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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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B99 X CM AND ROMCOM CORE OH I LOVE IT SO MUCH THIS IS SO EVERYTHING WHAT

Nine-Nine!

an extremely self indulgent brooklyn 99 and criminal minds crossover

pairing: spencer reid x reader (with a tiny bit of almost jake peralta x reader for funsies)

words: 3.0k

warnings: none, this is fluff and comedy <3

summary: Spencer Reid’s grip on sanity? Loose. (Y/n)’s patience? Tested. Jake Peralta? Accidentally in the middle of a romcom finale with no snacks. There’s banter, jealousy, a tasered vending machine, and one (1) emergency love confession.

a/n: crossover episode my beloved; this was extremely fun to write lolllllll, hope you like it <3

Spencer was already three tangents deep into the geographic profile, talking fast, hands moving like the words were trying to escape faster than his brain could handle. (Y/n) had learned years ago to just let him go. He’d loop back around eventually. Usually.

“The spacing of the disposal sites suggests he’s sticking to a routine. All within a tight radius— three miles or so. That kind of pattern almost always means it’s familiar territory. Could be work, could be home base. Most likely night shifts, given the dump times— between 2:10 and 3:30 a.m. Which means fewer witnesses, less traffic—”

“Or he just likes moonlight and solitude,” (Y/n) said absently, scribbling something in her notebook. “Creepy guys tend to romanticize the weirdest stuff.”

Spencer didn’t look up. “That’s… statistically consistent with other narcissistic or compulsive offenders, actually.”

She glanced over at him. “You know you could just say ‘you’re right.’ It won’t kill you.”

He did look at her then, quick, with the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. “I’m not sure I’ve tested that hypothesis thoroughly enough to risk it.”

She snorted. “Tragic. I thought you loved me.”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. “I do. But not enough to sacrifice academic integrity.”

“Wow.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Wounded. Devastated. Utterly betrayed.”

“Noted,” he murmured, turning back to his screen with an annoyingly smug look.

Derek leaned forward from his seat across the aisle. “Are y’all gonna do this the whole flight?”

JJ didn’t even look up from her file. “They’re gonna do this the whole case.”

“I’m sitting right here,” (Y/n) called over.

“And yet, you keep doing this,” Emily muttered, sipping her coffee. “Every case. Without fail.”

Spencer turned his tablet toward (Y/n), pretending not to hear them. “There are five possible buildings inside the comfort zone. Abandoned commercial spaces, all accessible. No cameras.”

She leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “That one. Tucked behind the construction site. No visibility from the road.”

He nodded. “I had that ranked third.”

“I outrank your list.”

“You outrank logic?”

“I outrank you, Reid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim for someone who once tripped over their own shoelaces during a takedown.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you.”

“Absolutely not.”

(Y/n) sighed, grabbing her coffee and slumping back in her seat. “You’re lucky I find your chaos charming.”

Spencer, without looking up, murmured, “You’re lucky I find you charming.”

And just like that, she paused.

It wasn’t even the words— it was the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t meant to land the way it did.

Her fingers stilled on the coffee cup. Just for a second. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing. “You trying to throw me off before we hit the ground? Because that’s a dirty tactic, Reid.”

He smiled, faint. “If I wanted to throw you off, I’d bring up that time you accidentally used your taser on the vending machine.”

“That was one time.”

“I still have the video.”

Derek threw up his hands. “Okay, I need noise-canceling headphones or a fire alarm. One or the other.”

“Let them have their foreplay,” Rossi grumbled from behind his paper. “Just as long as it doesn’t slow down the case.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.

And Spencer? He didn’t say anything else.

But his knee brushed against hers under the table.

And he didn’t move it.

——————————————————————————————————

The precinct was pure, barely-contained chaos. Phones ringing, printers jamming, someone yelling “I said decaf!” from the breakroom. (Y/n) stepped in behind the team, her eyes scanning the flurry with the kind of calm that only came from years of being thrown headfirst into crime scenes that smelled like old pizza and adrenaline.

Then— like he was summoned by the gods of caffeine and chaos— a voice cut through the noise.

“FBI? Oh thank god. Tell me you’re the FBI. If one more lieutenant hands me a case file on raccoon-related vandalism, I’m going to start speaking in riddles.”

The guy had two coffees in one hand, a folder under his arm, and the kind of face that said yes, I’m sleep-deprived, but I’ve made it part of my personality now.

“Detective Jake Peralta,” he added, stepping forward and immediately handing one of the coffees off to a passing officer. “You must be the reinforcements. Welcome to our deeply unfortunate circus.”

(Y/n) stepped forward with a polite smile. “Agent (Y/l/n), BAU.”

Jake looked at her and forgot what vowels were.

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Wow.” He blinked. “Hi. Sorry. That was… a very professional reaction to a federal agent. I’m super normal.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, amused. “Totally. You look extremely normal.”

Jake pointed at her like he was confirming her existence for himself. “And funny. She’s funny, too. Great. Just awesome.”

Spencer, two steps behind her, tilted his head the tiniest bit. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that Emily, walking next to him, noticed immediately.

“So,” Jake said, already spinning on his heel and motioning them toward the evidence board, “we’ve got three victims, matching M.O., a dump site triangle, and a ton of questions. I’d love to walk you through it. Bonus: I also know where the best snacks are hidden in this precinct. Critical intel.”

“Let me guess,” (Y/n) said, falling into step beside him, “you keep gummy bears in a murder folder?”

Jake gave her a wide-eyed, deeply serious nod. “Listen, I can’t solve murder with low blood sugar. That’s just biology. Forensics and fruit snacks— two pillars of modern justice.”

She actually laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “That’s what you’re going with? Fruit snacks and felony charges?”

“Look,” he said, glancing at her with a grin, “some people have badges, some have instincts— I have a snack drawer and a vibe.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “And a lot of confidence, apparently.”

“It’s the only thing holding me together.”

Spencer, still watching from behind, clenched his jaw and stared very intently at the murder board— as if sheer willpower would make Jake Peralta spontaneously combust.

Derek leaned over slightly. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. Way too quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Spencer, you coming?”

Spencer blinked. “Right behind you.”

Emily raised an eyebrow as he passed, giving him that look— the one that meant I know, and I’m about to say it out loud.

He walked faster.

Behind them, Emily whispered to JJ, “We have now entered full-blown Jealous Spencer territory.”

JJ winced sympathetically. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

——————————————————————————————————

The dump site was taped off, abandoned and eerie in the late afternoon light. A narrow alley backed by cracked concrete walls, discarded furniture, and silence— except for the occasional buzz of Spencer’s pen clicking in his pocket. Repeatedly.

Jake and (Y/n) were walking ahead of the rest of the group, ducking under the tape, their steps crunching through gravel.

“Okay,” Jake said, scanning the alley. “I know it’s not exactly a five-star view, but I promise this is the cleanest murder site we’ve had all week. That’s a weird sentence.”

(Y/n) laughed. “It’s fine. We spend half our lives in parking lots and basements. Honestly, this is kind of charming.”

Jake pointed at a tipped-over dumpster. “Ah, yes. Classic small-town ambiance.”

She crouched near a drainpipe, tilting her head. “He’s dumping at night. No cameras. But the dumpster’s too obvious— too accessible. He’s not just hiding the bodies, he’s watching them.”

Jake blinked. “Okay. That’s… both creepy and very insightful. You do this a lot?”

She looked up at him, playful. “Solve murders? Yeah. Flirt at them? Not usually.”

He smirked, a little lopsided. “Hey, I haven’t even started flirting yet. That was just me being charming.”

“Oh, just charming?” she teased.

Jake leaned against the wall, watching her. “Let me know when you’re ready for the full Peralta experience. It includes sarcasm, emotional baggage, and an impressive knowledge of Die Hard trivia.”

(Y/n) stood, brushing off her knees. “That’s a lot to take in on a first crime scene.”

He grinned. “So you’re saying there’ll be a second?”

A beat. Just a pause. She didn’t answer right away.

Spencer, across the lot with Derek and Emily, had stopped mid-sentence, his entire expression shifted from mildly focused to openly horrified.

“She’s laughing,” he said flatly.

Emily glanced up from her notes. “Yeah, that tends to happen when people are enjoying themselves.”

“With him.”

“Oh no,” Derek muttered. “We’ve lost him.”

The rest of the team returned to the SUV, but Emily stayed behind, as if she knew this wasn't done yet.

“She’s laughing at his jokes,” Spencer repeated, eyes still locked on the two figures across the alley.

“She laughs at yours,” Emily said.

“That’s different. She knows mine are objectively not funny.”

“Okay, you know what?” Emily snapped her folder shut. “We’re doing this now. Let’s go, Genius.”

Spencer blinked as she grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward the SUV.

“What? No— I’m working.”

“You’re spiraling,” she corrected. “And doing it in a crime scene, which is new.”

Behind them, (Y/n) was still talking to Jake, standing closer now, arms crossed and leaning in like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Spencer’s voice dropped. “Emily, I’m fine.”

“You’re jealous,” she said, eyes sharp. “And for a guy who can read microexpressions from thirty feet away, you are shockingly bad at clocking your own.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he said, almost insulted.

She gave him a look.

“…Okay, I am jealous,” he admitted under his breath. “But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Emily leaned against the SUV, watching Spencer like she was trying to figure out whether she needed to slap sense into him or hug him. Maybe both. Probably both.

He was pacing. Not frantically, just… tightly. Hands in his pockets, jaw tense, doing that thing where his eyes tracked the ground like the answers were written there.

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said finally, like he was trying to convince the air. “She’s allowed to laugh at someone else’s jokes. I’m not— entitled to anything.”

Emily stayed quiet.

He glanced back at the alley where (Y/n) was standing with Jake. She was leaning on one foot, comfortable. She looked happy. And it gutted him.

“It’s just— he’s charming,” Spencer muttered. “And funny. And he’s got that whole casual swagger thing going on. I mean, who even has swagger in 2025? Apparently, Jake does. And she’s… she’s smiling.”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Emily said, her voice soft, even.

Spencer didn’t answer. His hands were twitching in his pockets now.

“I’ve had… crushes,” he said finally, like it was painful to admit even that much. “A few. Not a lot. But some. And usually they’re easy to understand. You think someone’s cute. You like their voice. You want them to notice you.”

He shook his head.

“This isn’t that.”

Emily just watched him.

“I notice everything,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “Not because I’m profiling her. Not because I’m analyzing anything. I just… do. I know when she’s about to make a bad joke because she gets this look— like she’s proud of it already. I know she only pretends to like black coffee when we’re around local PD because she thinks it makes her look tougher.”

A pause. His voice dipped even lower.

“I know the sound of her laugh when it’s real. I know when she’s tired, even if she’s smiling. I know when she’s faking being okay. And I know when she’s actually okay. And I know that right now…” He looked up, eyes fixed on her across the lot, where she and Jake were still talking, still laughing.

“…She’s really okay. With him.”

Emily stepped closer, gentle. “Spence.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I think about her all the time,” he said, like he was just realizing it out loud. “Not in a way I… planned. Just— suddenly I’m at a bookstore and wondering if she’d like the cover of something. Or I hear a song and I can’t tell if I like it until I know if she would. It’s— constant.”

He laughed once, breathy and humorless. “And statistically, I know crushes fade. The brain adjusts. The novelty goes away. But this? This has been over a year. Maybe longer.”

Emily tilted her head. “And?”

Spencer blinked.

“…And I think I’m in love with her.”

A pause. Then—

“Oh,” he breathed. “Shit.”

Emily smiled, just barely. “Took you long enough.”

He ran both hands over his face. “I don’t— what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You tell her,” she said gently.

“What? No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Emily, she's quite possibly the closest friend I have. What if it ruins everything?”

Emily didn’t answer for a second. She just looked at him— really looked at him— and said, “Spencer. You're already miserable. At least ruin it with some dignity, damn it.”

He looked back at (Y/n). She was saying goodbye to Jake now, walking back toward the team, tucking her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was distracted. She looked like home.

Spencer exhaled. “Yeah. Okay. I’m completely screwed.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. You are. Oh, and for the record, I thought I was your closest friend, and honestly, I feel so attacked right now."

"You'll live."

"Hey!" retorted Emily, followed by a smack to his arm.

——————————————————————————————————

The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the precinct lot. The case was wrapped, files turned in, media dodged. (Y/n) was leaning against the SUV, arms crossed, sipping from her now-cold coffee like it was still doing something.

Jake jogged up to her, slowing as he approached. Not suave. Just… trying.

“Hey,” he said, offering a lopsided smile. “So, weird question for the end of a triple homicide, but— any chance I could take you to dinner sometime?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled, a little surprised. “Jake, you’re— great. I had fun working with you.”

Jake’s grin faltered just enough to be human. “But…?”

“But—”

“Wait!”

Both of them turned.

Spencer was standing about ten feet away, looking like he had sprinted here but didn’t want to show it. His hair was windswept, his shirt slightly crooked, and his expression somewhere between resolute and deeply alarmed.

(Y/n) blinked. “Spencer?”

Jake glanced between them. “Should I…? I can come back.”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping forward. “You’re fine. I mean— not fine, you’re not staying. I mean, yes, you’re staying right now, I just—”

He looked at (Y/n), all the air gone from his lungs.

“I need to say something.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, cautious now. “Okay…”

Spencer glanced at Jake. Then at her. Then back at Jake.

“This is going to be weird with him here,” he muttered.

“I can pretend to be a lamp,” Jake offered, backing up slightly. “I’m excellent at furniture-based camouflage.”

“Jake,” (Y/n) said, half-laughing, “you don’t have to—”

“I really think I do,” he said, hands raised. “There’s a lot of emotion in the air and I don’t want to get hit by it.”

Spencer ignored him. His eyes stayed on her.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said softly. “I told myself it wasn’t the right time. That we had too much to lose. That maybe I was just… projecting.”

He swallowed. “But then I watched someone else get to make you laugh. I watched you lean in, and talk like he already belonged in your world. And I realized— I’ve been pretending that I didn’t already live there.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

Spencer took another step closer. “I know the way you look when you’re solving a puzzle you don’t know you’ve solved yet. I know how you take your coffee differently when you’re pretending you’re fine. I know that you hum when you’re reading case files, and that you’ll always find a way to make the worst days seem funny, just to keep us all going.”

He paused, voice low. “I notice everything about you. Not because I’m profiling you. Just… because it’s you.”

Jake mouthed oh my god to himself, backing up another step.

(Y/n) stared at Spencer, wide-eyed. “You— you’ve never said any of this.”

“I didn’t know how,” Spencer admitted. “But I’m in love with you. And it took me way too long to say it. So if you’re going to say no— please do it fast, before I combust.”

Silence.

Then—

“Spencer,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “You’re an idiot.”

His face fell— until she reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.

It was fast. Then slow. Then somewhere in between. Like they’d been waiting for years but were still trying to catch up.

Jake, standing off to the side, made a quiet choking sound.

“I am so intruding,” he muttered. “You know what? I’m gonna go. I’m gonna walk into the woods and never come back. I’ll start a new life. Join a wolf pack. Change my name. Just... yeah.”

They didn’t hear him.

(Y/n) pulled back just slightly, forehead still resting against Spencer’s.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, breathless. “Deeply. Disastrously.”

She let out a laugh— half relief, half disbelief— as her forehead rested against his. “Oh, thank God. It was killing me thinking it might just be me.”

Jake was halfway to the sidewalk when Spencer called out— without looking—

“Thank you for not asking her out.”

Jake froze. “I did. You just… intercepted mid-sentence.”

Spencer blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

Jake clapped once. “Well, that was the best romcom finale I’ve ever witnessed. I’m gonna go cry in my car.”

He turned again, walking toward his car like a man who had just lost a bet to fate.

God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this from Rosa.

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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MY MEN MY MEN MY MEN BOAF BOAF BOAF TWO BAD BITCHES

#derek morgan #spencer reid #my men #derek in red purrrrr #BOAF

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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promise im working on stuff just very busy with exam stress and all that lovely stuff, pls don’t hate me divas (i am working on the requests i have too, i see u i promise)

#ruby talks!!#help me #i hate gcses

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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derek in suits is an era i miss so much recently watched an episode in season 9 where he was wearing one and i was GEEKING

#derek morgan #yummy #needthat #wantthat #suits suits more suits

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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derek morgan is one of my favourite characters because there is so much depth to that man and the way the cm writers wrote him was actually good (shock horror they did their jobs for once) he’s just as human, if not more than, the rest of the team yet he’s stereotyped as a player and a lady’s man and yes he can be misogynistic at times and no there is no excusing that behaviour however that’s not his entire character and i’m sick of the stereotyping. (it’s fair for a fic or creative purposes or jokes because we all do it but on a whole it’s SO UNFAIR.)

i actually think so many of the criminal minds characters are stereotyped but that’s another story.

CM took a big athletic male model from the south side of Chicago and said "actually he calls his best friend sweetheart and everytime he goes home he mourns the death of a boy without a name bc he thinks someone should and he was molested as a child and now he empowers the kids in his community so it doesn't happen to them and he helps little old homeless ladies to be more comfortable and he claims to be a player but the only times we actually see him getting involved with women he falls head over heels. Oh and also he's a brilliant profiler."

CM looked at a big burly black guy with a hero complex and said "what if he cried in a church because god didn't stop the man who hurt him"

#derek morgan #cm #criminal minds #stop stereotyping characters that have depth to them #a person can be more than one thing guys!#ruby rants ⋆₊˚

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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fantastic gimme 14 of em right now 💳💳💥💥

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a short story of how you became the intrigued observer of madness. possession. fixation. obsession—and every other synonym you can think of. a witness to how the taste of your lips marked spencer like a curse he can’t break…unless you let him do it again. the only question is: will you?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, diva's pov gunshot so a little sneak peek into her inner thoughts <3 spencer being obsessed with her lips after they kissed, reader wearing a lipstick, sassy spence supremacy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.7k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request.

No one would be surprised to hear you enjoyed teasing Spencer Reid.

Enjoyed? That’s an understatement – you loved it, just as much as things like a hot bath with fragrant bubbles that reached all the way up to your nose, testing out a new microscope model, or discovering the perfect lip combo that made your lips absolutely irresistible.

But we’ll get back to those irresistible lips.

Anyway, you loved it just as much as those little everyday pleasures, the essentials to get through the day, like your morning coffee or a little sweet treat.

Well, you weren’t about to pretend this was something reserved solely for him. On the contrary, this kind of dynamic colored most of your interactions with men. Sensual inaccessibility, sharp wordplay, a clear assertion of your place and expectations. Honesty about your intentions. Yes, honesty. Because if you wanted to have some fun with someone, you weren’t about to pretend your goal was a shared future, settling down, and offering them all of yourself. Men were drawn to your beauty like naive flies to honey, but you didn’t care about them enough to hide your true nature and everything that lay beneath that perfect facade – if one got put off by a few unkind but truthful words, another would quickly take their place, one who could keep up with you better.

Yet, you couldn’t hide the fact that teasing him gave you just a bit more pleasure. Maybe because, unlike some, he was actually smart, and his remarks and comebacks were sharp, spot on, and challenging. The kind that sometimes required some real mental effort to come up with the right answer—what a perfect way to train your mind. You liked being around him also because he amused you.

Yes, he amused you. It was fascinating watching him try to maintain indifference to your attractiveness, pretending it didn’t catch his eye with every move you made, every step you took. You knew your physicality attracted him, though there was nothing special about that – you’d grown used to it. Desire was deceptive, you yourself wanted people you had nothing to do with, or ones you barely tolerated, but you were always aware of that, just as you were aware that it didn’t have to immediately mean that dreaded L-word. Yet he deluded himself into thinking you hadn’t noticed. He even took pride in how perfectly he hid it. He’d even tell you that you were pretty—in the same tone someone might use to point out that someone had eyes of a particular color or freckles on their cheeks, a simple impersonal statement of fact, in no way connected to a personal opinion. A personal opinion that could upset the balance of a relationship. Because if the other person knew you were attracted to them, it was as if they had power over you—nd it seemed he truly believed that.

He pretended to be indifferent to you, but the moment you managed to coax him into kissing you, he lost it all.

Actually, you hadn’t expected him to actually go through with it. You thought he’d stubbornly fight your unyielding gaze until the very last moment, not that he’d actually press his lips to yours. Without a hint of hesitation, you could boldly declare that he was good at it. His experience wasn’t vast, you could tell, but he made up for it with his enthusiasm and thirst, which fueled his confidence and led to an intensity that almost made your knees go weak—something you wouldn’t admit so readily. And paradoxically, the fact that he gave in, surrendered, made you think he walked away from that elevator incident with some dignity.

At least, that’s what you thought at first. Then something very, very strange started happening.

First, it was as if he had disappeared from your radar. You could hardly catch sight of him anywhere. Not that you were particularly trying—after all, he wasn’t the center of your world, and you had plenty of work and other concerns to keep you occupied, but still, hand on your heart, you could swear you bumped into each other more often before, even if just by chance. Since the elevator incident, whenever you did see him, someone was always with you, most often a member of his team. This allowed him to silently avoid you, without raising any suspicion —he could bury his nose in the case files he was working on, squint his pretty eyes in concentration, and no one dared distract the genius from his duties. Ugh. But whenever you did manage to strike up a conversation with him, all that intelligence seemed to evaporate from his face.

He swallowed hard. At least he didn’t stutter (though you kind of wished he would, just once…), and to be fair, his words and quips remained high quality—but only when he managed to avoid your gaze. The moment your eyes met, a dazed sort of fog would pass over his face for a second, and then, unmistakably, his eyes would drop straight to your lips.

It happened so many times that you turned it into your own little game. You’d catch his gaze—and then count to three. Right on cue, all his attention would zero in on your lips.

And while at first, like any little game, it amused you, it quickly started to get on your nerves. Because days kept passing, and Spencer still acted like he was under some strange spell. Even Penelope noticed, muttering under her breath that you two seriously need to kiss already to ease the tension. Blissfully unaware that you had! And maybe it had worked—at least, you weren’t glaring at each other or snapping anymore. That tension had vanished, but it was instantly replaced by another.

You wanted to confront him about it, but that turned out to be harder than you’d expected. Catching him alone was nearly impossible. It wasn’t until one Wednesday that fate, apparently, decided to give you a break. During a rare lull, in an empty lab (which was shockingly unusual at that hour and only proved your theory that fate was absolutely meddling) just as you pulled a tiny mirror from your lab coat pocket to fix your lipstick, he appeared in the doorway—clutching a plastic evidence bag in his hands.

First, he swallowed.

“It needs to be checked for any genetic material," he informed you stiffly and matter-of-factly, standing a bit further away and extending the bag toward you.

You didn’t take it, not even nodding, too focused on fixing your makeup. You saw him roll his eyes, irritated by being ignored, which made you smile involuntarily. Welcome back, old Reid.

He placed the bag on the counter, turned his head as if he were about to leave, but his legs seemed to betray him, not moving. He stayed frozen, standing in front of you, as you set the lip liner aside and reached for your lipstick. However, you didn’t immediately start applying it.

"I realized," you started, twisting the lipstick in your hand, focused mainly on the task at hand. "…that we didn’t agree on which one of us was right."

He furrowed his brows, something you caught from the corner of your eye.

"Right about what?"

"The kiss, smartass. Did it work? Are we getting along better now? Did the team mention how much easier it would be to tolerate the two of us now?"

The silence stretched out, lingering between you. You didn’t rush him, still focused on applying the lipstick with delicate, precise strokes. You gently parted your lips, tilting your chin slightly upwards. The silence continued.

You finally tore your gaze from the small mirror in your hand, only to catch him staring at your lips.

In the most obvious way possible. The kind that made you sigh, which immediately broke him out of his trance. For pity's sake.

"Honestly, it doesn't even matter if it worked," you muttered. "We couldn’t stand each other before, now I can barely stand you. Seriously, Reid, what’s happening with you?"

You were dying to see how he would explain it.

"With me?" he repeated, looking confused, then tilted his head slightly, as though trying to collect himself. A mock cough followed, one of those pseudo-serious ones. "With me, nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You snorted.

“You’re getting liptrified every time you see me,” you said.

“I’m getting what?” he scoffed.

“Liptrified.”

“You made up that word, so don’t expect me to know what it means.”

“It means that you’re staring at my lips. Nonstop. Like you’ve never seen anything like it before in your life,” you explained, tilting your head slightly to the side. The next words danced on your tongue for a moment before you spoke them aloud. “Or like you’re just hoping for more.”

The confidence and lack of hesitation with which you spoke hit him like a slap to the face or a bucket of cold water dumped under his shirt. Suddenly, his posture straightened, his gaze sharpened, and he shook his head slightly, as if in disbelief.

"You really think you're the center of the universe, don’t you?"

You looked him in the eye, and surprisingly, he held your gaze, not once looking down at your lips. Ladies and gentlemen, new record.

"Aren't I?"

"You’re hilarious when you think you are."

"Blah, blah, blah. You’re mocking me, but you could’ve just said that kiss was heavenly can i have another one?'"

Reid crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a short laugh. A bit stiff, but quite attractive, if you were being honest. You wondered if that was how he masked his embarrassment from this confrontation.

"Would you give me another one?" he asked.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, unable to hide your surprise at his response. Before you could speak again, his hand shot out toward you. You followed its movement with your gaze, completely forgetting what you were going to say, but it landed… on the plastic bag, gently sliding it toward you.

"Please, check it as soon as you can," he requested.

Your gaze lingered on his hand as it traveled along his arm and up to his face, which now was much closer to yours than before. His eyes conveyed urgency, no extra glimmers or shine. But then, just for a brief, very brief moment, his eyes rested once more on your lips.

"The previous lipstick color suited you better," he remarked. His chest rose slightly, as if he was taking a deeper breath. "It tasted pretty good, too."

With a slight, almost dismissive nod, he turned toward the door, which you observed in silence.

This bitch—

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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lowk forgot i started a series so long ago who was this overly ambitious diva???? but also all of my ideas for it got DELETED bc of something so im essentially clueless so you’re all gonna have to bare with me on that one xoxo

#ruby rants ⋆₊˚#ruby talks!!#oopsie #all of my ideas and brainstorming with the girls was deleted!

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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GIGGLING SCREAMING KICKING MY FEET JUMPING FOR JOY FROLICKING IN A FIELD SCREAMING FROM THE SKYLINE

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which both of you take garcia's joke about kissing to ease the tension a bit too seriously

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader wearing a red lipstick, elevator taking an absurdly long timepurely for plot purposes (you'll thank me for this later, trust me) kissing purr

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.7k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

“Reid, seriously—”

“No, Morgan, listen, this actually makes a lot of sense...”

“This doesn’t fit our profile at all...”

“It changes it, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true. The unsub could be a woman. I mean, look, just consider how clean the crime scenes were, and the fact that such precise, planned murders are more often the domain of women, just like revenge as a motive—revenge even for events from a very distant past...”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Morgan cut him off, turning his back to the kitchen counter, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand, steam still rising from it. He gave his drink a meaningful glance. “Right now, this is my well-deserved time to clear my head. Without that, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back to working on this case—none have drained me this much in a long time...”

He shook his head lightly, taking a sip of coffee. Reid rolled his eyes upward in irritation, but ultimately sighed, defeated. Fine. Morgan could have this fifteen minutes for his, as he called it, clearing of thoughts. But after that, nothing would stop him from giving a thorough explanation of why, in his opinion, the unsub was a woman…

“Well, what he said was actually very, very interesting,” someone spoke up.

They both shifted their gaze to the woman who had just entered the shared kitchen. Though her words expressed intrigue, there was also a certain wicked undertone suggesting a forthcoming sharp remark. Spencer had perfected sensing that by now, so he sighed heavily, clearly irritated, even before she could say anything more.

Morgan elbowed him so hard that Spencer had to grab his ribs.

“Behave,” he muttered, reaching for the second cup on the counter, which he handed toward the woman. “Good morning, prima donna. Your coffee.”

He handed her the drink he’d prepared earlier, which she took without breaking her meaningful gaze with Spencer.

“See? That’s the kind of greeting I expect”

Spencer simply snorted at the thought of him saying something like that upon seeing her. He’d probably rather spend an hour in a room with no doors or windows, forced to discuss things with a group of flat-earthers.

“Sure. Maybe everyone should just fall at your feet right away?”

She shrugged.

“If that’s what turns you on, then why not.”

He rolled his eyes, and her smirk flashed in his face before she took a sip of the coffee made just for her. Involuntarily, he glanced toward the kitchen exit, wondering if this was the right moment to leave—things hadn’t been going too well between them lately. Okay, they’d never exactly had the best relationship, but every now and then they managed to have at least five minutes of relatively peaceful conversation. And that, he had to admit—even though it didn’t come easily to him—was actually quite enjoyable. The kind of conversation you want to continue, and when it’s prematurely interrupted, you take it with disappointment.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. After their last argument, a certain electrified wall had formed between them, making every word spoken feel like an electric shock. And well, after that, when one of her comments pricked him, he couldn’t just let it slide and let her bask in that quiet triumph. He had to strike back.

Something, however, held him back from just walking out, and it was the words that had accompanied her as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

“What did you mean by very, very interesting?” he asked.

While Morgan stood fully relaxed, leaning against the corner of the counter, Spencer kept a more rigid posture, one hand flat on the surface. She, in turn, stood right in front of them, with one hip slightly pushed out and her arms loosely crossed over her chest. She pouted her lower lip slightly, as if thinking about what he was referring to with his question.

Spencer briefly dropped his gaze to her lips, but only because of the intense red color covering them. He focused on the edges of her mouth, setting an internal goal to find a spot where the lipstick had strayed beyond the surface, but before he could do so, she spoke again, causing his attention to shift to the rest of her face.

“Your earlier words. Planned murders are more often the domain of women, just like revenge as a motive—revenge even for events from a very distant past…” she recited with a precision that surprised him, because it meant she must have entered the kitchen before either he or Derek realized it, silently—or maybe she simply had an exceptionally good ear. After a moment of thought, both versions seemed equally likely. Meanwhile, she added, “I’m not saying you’re wrong. But I also think you’re underestimating how nasty men can be too. They can’t accept certain things. Not even from a very distant past.”

It wasn’t a bitter comment, but rather a bit mocking. And sometimes the mockery in her words could be so sharp that it forced him to retaliate, even if it wasn’t aimed directly at him.

“Sounds like you're speaking from some particularly sad experience.”

“Sort of. But not sad, more like funny.”

“You’re funny when you talk about things you know nothing about.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot that now you need a doctorat to take part in a regular kitchen coffee break discussion” she scoffed sarcastically.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer noticed how Morgan tilted her head back with a heavy sigh. This was how his break to clear his mind was going—right in the middle of their verbal sparring.

However, that day, Spencer decided to abandon the role of a good friend and stubbornly pressed on.

“You’re right, you don’t need a doctorate for that,” he admitted with a nod. The woman raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the second part of the sentence. “But considering your lack of experience in profiling, maybe you should think twice about whether it’s worth commenting.”

The corner of her mouth twitched oddly. She calmly took a sip of her coffee, leaving a faint red lipstick mark on the white cup, and looked at him again. That was when he saw it, something he’d been looking for. A slight, almost invisible smudge beyond the edges of her lips, noticeable only because she stepped closer to him to place the empty cup on the counter.

“Maybe, considering your lack of experience with women, you should also think twice about whether it’s worth commenting,” she said, her voice almost angelic.

This was the wall that was talked about earlier. And at that moment, its tension increased significantly, peaking when Spencer opened his mouth again, searching his mind for the nastiest comment he could come up with, now that he’d been warned.

“Come on, man, she’s just egging you on,” Morgan said, completely disengaged from the conversation up until that point.

She caught his glance.

“Maybe,” she replied flatly.

“First of all,” Spencer started, rolling his shoulders back, which unintentionally made him stand straighter, bringing them closer together. “I wasn’t talking about women, I was talking about an unsub who’s presumably a woman. And you should know, I have a lot of experience in this field, as evidenced by…”

“Oh my goodness,” someone interrupted loudly.

All three of them turned their heads toward the woman with a huge flower pinned in her blonde curls.

“What’s up with you two, huh? The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife,” Garcia muttered, glancing between Spencer and his conversation partner.

“Babygirl,” Morgan sighed with visible relief at her presence, as if her arrival was a saving grace. Well, apparently it was. She was saving him from remaining a passive participant in this heated discussion. “You should’ve said you were coming, I would’ve made you coffee…”

“Oh, I’m cutting back on caffeine. But that’s sweet of you,” she replied.

“For you, always.”

Penelope didn’t pay much attention to his words, still focusing her gaze on the two of them to the point where Spencer started to feel uncomfortable. A small smile appeared on her, funny, also red lips.

She slid a finger between them, giving her head a slight shake.

“You know, something just crossed my mind,” she said mysteriously. “Lately, it’s scary to get close to you two, the tension is that thick. You know what might help ease it?”

“A knife fight in medieval style,” the woman suggested without blinking an eye.

“If we’re talking about the Middle Ages, it would be more likely to be swords or spears,” Spencer automatically corrected her.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged.

“Not that I’m endorsing it, personally my suggestion would be to change jobs…”

“Kiss.”

They looked at Penelope as if she had just revealed that she arrived at work today on a unicorn.

Even Morgan was staring at her.

"It really works, I'm telling you," she added with a convincing nod. "You know, the line between hatred and sexual tension is often thin. So if you want to ease the former, you should approach it in a different way. One kiss won't hurt you, and you'll immediately feel the difference. And most importantly, we’ll feel the difference. It'll finally be bearable to be around you."

Before either of them could say anything or react, applause rang out.

"That's genius," Morgan said with admiration, to which Penelope flashed him a grateful smile. "Beautiful, funny, and smart. Tell me, how do you do it?"

"Years of practice, my dear," she replied with a wink.

Spencer cut in between them with a loud sigh.

"There’s no psychological or scientific proof that something like that would work," he pointed out.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Mr. Smartypants," she muttered under her breath, letting out a small snort. Her gaze fell on the clock hanging in the kitchen. "I have to go. This wasn’t exactly a pleasant coffee break. I mean, the coffee was excellent," she turned to Morgan, who was still clearly amused, before heading out.

Morgan gave her a polite bow. Before her figure had fully disappeared, Penelope snapped her fingers in Spencer's direction.

"Right, I forgot to tell you, JJ was looking for you to…"

And just like that, the two of them found themselves standing in front of the elevator doors, silently waiting for it to reach their floor. She was heading back to her lab, and he to wherever Jareau happened to be at the moment. Spencer’s gaze dropped uncertainly to her profile before he could stop himself.

Of course, she caught it and gave him a small nod.

“What’s up? Planning to yell at me for daring to question your expertise in profiling an unsub who’s presumably a woman?” she asked.

Spencer hated—truly hated—how often she managed to mock him using his own words. She didn’t even have to put in the effort of coming up with anything original.

He didn’t respond, so she added:

“Or maybe you’re actually considering that medieval knife duel idea?”

The absurdity of the conversation pulled a short huff of laughter from him.

“Well, you’re getting warmer,” he admitted.

“Warmer? Oh, so you have been thinking about what Penelope said.”

“What? No!”

At last, the elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside in one smooth motion, turning to face Spencer as she did. The bright light inside made the small space feel even tighter, forcing them into a proximity that gave him full view of every detail on her face.

Yes, including that tiny spot just beneath her lower lip where her lipstick had gone ever so slightly outside the lines. Probably the lighting was what made it stand out so much. So much that he found himself wanting to point it out.

Or, hell—just wipe it off himself.

Some kind of perfectionist urge had just hijacked his brain.

He stood turned slightly to the side, avoiding her gaze, and after a prolonged moment of silence—during which he felt the pressure to say something—he drew in a deeper breath.

"Or you know what, actually, I was thinking about it," he admitted. He admitted it truthfully, though not in the way she seemed to expect, judging by the sudden lift of her eyebrows.

"I was thinking about how completely ridiculous it is. How there's no way something like that could actually work."

She shrugged lightly.

"Well, I think she had a point."

He looked at her in disbelief, which made her roll her eyes and expand on what she meant.

"Tension is tension, whether it’s from hate or attraction. So if you think about it, a kiss could technically solve the problem."

Her voice was indifferent, even bored—like the idea of kissing him didn’t stir anything in her, not even mild discomfort. Spencer noticed that. And for some reason, it left him with a weird kind of feeling.

He shook his head, brushing it off—and making it clear he disagreed.

"Whether it's from hate or attraction?" he repeated, internally just a little satisfied that, for once, he could throw her own words back at her—something she usually had the upper hand in. "That’s absurd. Bullshit, actually. I hate every serial killer and worse person I come across at work. Would a kiss change that, too?"

She muttered something unintelligible under her breath. For a second, Reid thought he’d actually cornered her—brought her to that rare, mythical moment where she might admit she was wrong. That she’d made a mistake.

But instead, she tilted her head slightly, locking him in that sharp, unrelenting gaze of her—the kind he always found annoyingly hard to break away from.

“I think you’re missing one crucial difference,” she said, quieter now, almost in a purr. “I’m way more attractive than any of the serial killers you deal with on a daily basis.”

Spencer sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. The structure of her sentence left him with no option but to agree with her. In fact, she wasn’t just more attractive than the serial killers he encountered on a daily basis. If he looked at it objectively, without any bias, she was one of the most attractive people he knew.

Which led him to an odd thought—was it even possible to measure attractiveness objectively, without any subjectivity involved?

It was a strange thought. And he had to say something to drown it out.

"Still, I think it wouldn’t change anything," he said, trying to sound convincing, as though he was absolutely sure of himself. Because after all, he was sure, right?

"Well, I think differently," she replied briefly. "One of us is wrong, and we can argue which, but there’s only one way to find out."

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised high.

"You're kidding me."

"No. If I'm right, then I’m right, and everyone around us will benefit. If you're right and nothing changes, then it won’t change anything. But maybe at least you’ll stop staring at my lips."

Spencer felt a wave of embarrassment flood over him, so surprising that he didn’t know what to say. He also didn’t know what to say because, well, he had been staring at her lips.

"Seriously, you thought I didn’t notice?"

"That...that's because you have...you have lipstick...I mean," he pointed at the corner of his own lips, trying to explain non-verbally what he meant, what he really meant by staring at her so blatantly.

Her slight smile, but surprisingly without mockery. Which didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed.

"If it bothers you that much, wipe it off," she said again in that damn irritating, indifferent tone.

He sighed heavily. He wondered if there was anything he could do to get rid of the nonchalance in her presence for at least once. Her words were so laced with a challenge. A certain certainty that he wouldn't do it. Certainty that they'd keep staring at each other in silence until the elevator stopped, and then she would slowly, almost lazily, turn her head and leave, imposing, from that moment on, a certain superiority, a certain triumph, a certain dominance over their future interactions.

He winced at the very thought of it.

A barely audible, delicate chuckle escaped her lips. A minimal tilt of her head, as if she was about to turn away. Was he really that slow, or was he perceiving this in such a strange, dazed way?

He sighed again, this time also closing his eyes.

And when he opened them, it was only for a brief moment, just to catch that confident look of hers one more time. Then he lowered himself slightly, just enough to gently connect their lips. And it wasn’t as light as it could have been. Well, it was a bit deeper than an innocent brush, but as soon as she increased her pressure, Spencer immediately pulled away, feeling an overwhelming urge to smack his head against something.

Well, he thought, he’d hoped it would give him some dignity in this situation, but that wasn’t the case.

For a moment, he avoided her gaze, but he knew sooner or later he'd have to face it. Honestly, he'd probably rather be in the middle of a knife fight.

Her face expressed...absolute disbelief?

"What the fuck was that supposed to be?" she asked loudly, throwing her hands up.

Spencer nearly took a step back, completely not expecting such a reaction. The shock made him forget his embarrassment for a moment.

"What’s your problem?" he asked, defensively.

She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head slightly. Still the same look of disbelief.

"Was that supposed to ease the tension?" she scoffed. "That? Who are you, a shy fourteen-year-old kissing a girl for the first time? Wait, never mind, a shy fourteen-year-old would probably do it in a more passionate way—"

The mockery in her voice was almost unbearable for Spencer, who was already feeling humiliated. So, he decided to silence her in the only way that came to his mind in the moment. He did so by suddenly crashing his lips into hers, eliciting a brief, surprised sound from her. However, it was immediately cut off, or rather, more accurately, drowned out.

In his mind, there weren't many logical thoughts, except for one very specific one. Despite his closed eyes, he vividly remembered where her lipstick had slightly smeared outside the edge of her lips, so he focused his attention entirely on that spot, on her lower lip.

Until now, he had been under the impression that lipstick had no taste. However, the one she wore had a sweet flavor, vaguely reminiscent of vanilla. But he quickly lost interest in the vanilla taste on his lips when something entirely different grabbed his full attention—her tongue, confidently reaching out for his.

Only when he was forced to take a breath through his nose, and the oxygen finally reached his muddled brain, did he realize that his hands were no longer stiffly by his sides, as they had been during the first...well, it's hard to call it that, but the first kiss. He hadn’t noticed when her cheek came under the pressure of his fingers, and for a moment, his mind even wondered if it had been too much—he wasn’t controlling anything that was happening to him.

But that worry evaporated almost immediately upon its arrival, specifically at the moment he felt something tugging at his neck, not in a particularly gentle manner.

Her hand firmly pulled him closer, completely ruining the rhythm of the kiss they had been managing to maintain so far. From that moment on, everything fell apart, caught in the clutches of ugly chaos, but neither of them was concerned with something as trivial and insignificant as aesthetics.

In all of this, even his own breath had taken its place among the trivial and insignificant things, though the consequences of that affected him a little more.

More specifically, in such a way that when her lips pulled away from his, the first gasp of air was accompanied by a embarrassingly eager sound. Still with her hand on his neck, she didn’t seem concerned by it. Her head tilted to the side, towards the open elevator doors. Spencer didn't even glance to see if anyone might be standing there, staring at them in disgust.

He didn't recognize himself, but somehow it didn't matter at all—instead, his eyes kept locked on her lips, right in front of his face, so close that he felt a hungry tingling on his own, urging him to lean in again.

But instead, she pulled back, giving a slight nod towards the open doors.

"This is my floor," she announced.

Where did all that damn nonchalance come from, when just moments ago she had been gripping his neck so tightly that if her hands had been just a little lower, she could have accidentally strangled him?

So much damn nonchalance, when her hair was sticking out messily on one side, where his fingers had dug into it?

So much damn nonchalance, when she said:

“Well, I guess we’ll soon find out who was right.”

Her words echoed in his mind long after she left the elevator, leaving him alone in that strange silence and with that odd feeling of dizziness that almost made him stumble when he took his first step down the hallway on his floor.

But then he forced himself to blink sharply, shaking it all off.

He had to remind himself who he was—a grown man with an IQ of 187.

He approached JJ when he was completely sure there was no trace of it left on him. His usual walk, his indifferent face. No shifting field of vision, no rise or fall.

“Were you looking for me?” he asked.

His friend looked at him strangely. He didn’t know what she meant. She knew him well, but was it to the extent that she could read what had just happened from a traitorous flicker in his eyes?

JJ covered her mouth with her hand, awkwardly stifling a laugh.

"Spence, I don’t know if you realize this, but you're all covered in red lipstick."

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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enemies to not enemies YAAAAAA

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.

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

318 notes · View notes

angellic4l · 3 months ago

Text

really wanna argue with diva!reader and have that hot tension in the room like 🫦🫦🫦

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're going through a tough time after being forced to kill someone for the first time, and spencer decides to talk to you about it. the problem is, he approaches it in the most wrong way possible—driving you to fury.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, argument (omg you have no idea how much i love writing fight scenes), mention that the reader shot an unsub during the case, reader copes by working a lot

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

Spencer reached for his coat, but before he could throw it over his shoulders and head for the exit, someone’s hand tapped him playfully on the arm.

“Hey, man,” Morgan greeted him.

Well, greeted might not have been the most accurate term. After all, they’d spent almost the entire day together, working on a case that fortunately ended successfully, and now, on this early Friday evening, they were both heading for the door in pretty good spirits. So, it would’ve been more fitting to say he stopped him. He stopped him with a slight grin on his face and his hands casually placed in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He stopped him because, most likely, he had something to ask— a question, or a suggestion, a request, or an offer, maybe even all of the above in one.

To clarify, it wasn’t like Morgan only started a conversation when he wanted something. Of course not, they were friends after all. It was just that his posture in that particular moment suggested he was about to speak to him with some specific intent.

Spencer shook his head. After spending the entire day deeply focused on analyzing every tiny detail of the case and interrogating people, his mind was working on such efficient gears that he couldn’t shake himself out of that state.

“Hi,” he replied simply, tossing his purple scarf around his neck.

"Any plans for the evening? Got anything interesting planned?"

"Actually, yes," Spencer replied, unable to hide the hint of excitement that crept into his voice. Derek raised his eyebrows, showing interest as he waited for what Spencer was about to say. He adjusted his scarf, tucking the loose end under his coat. "I’m planning to watch an online conference I missed on the use of iPS cells in treating neurodegenerative diseases."

His friend simply nodded, accepting the answer. Some might have thought it was a joke, but Derek had long since gotten used to it.

"Being friends with you, Reid, I constantly have to remind myself that we all have different definitions of the word interesting," he muttered, without malice or sarcasm in his voice. Slowly, they both headed toward the elevator, waiting for it to stop at their floor. "Have fun, then. But if you happen to be in the mood for something else, join us. Just a regular night out at the bar, nothing fancy, but at least with good company."

Normally, he wouldn’t have given the offer a second thought. I mean, he might have considered it for a fraction of a second, then immediately rejected it, simply because he’d prefer to spend the evening doing something else. However, for some reason, Morgan’s words stayed with him for much longer than just a fraction of a second.

“In good company,” he repeated, before he could bite his tongue. The elevator doors opened in front of them, and they both stepped inside. “You mean our team?”

“Yeah. As I said, nothing fancy.”

“I know, it’s just... no one else? Like Will, Kevin, other friends...?”

Morgan’s eyes widened, just like his mouth, which curved into an amused grin. He pointed a finger at him.

“I know what you're getting at.”

Spencer exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just asked.”

“Sure. Oh, come on, Reid. Be a big boy and just ask directly.”

“I don’t have anything to ask directly, and, furthermore, I have no idea what you’re even talking about—”

“Dear Derek,” Morgan started, putting in embarrassingly little effort to mimic Spencer’s voice, which made him sound more like Penelope after inhaling a helium balloon. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if your dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend will be joining you guys as well? Because if so, I might change my mind.”

His mouth opened when something came out of it that he would never have said, and it wasn’t even his original intention! He just wanted to start a conversation and learn more about his friends' plans, that’s all. Whether Morgan’s dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend was going to be there or not didn’t interest him at all. And it definitely wouldn’t change his mind.

After the initial shock, which only caused Derek even more amusement, he let out an exaggerated snort. His friend always liked to make up things and suggest that he was head over heels for every attractive woman who crossed his path, just to embarrass him. Spencer seriously hated it and had no idea how to correct him, didn’t even think it was possible.

So, he just rolled his eyes, as if deeply exhausted by how irritating his conversation partner was.

“If you think I’d skip the conference for her, you’re deeply mistaken,” he stated briefly, in a defensive tone.

Morgan stared at him silently for a moment, piercingly. For all the mysteries of the universe, why was this elevator moving so slowly...

“Well, let’s say I believe you,” he began slowly. “But in any case, that’s not a choice for you tonight. Because she won’t be there. She was still in the lab when I went to invite her, and there was no sign she was planning to leave early. Again.”

The last word again was said with a slight sigh. Spencer felt his shoulders stiffen slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked at Derek in confusion.

“Still in the lab at this hour? She?”

The impression he always had of her was that she maintained almost perfect balance at work between her duties, rest, and fun. She did her job excellently but never arrived early or stayed later than required. Well, the only exception was when they were working on something truly urgent, but Spencer didn’t know anything about a situation like that.

“I mean, she didn’t want to go out with us recently either,” Morgan explained. “Which is worrying when it comes to her. You know, Reid, maybe you could talk to her.”

He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone named Reid were standing behind him. There wasn’t. But the request seemed almost ridiculous to Spencer.

“Why me?” he asked “I’d like to remind you that she’s your friend. And you’re the one who’s worried about her.”

“And you’re not?”

“I—” Spencer stopped, because the whole conversation and its course didn’t make much sense in his head.

Before he could respond or find a way to dodge answering a question he honestly couldn’t answer, Morgan beat him to it.

“I just thought you might reach her somehow, because I couldn’t. And if not, maybe at least you’ll annoy her enough that she’ll leave the lab on her own, not wanting to spend another second there with you. As they say, no way is the right way, but the result…”

The elevator finally stopped. Morgan was the first to step out, giving Spencer a nod as a farewell.

“I don’t think anyone says that,” Spencer mumbled, still not moving from his spot.

“Have a good evening, Reid.”

He didn’t know what drove him, but the thought of the conference he’d been so eager to watch seemed to have vanished. Or maybe it was still there, but not strong enough to stop him from pressing the elevator button with the intention of heading to the lab, not knowing yet what he was even doing.

She was there when he stopped right in the doorway, but bent over a microscope and some scattered papers, she didn’t even notice his arrival.

That, however, gave him the chance to look at her.

Well, when Spencer decided to come here, he expected her to look…noticeably worse.

Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Morgan, he had a pretty good idea of what might’ve caused her sudden withdrawal from social life, along with the way she’d started taking on more and more work. Those were fairly common ways in which trauma quietly echoed through someone’s life.

Though, if he asked her, she probably wouldn’t even call it trauma. She likely felt she had no right to feel bad about killing a man who had planned to do something far, far worse. She knew she had done the right thing— which was exactly why her own emotional response, the guilt that didn’t quite make sense, probably created a whirlwind of confusion in her mind.

At least, that was the assumption he’d built in his head back in the elevator—before he saw her. Once he did, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because, as he had just observed, she looked… exactly the same.

Spencer didn’t know what he had expected—maybe dark circles under her eyes, a tired face, messier hair, clothes that didn’t quite match. Something that would clash with who she usually was, some outward sign that something inside her wasn’t right.

But he found nothing like that.

“Admiring the view?” she asked, without even lifting her head or pausing what she was doing.

Because of the strange tone in her voice, he wasn’t sure for a second what she’d actually said. It was stripped of its usual bite, its usual rhythm. Not weak, not quiet—just…drained of something.

“You’re still here?” he stepped closer to her workstation, positioning himself across from her, though still keeping a fair amount of distance—one that only shrank when she leaned forward over whatever she was working on.

She didn’t rush to respond, but it wasn’t like she was deliberately delaying either.

“As you can see,” she replied.

He often claimed to absolutely hate the fact that she always had to have a sharp—really sharp—comeback ready for everything he said, but in that moment, he would’ve loved to hear one from her.

“You’re being nice, and it’s… concerning.”

“I’m being nice?”

“For you, yeah. I expected something more like, Well, if you still have to ask even though I’m sitting right in front of you, maybe invest in some glasses, because clearly your eyesight isn’t doing great. And then you’d add something like…”

“Wow,” she scoffed. “You really think highly of me.”

“That was pretty passive-aggressive.”

“Which, as we all know, is usually your territory, so don’t be a hypocrite and call me out on it. Do you want something? Need something?” She straightened up in her seat, resting her elbows on the desk and finally fixing her gaze on him—barely blinking. “Because I really don’t have time right now to argue with you over basically nothing. So if it’s nothing important, just do me a favor and leave.”

For a moment, they locked eyes in silence—she was clearly waiting for a response or a move, like him walking out. But when he didn’t budge, she only let out an irritated sigh and returned to her work, apparently deciding to just ignore his presence.

Reid cleared his throat, clearly not intending to grant her that wish.

“That’s a lot,” he noted, glancing at what she was working on. “And you’re planning to do it all by yourself? I mean, you have your team too. Why aren’t they…”

“Because I sent them home,” she cut in. “And besides—my team, not your business.”

“You sent them home,” he repeated, keeping his voice even, not letting it sound even slightly annoyed. And that calmness, in turn, seemed to irritate her. But that was the truth. He wasn’t annoyed with her—not since he started to suspect what might be behind her behavior. In fact, it felt like the angrier she got with him, the more honest she was willing to be. And he really hoped he was right about that. He really didn’t want to end up with something acidic thrown in his face.

He pushed the image out of his mind and kept going, following his theory.

“...right when there’s this much work. What’s the logic in that?”

She rolled her eyes, like it should’ve been obvious.

“The logic is that sometimes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Or maybe the logic is that taking all this work on yourself is the perfect excuse to isolate without having to explain it to anyone.”

He felt the weight of his words hit like a quiet bomb—its blast radius making her go completely still for a moment. Her whole body froze. Just for a second—a very short one.

Spencer had to pull in a breath before he could keep going.

“Because no one really questions it when you just say you don’t have time. Or maybe it’s an excuse for yourself, too—because the more work you pile on, the less time, and eventually the less energy, you have left to think about…”

“Stop.” She cut him off sharply, pulling her hand off the desk.

He still caught the way it clenched into a fist.

“Oh, so I’m wrong?” he asked, not really waiting for her answer.

Still, he eased up a little, softened his tone—figuring he’d already pushed her far enough.

“Listen, I get what this is about. Morgan told me today you’ve been acting a little off—or, well, not like you. Not going out with the others…”

“Wow, God forbid a woman wants to spend her time doing something other than parties and nights out…”

“We both know this isn't about what you suddenly decided you wanted to do,” he sighed, unable to suppress the frustration that caused another crack in his calm exterior. This time, though, he didn’t give himself a moment to breathe before continuing. “It’s about what happened, the unsub you shot, and that you weren’t ready for how much it would affect you…”

“What are you trying to achieve here, Reid?” she asked, suddenly rising from her seat. Her arms crossed over her body, not in a casual posture, but almost in a defensive, distancing gesture. The question wasn’t laced with a scoff, only a subtle irritation, which, however, still made it sound like the calmest thing she’d said to him all day. “You came here to what? To push me until, for some of your sick satisfaction I admit yes, fuck yes, it was hard for me, shooting someone in the head? Fine, I said it! So, now what?” She spread both arms wide, a questioning gesture.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, even began shaking his head, wanting to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to pressure her. But then, he realized—well, he was. But not to make her feel bad, or, as she’d said, for some sick satisfaction. He just needed her to admit it to herself. And it seemed like that’s exactly what happened, because suddenly, she fell silent too, her gaze dropping. He noticed the irregular rhythm of her breath rising and falling.

“Do you really...do you really think I’m doing this for my sick satisfaction?” he asked incredulously, watching closely as she shrugged at his question. “Did it ever occur to you that I might, I don’t know, want to help you?”

“Oh, look, here comes the savior,” she scoffed, suddenly bursting into sarcastic laughter, gently shaking her head from side to side. “Well, you’ve really nailed it, haven’t you? So empathetic and understanding…”

“If I were trying to be empathetic and understanding, you wouldn’t even look at me, still buried in those papers, pretending like you don’t care what I’m talking about,” Reid pointed out, forcing himself to fully believe in the rightness of what he had done. Because when he saw her reaction, some doubts crossed his mind. Had he really approached this in the worst possible way? He exhaled, shaking off the thought. “Or you’d laugh at me, because that’s what you usually do. So stop pretending like I’ve hurt you so badly, because we both know that’s not true.”

She must have realized the truth in his words, as she only pressed her lips tighter instead of immediately firing back with a response. Spencer only then realized that the lab was completely silent. Before, he had felt like he was in the middle of a crowded office, where hundreds of voices were shouting over each other, and around them, there was a tense, almost buzzing atmosphere.

"Actually, yes. I think you're doing this for your sick satisfaction," she admitted after a prolonged moment of silence. Very quietly, and very sharply. As if it had been brewing inside her for a long time and was now finally spilling out with its sharpness.

Spencer couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, wanting to say that he already explained it, and there was no point in continuing this line of discussion. She, however, felt differently.

"Isn't that what your job is all about, huh, Mr. Profiler? You all get off on these psychological games. Bursting into someone's head when they don't want you there, trying to psychoanalyze them when they never asked for it," she began, listing off the points with a vacant stare locked onto him. Her expression remained the same—cold, unchanging. Only by the last few words did her voice slightly tremble, something she immediately swallowed down. "You can play those games with serial killers, fine, you might even be of use to all of us in doing so. But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you try anything like that with me."

After her last words settled, she held their gaze for a moment before breaking it with a certain dignity, beginning to gather all her papers into a tight stack, which she then grasped firmly. Spencer watched her movements, his words lingering, but he remained silent.

Why had he even come here? Was he fooling himself into thinking he could help her? Or had he known from the beginning that she didn’t need his help, but showed up anyway, driven by some kind of guilt because it was in his defense that she shot that man? Maybe, at first, there had been some concern. But now, he felt none of that.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he only then realized she was looking at him expectantly.

“It would be nice if you left,” she said, nodding toward the exit. “I need to lock up the lab.”

Spencer had always considered heightened politeness to be a form of ultimate anger. The kind that strikes directly at the shield it’s aimed at, double-edged and precise.

It was the kind of tone that only made him nod curtly and do exactly what she asked—leave.

post-reading author’s note: my personal headcanon, which you can accept or not, is that she left the lab and went to meet her friends 😆 so derek was right, and spencer did manage to annoy her enough that she left the lab on her own so kinda a win lol

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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this is NAWT casual

𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer finds you in a place that might be attacked and tries to save your life—only for you to end up saving his instead

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader is at a club, mention of consumed alcohol in the past (but not drinking in the fic) spencer gets (lightly) beaten up, reader kills (shoots) the unsub

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.8k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

There were many things Spencer Reid hated about clubs.

He had stepped into one just five minutes ago, and he had already checked off most of them. The purple and pink lights played a never-ending game of tag, intertwining, their intensity constantly shifting—one moment revealing the silhouettes around him in sharp clarity, the next melting them into a single, writhing, deafening mass. Completely cut off from their surroundings—bodies so absorbed in swaying to the pounding beat that they paid no mind to brushing against random strangers or accidentally shoving them aside.

He lost sight of Prentiss almost immediately. They had agreed to split up, sure but he would have preferred to at least know which direction she had gone. There were too many brunettes around to pick her out, and every time he tried to look around, he lost what little control he had over his path, colliding with someone's shoulder.

Eventually, he slowed his pace, nearly coming to a stop—one motionless pillar among the swaying crowd, set apart not just by his stillness but by the reason he was there in the first place.

Work felt like too trivial an excuse. Preventing a tragedy…maybe a bit too grandiose.

Another case, another unsub. This time, a more local one. Someone sneaking into clubs, specifically tampering with fog machines and replacing their contents with toxic gas. One moment, the crowd lost in dance. The next, gasping for breath and collapsing in convulsions on the floor, a pop song cruelly lingering above them as they took their last breath.

Well, not in every case—many had survived the attack. Thanks to their testimonies, they had built a profile of the unsub before they even identified him.

And once they had the profile, they were able to predict when and where he would strike next. Not exactly where. There were several clubs on his radar, forcing them to split into pairs. Time was against them, and they couldn’t afford the delay that bringing in a larger team would cause.

His gaze found the DJ booth. Deep down, he knew Prentiss was doing the exact same thing, wherever she was. Right next to it stod the fog machine—meant to enhance the sensory experience, he supposed, though he didn’t entirely understand the appeal.

In any case, they couldn’t just arrest the guy. Mostly because this guy wasn’t him. They had determined that the unsub had to sneak in to execute his plan, likely disguised as a maintenance worker—someone unremarkable, someone no one would question. Equipment needed servicing from time to time, after all.

That left them with one option. Observation. Waiting for the right moment. Literally waiting to catch the unsub in the act.

He knew he had to get even closer.

That wasn’t exactly easy, given that it was a Saturday night and the club was packed wall to wall. Spencer took a deep breath—air thick with heat of the bodies—and fixed his gaze straight ahead, hoping that focusing would at least minimize how often he bumped into people.

The tactic itself, in theory, sounded like something that had a chance of success. He couldn’t control the movements of the people around him, but he could control his own—could force his awkward body to maximize its barely existing coordination, slipping through the crowd with as much grace as he could manage.

In practice, however, he froze mid-step the moment his eyes locked onto a single, specific point just ahead of him.

At first, he thought he was imagining things. The play of lights was deceptive—he could have easily been mistaken.

The thing was, when it came to her mistaking her for someone else was nearly impossible. And Spencer had long suspected that it wasn’t just about physical attractiveness.

At that moment, she was surrounded by women—women who had dressed in whatever made them feel their most confident for a night out, women who, as a result, looked undeniably striking. And yet, none of them had caught his eye as quickly or as completely as she had.

Maybe it was simply because he knew her, and the human brain was wired to pick out familiar shapes. Or maybe it was that obscure thought that had once crept into his mind—that there was something almost siren-like about her. In the way her hips moved so fluidly, in how people instinctively seemed to make space for her, in the way every gaze that landed on her lingered just a second too long, caught in quiet admiration.

And that was the ironic part.

Despite all the glances she effortlessly drew—glances she had long since grown used to, had learned to take in stride—she still somehow managed to feel his.

Spencer, still frozen in place, registered the exact moment her eyebrows lifted—first in surprise, then in amusement. He also registered how, almost without hesitation, she started moving toward him.

She didn’t need to elbow her way through the crowd. She never did.

Watching her fluid, measured steps slowly closing the space between them, he finally grasped one crucial fact.

She was in the same club as him. At the same time as him.

But he wasn’t there for fun.

He was there to prevent a mass poisoning. And it wasn’t until she stood right in front of him, head tilted slightly, lips curved in that playful way of hers, that it hit him.

She had no idea what was potentially about to happen.

None of the other people there did.

"Spencer Reid," she said slowly, deliberately, as if tasting his name for the first time.

He heard her perfectly despite the pounding music, but apparently, she decided he hadn’t—because she took another step closer. A step that cut through most of the already minimal space between them.

He had to tilt his head down just to keep his gaze on her.

"In a club. Alone. The world must be ending, because I’m not nearly drunk enough to be imagining you."

He felt his body take in a breath without his permission. His gaze flicked above her, back to the DJ booth. The same DJ as before—he recognized him by the neon pink shirt. No one had taken his place. No one was near him. Yet.

Their eyes met again.

His throat simply refused to work. He had no idea what to say, and not because someone had just bumped into his back, pushing him even closer. He had to steady himself with a light grip on her shoulder to avoid crashing into her entirely.

He glanced at his own hand on her skin, bathed in the pink and violet glow of the club lights. It looked almost forein, as if it didn’t belong to him.

Spencer didn’t know what to say—not because she was there, but because she was there. In this place, in this moment, where so many things could go wrong.

Sure, they worked together. But she wasn’t here on a case. Tonight, she was just another unaware, innocent civilian—one of the many people it was his job to protect.

Protect, but not warn. A warning would cause chaos among everyone present, sending them rushing toward the exit, ruining their chance to catch the unsub just when they knew the location he planned to strike.

Her hand waved in front of his eyes, making sure he was still present. Spencer swallowed, forcing himself to say something—anything—while he figured out what he really should say.

"Do you often imagine me when you're drunk?" he asked.

The very first thing that came to his mind. Surprisingly, it didn’t turn out to be such a terrible choice.

The woman pursed her lips in a thin line, as if genuinely considering it.

“It’s happened a few times,” she admitted without a hint of embarrassment, in the most casual tone possible. She let out a quiet chuckle, as if recalling something. “Last time, I was flirting with some guy, also in a club. I was convinced it was you, but the longer we talked, the more something felt off. Some element. I just didn’t know if it was the flirting or the fact that you were in a club at all…”

He let her speak while his eyes once again scanned the surroundings. He reminded himself that they weren’t alone. The people around them—people just as unaware of the potential danger as she was.

Of course, he assumed they’d manage to prevent it. But he wouldn’t be himself if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind what if…

Then he’d be guilty of not telling her. Of not simply ordering her to leave immediately. She probably wouldn’t have listened—knowing her—but he would’ve found a way to make her.

He chalked it up to a natural instinct. They didn’t have to be particularly close for him to not want anything to happen to her. They didn’t even have to particularly like or tolerate each other.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about all the other oblivious people in the club. But it was definitely harder to distance himself from her—when it was her face he saw nearly every day.

"Are you here alone?" Spencer asked suddenly

He must have interrupted her—her lips remained slightly parted.

"With a few friends," she stated, pausing as she studied him analytically. "Why? Asking if you can join us?"

He sighed at her response. A few friends. If he told her, she’d probably want to warn them too—which wasn’t surprising or wrong—but there was a chance that those friends also had friends here. And in the blink of an eye, it could trigger mass panic. Chaos.

He shut his eyes for a moment, hesitating.

"Spencer, what is wrong with you?" Her voice reached his ears, and he felt her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

When he looked at her again, her expression had completely changed.

Full of realization.

"Wait, I think I know what you’re doing here."

He had hesitated long enough for her to figure it out on her own. But at least that forced him to make a decision faster.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned in toward her—something that, logically, made no sense. Their conversation was already happening within such a small space, close enough that he could see the way the light above them shifted in her eyes. There was no need to lower his voice conspiratorially. And yet, for some reason, he did.

He leaned in near her shoulder, speaking close to her ear.

Her hand remained on his shoulder, waiting for whatever he was about to say.

"Go home," he said simply.

She didn’t move, though he felt her fingers press slightly deeper against his skin, as when he confirmed her own suspicions.

"Take your friends if you have to. Just leave, okay?"

He waited for a moment, certain he could feel her taking a deep breath, steadying herself, keeping calm. When he straightened just enough to meet her gaze again, she was composed.

She didn’t know what exactly was happening—she had every right to be panicked—but she wasn’t.

"Is it really that serious?" she asked.

He glanced toward the DJ booth, scanning the situation. He considered her question. Honestly? No. Not that serious. They didn’t even have confirmation that their unsub was targeting this particular club.And yet, he gave her a small, confirming nod.At worst, she’d lose one night of fun with her friends for nothing. Better that than losing her life.

She answered him with a nod of her own.

Spencer watched the movement, exhaling slowly, but as his gaze dropped once more to the space just beyond her shoulder, he noticed something strange.

He straightened fully, and her hand slipped from his shoulder, falling away.

She turned, following his line of sight, but she didn’t know what to look for. A moment later, she turned back to him, confused. But he knew. And he had just seen it.

Reid stepped past her.

Oddly enough, pushing through the crowd no longer felt like an issue. He looked over his shoulder—almost reflexively—meeting her eyes for one brief second. Go home tried to tell her again, with no words.

Some might find it strange how quickly he recognized the unsub in the crowd. While some would call it a hunch or instinct, he would simply call it experience. So many solved cases, so many profiles written, so many criminals interrogated. He had simply managed to pick him out.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that the unsub would recognize him.

Not personally, but he would sense that something was off the moment their eyes met by chance.

He might have been aware that the FBI was on his tail.

Either way, as soon as he realized Spencer was heading toward him, he abruptly changed direction, picking up his pace. He was no longer moving toward the smoke machine—now, he was weaving blindly through the crowd.

Still, Reid couldn’t just let him slip away, of course.

He stayed on his heels, hoping that Prentiss was somewhere out there and had also recognized the man as their unsub. That she had even noticed him at all. He didn’t know whether the unsub was armed, but either way, he couldn’t reach for his weapon while still surrounded by people. His breathing quickened from the pace he was keeping, but he couldn’t afford to slow down—not if he wanted to keep him in sight.

Where was the unsub going?

He found out soon enough when he saw him slip through the emergency exit—somehow left unguarded—into a dark, empty alleyway.

Spencer realized he had made a huge mistake after just the first two steps. He had looked around too slowly, focusing too much on the left side when something hit him in the face from the right. The force was too much for a bare fist. He suspected brass knuckles. Mostly because it knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling onto the hard pavement. As he shielded his head from the fall, the weapon slipped from his hand. Instinctively, he reached for it, a reflex, considering how badly the world was spinning in front of his eyes.

Before he could even brush it with his fingers, the hard sole of a boot landed on his toes, not breaking them, but definitely pulling more than just a pained hiss from his lips. The sound of dragging—the weapon kicked far out of his reach. He cursed under his breath, and possibly out loud. Not only because he had been so easily disarmed and neutralized, but because the realization hit him quickly. When a criminal doesn't bend down to retrieve a dropped weapon, it usually means one simple thing. They have their own.

And well, for the first time, he didn’t feel satisfied by being right. When he managed to prop himself up on his elbow with controlled movement, still feeling the pulse in his temples, the first thing he saw was the gleam of a barrel aimed directly at him. A long moment where their eyes locked. Spencer was about to say something. A lot of words pressed at his lips—there had to be a way to stop him from pulling the trigger. He knew the entire profile, and he could manipulate him.

But before any sound could escape his mouth, the shot rang out.

The stab in his chest was so intense that he thought—he was absolutely certain—the shot had hit him. His heart—there was no point in even pressing his hand to it to check. It would have been covered in blood in an instant, and he wouldn’t even have time to look at it before he collapsed back to the ground, this time dead. But that didn’t happen, although something did fall.

The tall figure right in front of him collapsed to the ground, revealing who had been a few steps behind him.

The hand gripping the weapon so confidently that for a moment, he thought it was Prentiss.

That would have been the most logical option. After all, they had been sent there together, and it was her he expected to see. Not someone who had come to spend the evening with friends. Someone who, despite his warning, had followed him for some reason and, at the right moment, had lifted the weapon that had been knocked away by the unsub Spencer’s weapon and aimed it.

Someone who now stood still, staring down at his fallen form, with one hand still extended in front of them until it fell stiffly to their side.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment that felt almost unreal.

Finally, Spencer forced himself to look away from her and, feeling like he was in some strange dream, clumsily managed to get to his feet. When he succeeded in standing upright, her figure appeared right next to him, her hand gripping his shoulder, as if ensuring he wouldn’t fall again. For the first time in a while, he breathed— the taste of the air after almost being shot was strange. He needed two more breaths like that before he could even begin to process what had just happened. Her face—not directly in front of him, but slightly to the side, so that he had to turn his head to look at her.

It might have sounded illogical, but he had the feeling that fear was only just beginning to appear on her face. When she shot the unsub right in the back of his head, her expression had shown nothing at all.

"I..." Spencer began, stopping as the pain pressed against his skull again. It was dull, but when he placed his hand on it, he didn't see any blood. He took that as a good sign. A sign that started to slowly clear things up. The unsub was dead. Okay, that happened. Sometimes, capturing him alive just wasn’t possible.

But he hadn’t been killed by him, as he perhaps should have been. He had been killed by her. How had she even ended up there?

"I told you to go home," he said sharply.

For a moment, she was silent, staring at him in disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand the meaning of his words. Meanwhile, Spencer felt a fleeting surge of anger. She had followed him, which was absolutely irresponsible. If the unsub hadn’t uncovered the weapon, or if he had decided to pick it up, she would have been completely defenseless because, as far as he knew, she hadn’t been carrying her own. And then she would have found herself in a dark alley with, quite simply, a murderer.

Her lips parted and closed again, as if trying to speak, but instead, she snorted. At least, she tried to. It wasn’t her usual, mocking snort, although she attempted it. It came out weak, barely audible, and then Spencer lowered his gaze, noticing that the hand holding his gun was trembling. She tightened her grip on the handle, trying to stop it.

“And some thank you?” she asked. “For, hmm, let’s see, saving your life?”

He felt a bit stupid, to be honest. Especially when he noticed her taking a deep breath and turning her head toward the body lying on the ground.

“I didn’t aim for his head,” she admitted, more to herself than to him.

He looked at her profile with hesitation. He hadn’t thought about it before, but this was probably the first time she had ever killed someone. Most of her work in the FBI had been in the confines of the lab, and she was rarely in situations that would require something like this.

Yet, she had still done it. Shoot, at the right moment, without hesitation.

Seeing that she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the dead man, he gently reached up and touched her cheek, turning her face back toward him. She flinched at the gesture, her eyes momentarily widening, almost vulnerable, before she clenched them shut, tension rising in her temples.

“But it’s a good thing I did,” she said, opening her eyes again. She shook off the emotions that had briefly settled there, adopting her usual expression. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice anything had changed. “Otherwise, he probably would’ve killed you. So…”

She didn’t finish, shrugging stiffly.

Spencer felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, rising up to his throat. A sudden wave of guilt, knowing that it was his fault and his lack of field skills that had led to this situation. He had to swallow it down before he could speak again.

“He killed a lot of people,” he told her. She deserved to know that. “And he was planning to do the same today. Maybe even to you. Your friends, and…”

He didn’t know what else he wanted to add, or if his words were in any way helpful. He hoped they were. They both lingered in silence, and Spencer realized that, in fact, he hadn’t even thanked her for what she did. But, well, that was life, not a favor to be repaid with a simple thank you. He knew, though, that he would be able to return to the daily grind of things as if nothing had happened, without offering anything in return. His gaze fell once more on her hand, still gripping the gun. He gently took it from her.

“I shot him,” he suddenly said.

The woman gave him a confused look.

“If anyone asks,” he added, aware that she still didn’t quite understand what he meant. In fact, he was having trouble putting it into words himself. “I mean, technically, you shouldn’t even know about all of this. No one knows you were here, so...you can just...forget about it, if you want.”

It wasn’t that the killing would get her into trouble. Considering she saved his life, she wouldn’t face any real consequences. However, her name would have to be mentioned in the report. Not a big deal, but Spencer just had the feeling that the less it attached to her, the better.

She was silent for a long time, and Spencer thought maybe she didn’t like the idea. He even considered retracting his words, just dismissing it as nothing. But then he noticed and heard her take a deep breath, and for a brief moment, something resembling a grateful smile appeared on her face.

“Okay,” she agreed with a weak nod. She glanced thoughtfully toward the club before turning her gaze back to him. “I guess I should go then.”

She didn’t move, as if waiting for something else.

“Right,” he muttered. “Right...thanks, by the way. For, you know, saving my life.”

It seemed like she was on the verge of a quiet chuckle, and he felt a little better.

“You’ll make it up to me somehow,” she replied.

This time, she didn’t acknowledge his words with a nod. Instead, she stepped closer, looping one arm around his neck, resting her chin against his shoulder, and staying still in that position, letting out just a sigh. Spencer, for most of the moment, felt too frozen to respond. And when he finally managed to, when he placed his hand gently on her back, returning the embrace, it was only a second before she pulled away and walked off.

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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angellic4l · 3 months ago

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CAT PARENTS THIS IS SO CUTE

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which spencer asks you for a favor, but this time, you're more than willing to oblige—because you've always had a soft spot for pretty eyes...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, taking care of a found kitten, pure fluff <33

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

"This won’t take long."

The woman let him into her lab, where a pleasant dimness reigned, and scoffed at his words. She didn’t look pleased that he was bothering her at this hour. Correction—she was openly not pleased that he was bothering her at this hour.

“Well, I hope so,” she replied stiffly. “I finished my work, I was about to leave, and the last thing I want is to sit here with you collecting saliva samples from someone’s chewed-up pencil like last time…What is that?”

She had just noticed what she hadn’t seen before. The black fur of the kitten Spencer was holding blended in too well with the dark fabric of his jacket, providing it with natural camouflage. He grimaced slightly, watching her expectantly. He was starting to suspect that coming to her might not have been the best idea. He had no clue why he even thought of it in the first place. The idea had formed in his mind almost on its own the moment their jet landed, marking the official end of the case.

“Listen,” he started with a sigh. “I get that you might not want this in your lab, it’s a little dirty, fair point, and this place is always so sterile, but…oh, okay—”

He blinked in surprise as the woman suddenly, and quite effortlessly, took the kitten from his hands. Her fingers cradled it with the gentlest touch possible, and a small, indistinct sound escaped her lips—one that Spencer only recognized after a beat as…awe?

"Hi there, little one," she cooed, her voice taking on that overly sweet, high-pitched tone people usually reserved for babies.

He realized he was staring at her in a sort of daze, his gaze fixed on the almost moved expression on her face, the tiny smile playing at her lips, the slight tilt of her head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her like this—or if he ever had. Certainly not while talking to him.

Suddenly, a small crease of concern formed between her brows. She adjusted the kitten in her hands, as if weighing it.

"He’s so light," she observed.

Spencer shook his head, snapping himself back to reality.

"I found him in a dumpster," he admitted. He closed his eyes for a brief moment—that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. His momentary distraction had gotten the better of him. "He’s so light because I found him in a dumpster," he corrected himself. "I think he was taken from his mother a little too early. Maybe something happened to her. Either way, he was completely alone."

Holding the kitten pressed against her chest, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Didn’t you just get back from a case?"

He shrugged. "We did."

"Does profiling often require digging through dumpsters, or was this more of a personal hobby?"

Reid let out a short laugh.

"Neither. The dumpster just started meowing at me." He paused. "Anyway, I couldn’t just leave him there. And now I kind of need your help."

He reached into his pocket for something he had managed to buy before heading back to Quantico.

Her gaze dropped to the package of kitten milk formula. She was still holding the tiny creature, which had settled comfortably in the crook of her elbow, barely moving. It also wasn’t screaming its little lungs out like it had been on the jet. Maybe that had something to do with the way her index finger was gently stroking behind its ear in a slow, soothing motion.

"It needs to be warmed up and, well, you have to feed it with a syringe. I figured you’d have one here," he explained the reason for his visit.

As he spoke, her gaze rested on his face with an unusually calm, focused expression. She didn’t interrupt or throw in any sarcastic remarks. Maybe he should bring a kitten every time he needed something from her.

"It won’t take long, like I said. I can actually do it myself—"

"No," she cut him off.

With one hand, she easily adjusted her grip on the kitten—hardly a challenge given its tiny size—and stepped forward to take the milk formula from his grasp. Spencer instinctively reached out, expecting her to return the kitten to him, but she didn’t. Instead, holding both the kitten and the milk, she walked over to her workstation and started gathering the necessary supplies.

"Are you sure he doesn’t need a vet?" she asked, bending down to rummage through one of the glaringly white cabinets.

Spencer turned toward her, tracking her movements like a compass needle. She wasn’t looking at him, too focused on her task. There was a kind of quiet determination in the way she moved—an unexpected devotion, considering she’d been about to leave before he showed up. It surprised him a little. He had, somewhat unfairly, assumed she wouldn’t be too thrilled about having an animal in her pristine lab.

"Even though he was separated from his mother a little early, he seems healthy," he explained, stepping closer to her workstation and leaning his elbows on the counter. "But if he starts acting strangely or refuses to eat, I’ll take him to a vet. Of course."

She nodded. With the milk warming up, she turned her full attention to the kitten, so much so that Spencer started to feel as if an invisible wall had formed between them—like he had completely ceased to exist in her awareness.

"He’s so cute, oh my god. Yes, I’m talking about you, sweetheart."

Her delight amused him, but more than that, he found himself oddly…pleased, watching her. It was fascinating, the way the simple presence of a kitten had shifted her entire demeanor.

She lifted her head and immediately caught him staring.

Spencer quickly dropped his gaze to the kitten, pretending he’d been studying it all along, analyzing its condition. But the truth was, he’d been looking at her, because this side of her was unfamiliar to him. That was all.

"You know cat paws smell like popcorn?" she asked suddenly.

To prove her point, she brought her nose close to one of the kitten’s tiny front paws, inhaling lightly.

Spencer's eyes widened slightly as he watched her do it, shaking his head almost immediately.

"I don't believe that."

"Then come here. See for yourself."

"How on earth would they smell like popcorn? I found him in a dumpster, not a movie theater..."

He voiced his skepticism out loud, not even realizing at first that his feet were already moving. He had unconsciously started walking around her workstation until they were standing almost shoulder to shoulder.

Without hesitation, she lifted the kitten right up to his face, gesturing for him to sniff its paw.

"This is so stupid," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She repeated the gesture, more insistently this time. With a sigh of resignation, he gave in, leaning in to take a sniff—only to immediately grimace and pull his head back.

"You know what it actually smells like? A dumpster."

"Popcorn," she repeated stubbornly.

"If that’s what your popcorn smells like, I have some very bad news for you."

She didn’t reply, as the milk had now warmed to the right temperature, and suddenly their verbal sparring dropped to the very bottom of her list of priorities. He had never thought he would live to see this moment.

Feeding the kitten with a syringe turned out to be a bit more difficult than he had expected. It required their combined efforts, which meant both of them leaning over the tiny creature so closely that their foreheads nearly touched.

"Have you found him a home?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the kitten as she carefully and slowly introduced a bit of milk into its tiny mouth. "Or are you planning to keep him yourself?"

He glanced at her focused face out of the corner of his eye, then quickly dropped his gaze back to the kitten.

"Prentiss offered to take him in. Temporarily or permanently, depending on whether Sergio would accept him. I mean, her second cat. I mean—her only cat. At the moment."

He noticed the amusement flicker across her face at his clumsy explanation, but she spared him a sarcastic remark.

"And why are you asking? Are you considering it?"

To his surprise, she almost immediately shook her head. Surprising, because her attitude toward the animal and the way she practically melted over it suggested to him that she would make a good owner. He had to admit that.

They finished feeding the kitten, and her finger slowly stroked its black fur.

"I have to physically stop myself from saying yes, I'll take him," she admitted. "I don’t have time for pets right now. Honestly, I never even considered having one. It’s just this little gentleman."

He nodded slightly.

“So, you have a soft spot for kittens.”

“I have a soft spot for anything with pretty eyes,” she replied with a soft chuckle. She rolled her shoulders, straightening up. Spencer realized there was no longer a need to lean over the kitten and did the same. It subtly increased the distance between them, but it also allowed them to look at each other. At her face—still, to his surprise—uncharacteristically gentle. “That’s my curse.”

She lifted the kitten again, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment, slightly unfocused. A brief silence settled between them—after all, they had finished feeding the kitten, and there was really no reason for him to stay any longer. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks for the help,” he said sincerely.

She shrugged. He started to suspect that the old her was fully back now, and he shouldn't expect a smile or a casual don’t mention it. Not that he had been waiting for one. But then she surprised him a little by sighing.

“Are you sure you’re giving him to a good home?” she asked, making him furrow his brows slightly in confusion. “I mean, will he be properly taken care of?”

“Y-yeah? Prentiss seriously knows cats. She loves them,” he emphasized the last words, as if trying to reassure her. He wasn’t sure if it worked, so he added, more quietly, “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. If it doesn’t work out with Prentiss, I’ll do everything I can to find him another home. I’m not just going to leave him on the street.”

She gave him a long, searching look before barely nodding—more to herself than to him. Then, she moved to hand the kitten back to him. Reid had already lifted his hands when a sudden look of confusion crossed her face.

“Wait,” she muttered, freezing in place.

He had no idea what was going on.

“Are you two about to have some kind of tearful goodbye, or—”

“Damn it, he got tangled in my necklace.”

“What?”

“He must’ve latched on with his claws—help me get him out…”

“What am I supposed to—”

“I don’t know! Just untangle him somehow.”

Spencer quickly grasped the situation, leaning in close to her chest as he carefully tried to take the kitten from her—or more specifically, to find the exact spot where its tiny claws had snagged onto the delicate chain.

"I think I got it," he muttered in concentration. "I think…"

Believing he had succeeded, he gently pulled the kitten toward him—only to realize, well, that he was wrong. The chain was still tangled around its tiny claws, and it was so delicate that it snapped with the slight tug.

He sucked in a surprised breath, suddenly hesitant to look at her face. To put it lightly, he didn’t expect her to be pleased.

Eventually, though, he had to face her. Arms crossed, she was staring at him in silent accusation. Spencer slowly lifted the kitten, knowing full well that its mere presence might soften her irritation.

"Don’t be mad at him," he pleaded.

"How could I be mad at him? It’s my baby."

"It's your…it's not your baby."

"Yes, it is. I gave birth to him. Now get out before I get mad at you over the necklace."

He expected she was already mad, but a brief glance into her eyes made him realize he was wrong. However, in one thing, he was absolutely right—nothing could diminish her frustration quite like the sight of the kitten.

A fleeting smile appeared on his face as he stepped through the lab’s doorway with the now-fed kitten, heading for the exit. He hid it before turning back to her—force of habit.

“He’s in good hands,” he assured her one last time.

She scoffed.

“He better be.

post-reading author note:

i was looking for cute kittens on pinterest to use in the header and this was the first thing that popped up and after that i couldn't stop thinking about spencer coming to diva reader with this specific kitten and she's just like "omg, the most beautiful most wonderful most precious being on earth just look at it"

sorry for this random ramble

#spencer reid recs 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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