be easy to find footprints. Spencer’s Converse aren’t doing a great job at keeping him upright—slipping in front of you is too embarrassing for him to even think about.

All of a sudden, he stops, his arm shooting out in front of you. You don’t realize it for a second and you run into him, your hand wrapping around his arm on instinct to steady yourself. If he wasn’t so shocked at what he was looking at, he would have been bright red over it.

“What the h—”

“Footprints,” he whispers. “Th— they’re almost gone, but—”

“He was here?” you interrupt. Fear spikes in your voice and your grip tightens on his arm.

“Last night, maybe.” Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, how he feels—he’s not going to make you feel worse. “The rain probably washed most of them away.”

“Spencer—”

“I am surprised these are still here, though,” he continues. “The rainfall was really heavy. I wouldn’t expect them to stay in mud like this—”

“Spencer, look where we are!” you exclaim, gesturing hard with your other hand. He realizes that you’ve let go of his arm by now, but he pushes it out of his head and looks.

“The window to your room,” he says. The blinds are closed and the lock is in place—he’s made sure every night—but there are small enough gaps between the shutters.

“He was watching us last night!” Your breathing is starting to come heavier and faster now. “We talked about all that shit and he was just here watching and we didn’t even fucking know!”

You’re on the edge of hyperventilating. Spencer has got to get you down or else you’re going to have a full blown panic attack out here.

“Hey, hey— look at me.” He says your name and that, if anything else, gets you to listen and meet his eyes. They’re filled with an unbridled fear he hasn’t seen in you until now. “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of this. He’s not here.”

“He was watching us—”

“And we’ll figure out what to do next. But you have to stay calm. You can’t let him win.”

You’re still harried, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes dart all around. Spencer says your name softly, tucks his gun into its holster, then takes your hands in his, hoping that it gives you something to focus that isn’t the rest of this.

“Just look at me,” he says softly.

You suck in another shaky breath, but you’re not as frantic as before. You at least look him in the eye, and you don’t wrench your hands out of his grasp. Progress, if nothing else.

“Breathe with me.”

You nod—still panicked, but better. Spencer breathes in deep and you do the same, following as he counts up and down with his fingers. It takes a few rounds, but eventually, he’s gotten you off the edge.

Spencer says your name again, just as soft as before. You’re still breathing slowly in and out.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” you murmur. “I—”

You’re interrupted by the phone you both forgot was in your hand, Gideon’s voice muddled as it comes from the receiver. You rip your hands out of Spencer’s as you come back into yourself, shaking your head and blinking a few times while you take a few steps away from him.

“I’m here, Dad,” you say. “We— we’re okay. No, nothing happened.”

Spencer blinks too. He looks down at his hands, then glances at you, then shakes his head. He walks back over to the footprint and crouches down, trying to keep his mind clear. He commits every detail he can to memory, doing his best to ignore the conversation with your dad in the background.

Well, he tunes in a little. He can’t help it—he wants to make sure you’re okay.

“We found a footprint outside my room,” you’re saying. “Spencer thinks it’s your guy. I have no idea. Yes, we are. You don’t have to be so pushy.” You sigh and he feels your gaze on him. “Spencer, we have to finish this up. Dad wants us back inside.”

He clears his throat as he nods a few times. “Let me get a picture of this first.”

You hand him the phone and Spencer snaps some photos from a few different angles, hoping forensics will be able to get anything out of it. He hears Gideon’s voice again and he holds it to his ear once more.

“Gideon?”

“Reid, get her back inside,” he says. “We can’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“We haven’t finished securing the perimeter,” he says.

“Then finish it and get back inside!” he exclaims. “You have proof that he was there—”

“We don’t know it’s him,” Spencer interrupts.

“We know there was somebody there!” Gideon shoots back. “I’m not risking her, and from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to either.”

Spencer feels his cheeks warm as he looks back at you, and he pulls his gun back out of its holster. “Come on. We have to finish this up.”

“That’s what I said,” you mutter, but you follow him without further protest.

The rest of the check goes by quickly without any other distractions or surprises, and soon enough you’re back inside. While Spencer chats with Gideon, updating him in a calmer manner on everything with the phone call and the footprint, you’re ruffling through the cabinets.

Eventually, he sees you pull out a bottle of clear liquid from the corner of his eye. He frowns and realizes that it’s vodka.

“It’s 4:29 in the morning,” Spencer says, cutting off Gideon almost absentmindedly as you pop the bottle open.

“And we found out that this place isn’t nearly as safe as anyone thought,” you respond sharply. “I think that warrants some drinking.”

“That means that you should have a clear mind,” he says. “Alcohol impairs your brain’s communication pathways, as well as your judgment and coordination.”

“I’ve gotten drunk before, genius,” you mutter as you search for a glass. You end up choosing a the mug you used for coffee the other morning then start pouring. “Enough to know it’s what I need right now.”

“It can also cause mood swings,” Spencer says. “I think that’s the last thing you need right now.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to look back at him as you finish pouring a concerning amount of liquor into the mug.

“What is going on over there?” Gideon asks. Spencer remembers he’s holding the phone and he puts it back to his ear.

“I think your daughter is an alcoholic,” he comments.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you say sharply. “I just can’t focus on all this right now.”

“It’s best if she gets some sleep,” Gideon says. “All of this is likely terrifying to her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.”

Spencer’s mind flashes back to your near panic attack—your wide eyes full of fear and harried breathing that only made you hyperventilate more when you realized you couldn’t control it. It’s too easy to think of you as some untouchable being from the way you interact with him, bothered by nothing and no one.

The mask cracks on rare occasion. It makes you seem frighteningly real.

“You’re right,” Spencer nods. You sip your drink without flinching. He doesn’t think he can even call it a drink if it’s just straight liquor. “We could all use some sleep.”

“Just make sure she’s safe,” he says. “Make sure the whole place is secure. We’re not—”

“Taking risks,” he finishes. “Believe me, I know.”

Gideon is silent for a second, and Spencer takes the time to look at you. The bags under your eyes are even more prominent, and there’s a haunted glint in your eyes as you stare at the wall. You shiver ever so slightly, the outside chill still lingering on your skin. You’ve got pajama pants on but just a plain tee. You didn’t have time to put a sweatshirt on before he pulled you outside in the mania of it all.

You really are beautiful—but you’re so damn tired.

Spencer realizes that all he wants to do is give you some respite.

“I’ll call you back later, then,” Gideon says. “To check in.”

“Okay.” Spencer’s throat bobs as he averts his eyes from you. “Get some rest too, Gideon.”

The other end hangs up without a response. Spencer stares down at the phone for a few seconds then sighs before he tucks it back into his pocket.

“What’d he want?” you ask.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking vodka out of a coffee mug at four in the morning.”

You frown. “You don’t get to judge me.”

“It’s not good for you.”

“None of this is good for me,” you enunciate. “What did my dad want?”

“I’m serious,” Spencer continues. “Drinking on an empty stomach can lead to low blood sugar— drinking at this hour is going to completely disrupt your circadian rhythm.”

“You know what else has disrupted my circadian rhythm?” you ask mockingly. “Being here. Having a stalker. Finding out that said stalker was also here, watching us. I think that’s a little worse for me than the alcohol.”

Spencer stares at you, and as you’re prone to do, you stare back. Eventually, he shakes his head and looks away, deciding to quit while he’s ahead.

“He wants you to get some sleep,” he says. “Wants us both to.”

You scoff and shake your head, downing much more vodka than you should in one go. Again, you don’t flinch—for a schoolteacher, you handle your liquor very well. “Like I’d get to sleep after this.”

“It’s important,” Spencer insists. “You’ve gotten— what? Three hours of sleep?”

“Well, all this excitement has woken me up,” you say.

“Well, I’m tired,” Spencer says. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He starts to walk to his room, figuring that you need time to cool off, when—

“Wait.”

Your voice is oddly strangled, and Spencer stops in his tracks.

“I—” you stop and sigh, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Our rooms are close to each other,” he says. “I’ll be able to hear if you yell.”

You rub your eyes as you let out another haggard sigh. “I can’t stand to be in that room, Spencer. Not knowing that— that he was right there.”

Spencer can’t look away from you. Your eyes glint with tears you’re trying to hold back, but you’re laid bare in a way he knows you hate.

You’re being pushed to your limits against your will, and it kills him that he can’t do anything to help you. Honestly, sometimes he feels useless being stuck here while the rest of the team is out there actively working to help you. All he can do is stand around here and annoy you.

Except you want him there. For the first time since all of this has started, you want him there.

It’s the only thing he can do for you right now. How can he refuse?

“Okay,” he says softly, and he nods. “Okay. We can share my room tonight.”

The tension in your shoulders fades ever so slightly, and you—thankfully—set the mug down. “Keep your gun close.”

“I’m not sure you want me shooting when I’m sleep deprived,” Spencer says.

Your lips twitch just so, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. He can’t help it.

He should have known he was in too deep the moment he stepped into this house with you.

“Very cozy,” you say.

“It’s the same as your room,” Spencer responds.

You shrug. “It’s messy. Makes it feel like home.”

He feels his face flush. “I haven’t really been focused on keeping things clean.”

“Relax.” You sit down on the bed. “I’m not judging you.”

“Good.” Spencer glances at you as he moves his bag off of your side of the bed. “Because that would be very rude after the generosity I’ve shown you.”

You laugh and Spencer finds himself smiling at the sound of it. He’s glad he’s turned away, and he’s glad he manages to push it away by the time he’s turned back around.

You’re wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants now, and it’s strange to see you look so… soft. Every part of you is so sharp, some of it jagged—sometimes you harden around him, sometimes you mellow. He’s a bit tired of the back and forth.

Maybe that’s what makes him speak up.

“I’m tired of us always being at odds.”

Your eyebrows rise and you look at him. “Really?”

Spencer nods, his will bolstered. “Really. We have a nice talk one night, and I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, and then you go back to hating me the next morning. I’m— I’m sick of it.”

He expects you to shoot back with some mocking comment like you always do, making fun of him for wanting more than what little you give him. But instead, you lay back against the pillows and shrug.

“Okay.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod. “I’m too tired to want to fight right now.”

“You’re the one that always tries to fight me.”

“Aren’t you fighting me right now?”

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You chuckle. “Still fighting.”

He stares at you. As usual, you stare back, but this time you can’t fully bite back your smile. For some reason, that gets Spencer to break. He smiles too, and he settles down on the bed next to you. There’s a pillow buffer between you, but it’s still a lot closer than he’s used to.

Well, he did hold your hands earlier, but that’s because he was bringing you down from a panic attack. That doesn’t mean anything.

“What a day,” he mutters.

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” you muse. “I don’t know how you do this kind of shit every day.”

“I’m not really the target of any of this,” he says. “I usually stay behind the scenes. I’m good with geographical profiles, not chasing down unsubs.”

You look over at him. “You haven’t really talked about anything you do for the BAU.”

Spencer shrugs. “I thought it would be a sore subject.”

You pause. “You’re… probably right.”

“I figured.” He chuckles, then glances over at you. “But you already know enough about me. You said you would talk about your job. Teaching, and your kids, and all that.”

Your eyebrows rise. “You actually care?”

Spencer gives you a look. “I thought we were past that part in our friendship.”

“We’re not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but you go on anyway. “I’m a highschool teacher in Fairfax. You know Mount Vernon High?”

Spencer nods. “I know the name of every high school in Virginia.”

“Of course you do,” you huff. “But that’s besides the point. I did my student teacher hours there, and they offered me a full time position. I took it, so I guess I’ve been there since senior year.” You purse your lips. “It’s a little depressing when you look at it like that.”

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he say. “You said you loved your job.”

“I do!” You smile again, a bit lighter this time. “My teachers were a huge part of my life, especially in high school.” The lightness fades some, but he notices how you try to hide it. “If I could help even one kid the same way my teachers helped me, then I would have done something with my life.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Spencer says. “I don’t think I ever would have guessed you were a teacher.”

“Oh, please,” you say. “You’re a profiler. You’d figure it out.”

“You wouldn’t know I work with the FBI at first glance.”

“Well, I’m not a profiler. Besides,” you tip a shoulder, “I have the ulterior motive of wanting to introduce kids to the wonders of physics.”

Spencer’s eyes light up. “You’re a physics teacher?”

“I teach a load of science classes, but I carry the banner for AP physics.” You huff a laugh. “You’re probably the only one that doesn’t sound lame to.”

“I love physics!” he exclaims. “I’ve got a PhD in engineering, remember?”

You smile— no, you actually grin at him, and he can’t believe he finally broke through the barrier with science.

“Trust me, I’d love to talk physics with you, boy genius, but—” you’re interrupted with a yawn, and Spencer resists the urge to do the same— “but I think I’m actually about to fall asleep.”

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh. He realizes that he’s relaxed while you’ve been talking, limbs looser and fully laying back against the pillows.

“This was actually part of my master plan to get you to rest,” he says. “Talking science always works with the team.”

He sees you smile out of his peripherals as you lay fully down, can feel every shift of your body against the mattress while you try to find a good position.

“It wasn’t you,” you say. “It was the vodka.”

“Of course,” he agrees.

Silence falls over the room as the two of you settle in. You take off your sweatshirt, a slight shiver running through you once you’re back in your tank top. Spencer removes his glasses, and he blinks a few times to adjust to the blurriness.

The bed is big enough for you to both have your own space,, and you’re both careful to keep your backs to each other. The silence is comfortable despite the previous animosity. Maybe all it really did take was for him to start talking science.

Eventually, though—

“Thank you, Spencer.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I— I know you don’t like me. So it means a lot that you still do all this for me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking your words in. The mingled sounds of your breathing are really the only things filling the room, and he can feel your weight against the mattress. It’s all oddly intimate.

“You’re wrong.” He’s almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I do like you.”

Your shock shows through the silence. Spencer takes his chance.

“You’re going through something no one should ever have to experience, and you’re doing it with someone you think stole your life from you.” Spencer shifts ever so slightly. His hands feel inexplicably clammy. “It was unfair of me to take Gideon’s side so often.”

“Still.” Your words are muffled as you speak half into the mattress. “We have more important things to worry about. It was unfair of me to spend so much time giving you shit. You— you didn’t even know I existed until a month ago.”

“But now I do.” He pauses. “And I’m glad I do. So you can start looking forward instead of always looking back.”

Again, silence. It lasts so long Spencer wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. Your breathing is thankfully steady (a side of him is always focused on your breathing just to make sure) and you don’t shift much, so he wouldn’t be surprised. You were exhausted—

“Spencer?”

His eyes open. He didn’t even realize they had closed. You sound half-asleep, your voice nothing more than a whisper. He wishes more than anything he knew what was going through your mind right now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

His heart stutters so blatantly he’s sure you can hear it. Spencer honestly doesn’t know what to say—his mouth is so dry he doesn’t know if he can say anything.

Spencer thought you hated him. You thought Spencer hated you.

It’s ironic.

“Me too,” he eventually manages.

But there’s no response. You must’ve already fallen asleep again, just conscious enough to say a few words. The rude awakening mixed with the fear and alcohol couldn’t have done you much good.

Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat and closes his eyes again, trying not to focus on you. It’s practically impossible.

He’s glad, at least, that you’re able to sleep. You deserve to rest more than anyone.

Eventually, the sound of your breathing lulls Spencer to sleep.

You were the one thing he didn’t have on his list.

#i can feel the evil laugh coming through the words on my screen

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