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g4rvez-r3id · 3 days ago

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okay abi what the fuck-

"you won't ever need her again" - spencer reid

in which, Spencer is recovering from addiction and wants to confess his love

who? spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst!

content warnings: part two of 'and it will never be enough' , imean you don't have to read it to understand this fic but it will help a lot, addict spencer, case info, like its graphic, murder, burning, bombs, everything in cm, serial killers, no happy ending, idiots in love, little cute touches, i promise they have cute moments, i think thats all?

word count: 4.4k

a/n: this took like a week but I'm so insanely proud of this I love you all please comment thoughts

“Do you just throw around the word love like it's a statistic or something Spence?”

Those were the words you’d asked Spencer Reid after he rejected you less than a day after confessing his love to you. In your mind, he was being cruel. But to him? It was making sure you weren’t stuck dating an opioid addict.

Despite the fact you were his sole hope after he was taken by Tobais, he couldn’t let you suffer dating him, not in this state.

It had been nearly a whole month since the faithful morning you sobbed telling him to leave your apartment. He complied, much to his own heart breaking. He told himself one day–if he got sober–he’d explain it to you. Explain why he had to turn you down. How much he loved you. How he hoped you still felt the same.

He’d stayed sober a week now. It’d been hell for him. He was more emotional than usual for him, losing sleep, the constant nausea. But he knew he had to, that this wasn’t just for himself.

You’d hardly spoken to him since that night – not that he blamed you, it just hurt, maybe worse than withdrawal. But he knew the worst thing that could happen was if he lost sight of you, the person he’d truly loved.

—

Three murders in Atlanta, all the victims were young women in their twenties, all of them worked in positions of power. “We believe our unsub is friendly with these women until he gains enough trust to kill them. They’re all brutal; all of them seem to have some form of burn marks on them. The Atlanta police haven’t identified the reason for the murders, they also don't have an M.O on the killer.” JJ told you the BAU gathered around the table. Hotch ordered a wheels up in twenty and with that everyone stood up going to find their bags.

Luckily for Spencer, to him anyways, his desk was placed next to yours. A reminder of who he loved, and that he needed to prove he was worthy of it.

You, on the other hand, didn’t even look over your shoulder to talk to him as you checked your bag. Not even a small smile. That was the reality of your situation recently. A constant game of chess, one side of you wanting to talk to him and ask what was wrong with you that made him reject you, and the other side of you having a list of a million reasons he could have.

He called your name gently like he had numerous times before. You hummed turning to look at him with the same look he had been craving more than the drugs this past week. “Do you maybe want to sit with me on the plane? I think I might need some help working on the geographic profile.” He asked gently, almost bracing for rejection.

“Wow, Spencer Reid needing help is a first, I can try.” You told him slinging your to-go bag over your shoulder. He was taken aback but didn’t want to ask ‘really?’ and risk you re-thinking it. So he just nodded and finished placing a few items delicately into his leather bag.

—

You took your spot next to him watching as he placed markers onto the map of the city explaining what each one was for. “I’ve marked the places where each victim's bodies were found as well as their homes and places of work.”

“These are all really far apart, I can’t even find what our unsub’s comfort zone would be.” You told him scrunching your nose in confusion.

“I’ve narrowed down where he's most comfortable leaving his victims. I don’t believe the homes have any connections to each other. He doesn’t care how secure the place is as long as these women have power he sees a way to strike.”

“Do you think Penelope would be able to find men who have a history of violence against women? Domestic or otherwise?” You asked him noticing the gears turning behind his hazel eyes.

He nodded, returning the request to Hotch; giving you full credit of course. “If this is a pattern of behavior it’s likely our unsubs just got broken up with or perhaps rejected by someone.”

“He’s targeting them as some form of revenge. If he can’t have his sick, twisted, idea of love then nobody else can get any form of love. We’re the victims married, maybe?” You asked, bouncing off his ideas.

Spencer moved the map of the city to the side to grab a copy of the case file scanning it over. “Two of them were married. One of them had just gotten engaged to her partner of 7 years, it was very publicized too.”

“So our unsubs a male with a violent history.” You guessed, trying to form a profile. “Maybe fresh out of prison on the domestic violence charges. He sees these women as a manifestation of his loss of love.”

Spencer stared at you with wide eyes looking at you like you’d just hung the stars and came back to him. He nodded his head in agreement, “I should ask you for help more often.”

—

“Penelope is checking for middle-aged men who are out on domestic violence charges.” Your unit chief told you as everyone stepped off the plane, “Gideon and I will discuss with the Atlanta police. Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to visit the victims' significant others.” He turns to you and Spencer, “Which leaves you two to check the places our unsub left the victims. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded as Spencer gently took your hand in his, previously the small touches between you two wouldn’t be abnormal. But they had stopped after the morning he rejected you and it made his hands feel cold. But, much to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. Instead you let yourself lace your fingers around his letting him gently bring you into the car as he closed the passenger side door behind you.

“All the places which the victims were disposed are within twenty minutes of each other if you were to take the route without stops.” He informed you as he began driving, he was never the biggest fan of driving despite the fact he’d been capable of doing so since he was fourteen. After a brief moment of driving in silence with only the soft hum of some random radio station did Spencer speak again. “We should work on cases together more often.”

It was only half of what he was craving to say, he knew he owed you the longest explanation. Everything from the second he took the dilaudid from his captors corpse. About all the times that he’d seemed rude that he had just been high out of his mind, About the morning he’d felt as if he had no choice but to turn you down because he didn’t deserve you.

Then he could list every reason he was madly in love with you. How perfect you were. How much he still wanted to be your lover.

But for now all that came out of him was about wanting to work on more cases with you.

“We should, we just haven’t got to lately.” You smile. The reason you hadn’t was hanging in the air for either of you to grab and speak about but neither of you wanted to ruin the mutually agreed upon silence between you two.

Spencer pulls into a parking lot pulling the keys out turning over to you, “Evelyn Moore was killed on this alleyway. She was the Chief Operating Officer for the biggest bank in Atlanta.” He steps out of the car, instinctively moving to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his to keep you close leading the both of you to the alleyway. “She was left right behind the trashcan. The autopsy tells us she was shot on sight.”

“Maybe he was in a rush? Somebody came close to catching him so he ran.”

Spencer nodded, "Definitely, the person who found Evelyn arrived the blood hadn’t dried. The burn marks were only across her stomach, the last few victims had the marks come up to their ribs. She also had traces of alcohol in her system.” He informed you

“She was murdered on a Friday night right?” You asked as Spencer gave you a nod, confused but curious where you were going with this. “When we were driving here there was a nightclub nearby, she probably was coming from there. Had a few drinks there and was walking to her car.”

Spencer stood up straighter, “Or it wasn’t her car. Maybe our unsub gained her trust and was going to take her to his car and-” Spencers hunch was cut off by your phone buzzing from Derek Morgan in your back pocket.

You sighed, taking it out and holding it up to your ear, “Hello?”

“We just got some information from Evelyn’s husband.” She told you, probably having just finished up talking with him.

“Is he a potential suspect?” You asked, covering your other ear to hear him clearly.

“No, he was out of town with family. We have photographs and alibis for him. I’m sending all the notes to Hotch but I’m calling you because he told us he and Evelyn had quietly separated for the past six months. They didn’t want to make it public in case it were to overshadow themselves, individually. It still keeps up with the pattern of his type of women in relationships but I felt like I should tell you guys in case it were to get out to the press so it didn’t throw you off your tracks.”

You nodded and Spencer could almost see the lightbulb above your head as you spoke to JJ, “Thanks, stay safe.” You told her before hanging up the phone, putting it back in your pocket. “Spencer.” You made sure you had his full attention before you presented your idea. “Derek just told me Evelyn and her husband had been separated for nearly half a year. If our unsub lured her in by bringing her to his car. Maybe he was trying to play under the pretense of a hookup.”

“If that's the case then this unsub has been watching her. This wasn’t just some research and a quick murder. He’s been watching these women!” Spencer quickly picked up on what you were saying. “If Evelyn's murder was as rushed as it seems it was, that means the other victims must have had much more violence in their deaths!” You nodded as he grabbed your hand, taking you over to the car to go to the next scene.

—

This time the car ride was filled with light chatter, it started off about the case and hunches on it, but it slowly morphed into small bits of your separate lives over the past month. Sharing about burnt meals you’d made, Spencer talking about books he’d read late at night. It all just felt like coming home.

Unfortunately it did have to an end arriving at the second sight of Lola White, the founder of an international marketing company that came out of Atlanta. She was older than the other two victims and wasn’t even the head of the company anymore, she’d stepped down about a decade ago. “She was last seen at a coffee shop giving an interview about her life since she’d left the company.” Spencer told you, leading you over to the building surrounded in yellow tape. “It’s unclear why she entered this building, they’re doing renovations on it and there were signs all over.”

“If he did the same thing he did with Evelyn then she trusted him. He probably told her there was something over here. The cause of death was asphyxiation by suffocation. The autopsy says it was probably done with his hands but she has burn marks up to her neck so they couldn’t get any type of finger prints or DNA to track them down” You sighed, turning to look at the genius in the cardigan.

“He had more time with Lola. With Evelyn it was quick but with Lola he got to take his time. He watched her suffer.” Spencer concluded looking at you.

“That’s what the burning of them is for!” You exclaimed, as Spencer tilted his head like an adorable owl. “Think about it, they’ve said the autopsies state that the burns aren’t chemical or electrical. They were done with straight up fire. Whenever Penelope gets back to us we need to find out about the people out for domestic violence–” Then Spencer’s phone rings. “Is that her?”

“Matter a fact it is.” He chuckled, bringing the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“You listening boy wonder? I got a hunch for you and that gorgeous girl you're with.”

Spencer's checks flushed a bit but luckily for him the dim light of the room was enough for you to not notice it. “Yeah?” He asked, clearing his voice knowing your beautiful eyes were on him.

“I found two men within the killer's comfort zone who have gotten out on domestic violence charges in the past six months who fit your profile.” She told you two.

“Garcia, can you give us the names, ages and jobs of the three men?” He questioned.

“Yup, sending them over to your phone as you live and breathe.” She tells you the clicking of her nails against the computer clear over the phone.

Spencer thanked her before hanging up giving you a thumbs up with the dorky upside down smile he’d give people.

“I can read out the profiles while you drive us to the last sight?” You suggested.

“Let’s go then.” He smiled that familiar smile that made your heart its own fireworks show.

He linked your fingers with his again as he led you back to his car, opening the door as always. “So tell me what Penelope sent?” He asked softly, starting up his car.

You sighed opening up the text from her, “The first guy, Robert Plado, is out two months ago on charges of violence towards his then breadwinning CEO wife, andd attempting to rob a gas station. He was there for fifteen years, got into prison fights frequently and spent weeks at a time in solitary.”

“You know that could contribute to this case,” He says his voice beginning to take the Spencer Reid Rambling Tone “If he was isolated he could have time to begin plotting some type of revenge. His wife being a CEO means he has a reason for revenge against these women.”

You nodded, “The other guy is Andrew Bradfield. He was a Blacksmith, perfect family until he committed arson on the family home. He never explained why he did it, but his lawyer got his sentence reduced stating Andrew heard voices telling him to commit the crimes. He just got off probation about six months ago.”

“Can Gideon and Hotch get them to come in for questioning?”

“Penelope told me they already have them coming in. Both of them are being assholes though, so I don’t imagine they’re having a good time.” You chuckled slightly as Spencer’s lips tugged up a tad.

—

You arrived at the final sight of Madison Monroe, the heiress to the family newspaper, stabbed 14 times and burnt across her torso to the second degree. Right in the back alley of her office building.

Spencer opened his mouth rambling, “Her fiance stated that she didn’t have any enemies. Not even business wise, she was personable and nobody ever had anything bad to say. I know those are kind things to say about your partner and all but he would want to tell us if somebody might have done this personally.”

You nodded just staring at the body for a minute, none of the other victims had gotten to you but for some reason the second you stepped onto the street of Madison’s death a feeling of horror went over you not even hearing the soft whispers of your name until a pair of forever cold hands gently holding your waist.

“What happened?” Spencer whispered, it was clear he wasn’t talking about the case, he was asking where you had gone in your mind.

“I don’t know, I think I just lost it for a second.” You informed him trying to take a deep breath to come back to the moment.

“Let’s go, I’ll tell Gideon we’re on our way.” He spoke gently like he could break you if he spoke any louder, he knew he could get some information about Madison on his own but he also knew you couldn’t handle this right now.

You didn’t even have a moment to think about anything as he gently pulled you back to his car as he listened to your soft murmur, “I don’t feel good about this.”

—

Spencer offered you to stay in his hotel room that night, he didn’t want to leave you alone in the state you were in. You accepted, much to his surprise. Maybe it was just hope but he had felt like he saw a glimmer of light he hadn’t since he turned you down. As if everything he cherished was slowly coming back home to him.

You placed your bag on the floor flopping face first onto the bed with a groan of exhaustion as Spencer let out something adjacent to a giggle sitting down next to you gently stroking your hair in a small attempt of soothing the anxiety radiating through your body. “Hey I got you something.” He whispered.

You turned your head to look at him, your cheek adorably squished against the hotel's mattress, “Do you?”

He nodded standing up to grab something out of his bag, a bar of chocolate. “It’s not anything insane but they had some in the hotel gift shop and I thought you’d appreciate it.” He said handing it over to you.

“I do, thank you.” You smiled whilst taking it, opening the wrapper up. Spencer sat down next to you, and like the former second nature of yours, you placed your head onto his crossed legs the moment he sat on the bed.

His breath hitched before moving his hand back to stroke your hair, “Go to sleep angel.” He whispered, your breaths were already leveling, falling asleep in his gentle loving energy.

Once he knew you were asleep Spencer made a promise to himself. The second you two got back to Virginia he would tell you how madly in love with you he was. He knew he had only been sober for a week but seeing you like this, safe, at peace, with him.

He knew this is what he needed for the rest of his days, this was something stronger than any amount of opioids he had taken. The feeling of love for you.

—

“It was a pleasure meeting you all, agents. Considering you think you have me all figured out, so I wish I could allow you to hear about my perfect, burning crime. But alas I think your genius team can crack me and blow the roof off.” - Until we meet again, Atlanta’s Devil

That was the reason Hotch called you all at three in the morning. One of the officers who was working the nightshift had found in the meeting room. As intimidating as that letter may be, the security camera gave you the clearest image possible of the killer.

Andrew Bradfield.

You were slinging in your jacket over your clothes now as Spencer told you facts about serial arsonists. Sure they may be useful to the case. Although even if they didn’t help you’d always appreciate hearing his voice in a stressful situation.

Once you were both dressed and reasonably fine you went to the parking lot of the hotel, you and Spencer were the only two in his car. It was FBI policy to make sure the agents were distributed between the vehicles in case something were to go wrong. It was about a twenty minute drive from the hotel to Andrew’s apartment building, although with nobody on the road it was more likely to be fifteen if that. Spencer’s facts about serial arsonists quickly derailed from one topic to the next, easing the feeling of dread that comes over visiting the unsubs home.

Spencer was the second to arrive, Hotch and Gideon had only arrived mere minutes earlier. Derek and Emily were on their way. Hotch had suggested not having everyone come in with weapons in the hopes of being able to gain the unsubs' trust and not be seen as a threat.

“Oh to be JJ and get to sleep through these early morning calls.” You told Spencer with a yawn.

He nodded, noticing your shivers despite your jacket causing him to gently bring you closer with an arm around your waist.

Emily and Derek arrived, their weapons tucked away, easily accessible but hidden in order to gain Andrew’s trust. Hotch asked you to enter the apartment first. The team claimed you could communicate to anyone and told you to tell them the second you thought you may be in danger and they’d come running in.

You walked to the door with your teammates trailing behind you. To your surprise the door was unlocked leading you to tell Derek, “No need to kick it down this time.” As he rolled his eyes.

You opened the door stepping in expecting to hear the sound of snoring or even footsteps if he had been waiting for you. But instead there was a piece of paper clearly lit, on a table taunting placed in the center of the apartment.

Scrunching your eyebrows together you gestured for somebody to come into the room which of course, Spencer did. He instantly saw why you called him in, “Open it.” He told you, answering the question before you had even asked it. You did so reading it out loud for him.

“Well we meet again, don’t we? I knew you two would try to come here, did you think I was stupid enough to not know you’d catch me on the police cameras? If you aren’t the odd genius agent and the girl he was with, stop now and hand this to them.” You looked up at Spencer to make sure he was hearing this before continuing. “You two, and only you two, are to meet me at the address listed on the back of this paper. I’ll be waiting.” - Andrew

“Do we seriously go meet this crazy man by ourselves? I mean he's clearly been watching us.” You asked the panic seeping through your words.

“This might be our best chance to catch him.” He called for Hotch to get them vests and weapons before telling you, “We’ll be alright, I won’t let anything happen okay?

—

The site was an old government headquarters on the outskirts of town, nobody worked there anymore or even came by. It had only been abandoned for five years but the lack of maintenance done to the place would make you think it’d been much longer. Spencer had triple checked your vest was tightly fastened around you before you entered the building with your flashlights raised to looking for him as the glow hit, another fucking note taped to a door.

You sighed reading it out loud once you’d ripped it off the door in frustration. “I see you’ve found me. It’s time for the main event now isn’t it darlings? To the girl agent I kept seeing today, please come in, if you can reason. I’ll go away in cuffs, no fights, see you darling.”

“Angel, you can’t do that.” Spencer said once you’d finished.”

“Spence you’re the one who said this is our best chance at arresting him, what could happen?” You said unfastening your vest.

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea can you?” He asked, his voice almost squeaking with nerves.

“I think it's the best thing to do right now, okay?” You looked at him trying to make sure he would let you go with no further protest.

That was until Spencer brought your face between his palms so he could keep your gaze on him, “I love you. I’ll explain more later but I need you to get out of here alive so I can prove how much I’m madly in love with you, please.”

You couldn’t even speak just nodding with your mouth agape before you got out, “I love you too.”

He nodded, “Come back to me okay?”

Before you could even answer you had stepped in defenseless, Andrew was sitting in the middle of the room.

“Well you actually came, gorgeous girl, isn’t that what your friend on the phone called you yesterday?” You nodded letting him go on, “It’s so funny agent. Watching you and your friend trail around the city looking for me, thinking you could win. But theres one thing you don’t know.”

“Oh yeah? What's that Andrew?”

“I know how to take down these strong, independent women like yourself.”

Before you could even question his cryptic words, your body had been flung into the air, the noise of a bomb going off taking over your hearings as you crashed across the building, you could hardly make out Spencer calling your name frantically over the ringing in your ears. The feeling of your broken body and the fire from the blast creeping closer making it hard to focus on life itself.

Spencer slid to his knees in front of you trying to drape his jacket over you, more as a gesture of comfort than anything seeing your blinks getting longer, “No no please don’t do this.” He whispered frantically.

“Fuck Spence everything, gosh.” You groan as he cups your face.

In a strange way both of you knew this was the end for you. The damage was clear, it was more the question of what would kill you first. The internal damage from the blast, the pieces of shrapnel that was impaling your skin, or the dust and soot entering your airways.

“I’m so sorry, I love you, I meant that, I meant it with everything is me.”

Your eyes shut as you got out your final words to him, and to the word, “I meant it back. I love you Spencer Reid.”

And just like that, everything good he had was lost. Because he was stupid enough to let you go in alone. Now he had to hold your body and keep you warm as long as he could, even if the flames ate him up too. At least then he could be with you forever.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #reblog #reblogging #reblogged #myasficrecs

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g4rvez-r3id · 3 days ago

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jesus never thought i could relate to something so much 🥲🥲🥲

I love your work sm, could you do soft dom!spence talking you through your first time, maybe after he overhears you telling one of the girls at work (no established relationship)?? 🫶🫶

content warning: First time (reader), oral sex (f receiving), soft dom!Spencer, praise kink, virginity loss, protected sex, aftercare, emotional intimacy, Spencer being the sweetest, reader slightly nervous, but full consent and communication throughout

a/n: sexy virgin!

word count ~ 2k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The BAU bullpen was a constant hum of motion—fingers clicking across keyboards, the low murmur of voices, the occasional ding of the elevator. But in a tucked-away corner, you’d thought you were safe.

You weren’t expecting Spencer Reid to overhear anything.

“I just…” you said, leaning in closer to JJ, who looked at you over the rim of her coffee mug, “I feel like I missed some important milestone. I’m not waiting for marriage or anything, I just haven’t…found someone I trusted.”

JJ had smiled kindly, sympathetic. “There’s no timeline. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t quiet the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I just don’t want it to be with someone who’ll treat it like a joke. I want it to mean something. Even if it’s just…gentle. Safe.”

Spencer hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He’d turned the corner to grab a file from the printer and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your voice—soft and unguarded. His heart had stuttered at the word “trusted.” It echoed somewhere deep in his chest.

He ducked away before you saw him.

He thought about your words for the rest of the day. And the next.

And two weeks later, when he found you working late and alone in the conference room, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hey,” Spencer said gently, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “You okay?”

You looked up, startled, then smiled. “Yeah. Just finishing some paperwork.”

He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. “Mind if I sit?”

Your brows rose, but you nodded. “Sure.”

Spencer didn’t open his file. He just sat there, fingers curling and uncurling, clearly working through something.

“I… I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he started. “But I overheard something. A few weeks ago.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He licked his lips, nervous. “You were talking to JJ. About…not having had your first time yet.”

Your face burned, body going rigid. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to hear,” he rushed, holding up a hand. “But I did. And I’ve been thinking about it. About you.”

You weren’t sure what stunned you more—being overheard or the fact that Spencer Reid, the beautiful, brilliant, soft-spoken man you’d been nursing a quiet crush on for months, had been thinking about you.

Your voice came out small. “What have you been thinking?”

He leaned forward, eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your gaze. “That you deserve someone who sees how important that trust is. Someone who’ll go slow. Make you feel safe. Desired. Cared for.”

A shaky breath left your chest. “Spencer…”

“I’d never pressure you,” he said quickly. “But if you wanted it to be me, I’d be honored.”

You stared at him, mind reeling, body tense with heat and something like hope. “…You’d want that?”

“I want you,” he said, soft but firm. “And I’d take such good care of you. You’d never have to doubt how much you mean.”

His apartment was warm, dimly lit by a single lamp. You were standing in his bedroom, his hand cradling your cheek.

“You can still say no,” he whispered, searching your eyes. “At any moment.”

You nodded. “I know. But I want this. I want you.”

He kissed you like a promise—slow, tender, lips brushing yours like silk. You melted into him, nerves softening under the weight of his gentleness.

“Let me undress you?” he asked, voice barely above a breath.

You nodded.

Spencer moved with reverence, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, trailing kisses down the newly exposed skin. His fingers trembled slightly, even as his voice stayed steady. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”

Your pants followed, and soon you were standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “You’re doing so good.”

He kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, down the center of your chest. “Do you want to keep these on for now?” he asked, fingers ghosting over your bra.

“No,” you whispered. “You can take them off.”

His fingers were slow, careful, unclasping your bra and sliding your panties down your thighs. You gasped when the air hit your skin, and he wrapped his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek against his chest.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me make you feel good.”

He guided you to the bed, laying you down against the pillows like you were something precious.

“I’m going to kiss you here,” he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach, “and here,” to your hips, “and here,” pressing a reverent kiss to your inner thigh.

You let out a small sound, your hips shifting.

“May I taste you, sweetheart?” he asked, settling between your thighs. “You’ll tell me if you need me to stop?”

“Yes, please, Spence—”

And then his mouth was on you.

His tongue was slow, skilled, gentle. He hummed soft praises against your skin. “You taste like heaven. You’re so wet already. That’s it, baby, just let go for me.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, thighs shaking. “Spencer—I—”

“Let it happen,” he coaxed. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You came with a cry, your entire body trembling, and Spencer didn’t move until you were panting beneath him, thighs twitching.

He pressed kisses up your body, holding you against him. “Still okay?”

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”

“Are you sure you want to keep going? We don’t have to do anything else.”

“I want you inside me,” you whispered. “I want you to be my first.”

Spencer groaned softly, kissing your jaw. “Then I’ll make it good for you. So, so good.”

He reached for a condom, rolling it on slowly while you watched, heart fluttering. When he moved over you, he paused again. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

“I trust you,” you said, touching his cheek. “Please.”

He slid in slowly, so slowly you felt every inch. It stung at first—just a little—and he stilled immediately.

“Deep breaths,” he murmured. “You’re doing amazing. Just relax for me.”

You breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth. He whispered sweet nothings, praised your bravery, told you how tight and perfect you were.

After a moment, your body relaxed, and the stretch turned to warmth, fullness.

“You can move now,” you whispered.

His hips moved gently, careful not to push too deep, watching every flicker of sensation on your face.

“God, you feel incredible,” he moaned. “So soft. You’re taking me so well.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist as your body adjusted, soft moans falling from your lips.

He kissed you like he couldn’t help it, like he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you sighed into his mouth.

Each thrust was gentle, every movement deliberate.

“Just like that,” you breathed. “Feels so good.”

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

You came again with him deep inside you, clinging to his shoulders. He followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he buried himself in you one last time.

After, he cleaned you gently, helped you into one of his shirts, then held you close under the covers.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your hair. “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smiled sleepily against his chest. “You made it easy.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #reblog #reblogged #reblogging #myasficrecs

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g4rvez-r3id · 3 days ago

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damn this hurt

"and it will never be enough" - spencer reid

in which, reader confesses her love unknowing to spencer's addiction

who? spencer reid x fem!reader

category: ANGST!

content warnings: love confessions, reader is wine drunk, starts in a bar, spencer's addiction, mention of needles, pet names (honey, baby, sweet girl), hangover, probably wrong depiction of being drunk, not my fault my dad wasn't the fun kind, no happy ending

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I've had this idea for like two months and only now wrote it but it's my favorite for this blog so far. also this marks the start of what will be a million Spencer Reid season 2 addiction one-shots. shout-out @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat for proofreading ily

They said drunk words were just sober thoughts.

“Derek is right, Spence. You are really pretty.” You had told him in the bar. “I'm totally in love with you.” Your wine drunken self giggled as you two stood in the corner of the bar with him playing with his brown hair and picking at the loose strings of his cardigan.

Even with Spencer's eidetic memory, he knew for a fact you were the prettiest girl he’d seen since you first walked into the BAU almost two years ago. That you felt the same would be a dream. If it wasn’t for him only half paying attention to the confessional coming out of your mouth.

The other half? Tapping his fingernails against the vial of Dillaud in his messenger bag.

He had kept it ever since you and the rest of the team had saved him from Tobais Hankel just shy of a month ago. He had kept the vials he’d stolen from his captors corpse in his unassuming messenger bag.

Although the team knew something was wrong with him, they had just assumed it was his PTSD from his kidnapping floating over his head. To some extent it was, but his trips to the bathroom to inject an opioid he didn’t need into his veins. He knew it was bad, gosh he knew this was horrible, he was slowly killing himself with this but he couldn’t stop. It just made everything disappear. Aside from this.

He brushed it off with a chuckle, gently stroking your arm with his free hand. “You can not be having any more alcohol. You’ve had so much wine, honey.” He says, letting the pet name slip. It wouldn’t matter in the morning. You’d be too hung over to remember any of this, he hoped. “I need to head to the bathroom but we’ll get a ride back to your apartment after, okay?”

“Only if you come.” You smiled, cupping his face in your shaky hands. He sighed, trying to figure out if it was safe for him to drive after he injected the drug in the bathroom of this bar.

“I will, honey, don’t worry. Don’t talk to anyone unless they’re on the team, okay?” He tells you gently while sitting you down on one of the stools, making sure one of the team members was still in sight.

You were sat giddy whilst swinging your feet and drumming your fingers on the fabric of your pants, thinking about how pretty he was to you. How he always knew the answer to everything you asked. How he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

Meanwhile he was just thinking about how to kindly reject the most kindhearted woman he had ever met as he injected the fluids into his arm in a public restroom stall while you were sitting alone at that bar wishing for something more than what you had. He was making sure he hadn’t messed up his arm too badly before rolling back down the sleeves of his cardigan and looking at his weary expression in the mirror.

You deserved better than this. He had always believed you were far too good for him. But now that he was a junkie who couldn’t go three hours without running to the bathroom to get his ‘fix,’ it was something he couldn’t fathom putting on someone he loved this much. But how do you reject someone you love that much?

He was hoping – praying even, that you had already forgotten about your confession. Hell, maybe he was even hoping you didn’t really mean it. As much as it would hurt, it was better than the inevitable hurt that would come with dating him in this state.

He found you still sitting alone at the bar, swinging your feet back and forth with the brightest smile on your face as he walked back up to you with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, messenger bag draped over his shoulder. “I’ll get us a cab, okay?” He asks, taking your hands in his trying to hide the slight tremble in him.

“Do you remember my, uh, house number?” You ask tilting your head like an owl. Gosh, you were adorable.

“Your address? I do, sweet girl, don't worry. I can’t forget.” He assured you. He couldn’t forget your address in the same way he knew, no matter how high he was, he’d never be able to forget the night he would be forced to reject you.

“Thank you, you’re so geniusy.” You told him stroking his hair back as you took the glasses off his face and placed them on your nose. “Woah.”

“Yeah, baby.” He said softly trying to support you in, whatever your goal was as he placed a comforting hand on your thigh, calling the cab company to get you to your apartment. “They’ll be here soon, okay?”

You nodded with a massive smile, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “You feel nice, I love you.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around his torso trying to be as close to him as you could.

“I love you too.” He whispered into your hair. This was going to be the worst thing he had to do to someone this sweet, but for now all he was trying to think about was the feeling of being tangled in each other's arms. Maybe the last time he’d ever have this level of comfort and serenity with you.

Eventually, he had gotten notice that the car was waiting outside for the two of you as he gently grabbed your hand in his and held your waist to make sure you wouldn’t trip over your own feet. He opened the door for you before getting in himself and buckling up your seatbelt and gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles as you rambled about some interaction you had with a girl in high school who…honestly, he was hardly understanding what you were saying. They weren’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts of the dread he was going to feel.

Eventually, he grabbed some cash thanking the driver and helping you into your apartment. “Do you know where your keys are, baby?” He asks you.

“Uh, in my pants I’m pretty sure.” You said, reaching into your pocket and handing him the golden keys. He unlocked your door and ushered you inside, he had let go of your waist for a mere second before you ran into one of your kitchen chairs.

“Woah, honey.” He quickly walked up to you, grabbing onto your waist, “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I forgot I had chairs there.” You goofily tell him.

“It’s okay baby, lay on the couch I’ll get you some blankets.” He tells you, gently sitting you down on your cushions. He watches as you lay your head on the pillow, curling yourself into a tight little ball of limbs he finds your blankets, draping them over you until only your head peeks out. “Get some rest, sweet girl. I’ll stay the night here.” He promises stroking your hair gently.

—

You woke up on your couch with Spencer resting his weary head on the cushion next to you. Your hands were intertwined as you focused on his soft breaths trying to remember last night as you looked at his state of peace and rest. Brining your free hand to bring your knuckles along his cheek as his eyelids fluttered open. “Hi.” You whispered, both in an attempt not to startle him and at your hungover voice.

“Hi.” He whispers back sleepily, “Do you need some water?”

“Yeah.” You responded,starting to sit up before he gently grabbed your shoulders prompting you to lay back down as he stood up grabbing a glass from your cupboards before turning on the sink to fill it up.

“I got it.” He told you, going back to kneeling in front of you. You politely thanked him, taking a long sip of the water before putting it down on the floor next to him.

“What..” You start before sighing “About last night. I meant it.” You confess.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You confirm.

“I'm so sorry.” He tells you grabbing your hand.

“What? Why? You told me you loved me last night Spencer.” You ask sitting up before he could pry you back down. “Did you not mean it?”

Of course he meant it. “I did but it’s so much more than that. I’m so sorry honey.”

“Do you just throw around the word love like it's a statistic or something Spence?” You ask looking down at him on the floor, your eyes brimming with tears. He brought his hand up to your face catching one that fell out of your eyes.

“I don’t sweetheart. I just…I can’t do this right now. All I need you to know is I love you.”

“Since when does love mean running away from someone?” You hiccup.

“I’m so sorry sweet girl, truely-”

“No.” You sob, pushing his hand off your face. “I don’t want to hear it just get out I can’t do this right now you don’t get to tell me you love me and then do-do this.”

He nods softly looking at the floor, “I understand.” He whispers standing up. “If you need me for anything, call me or, at least call someone. But, you know I’ll pick up.” He tells you before walking out of your apartment door his hands finding the vial of Dillaud in his messenger bag shortly after closing the door. The door that separated the space between you, and everything that could’ve been that he may have lost sight of for good.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #reblog #reblogging #reblogged #myasficrecs

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g4rvez-r3id · 4 days ago

Text

IM SAYING YES 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️💁‍♀️💁‍♀️

𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗗𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗭𝗼𝗻𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Gideon!Reader

WC-

Summary- Jason Gideon's daughter reluctantly accepts a new position at the BAU. The night before her first day, she has a one night stand in order to quell her nerves. When that one night stand turns out to be her coworker and her father's old protégé, she'll have more to fight than just killers.

Contains- canon typical violence, reader coming head-to-head with an unsub, reader is a lil reckless and very stubborn, non-explicit sex scene (18+ MDNI regardless), Spencer has emotional issues from prison, actually proofread this time holla

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !! I honestly don't love this fic so bon appetite I hope u guys do

Glasses clink together, celebratory whoops ringing through the crowded bar. Your crisp, refreshing vodka cran tickles your throat as a large gulp slides down. You’re desperate to quell the anxiety bubbling up in you, though you’re supposed to be celebrating.

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Your fingers squeeze around your glass, your heart pounding. You’re desperate to appear happy and grateful, and your friends truly are great to you, celebrating you in such a way.

It’s hard though, knowing the clock just keeps ticking. The seconds fleeting, one by one, until your arrival at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your father founded it. You swore you’d never follow in his footsteps, scorned from the way it tore your family apart.

Yet, when you received a call from unit chief Emily Prentiss, you’d been hard pressed to say no. Something screamed deep inside you, all the parts given to you by your father, at the case details Agent Prentiss provided.

A serial killer targeting women, within 5 mile radii of historical landmarks all throughout D.C. She said she’d seen your work at the D.C. History Center, your ability to analyze and curate historical artifacts standing out. If you like it, then you have a permanent spot on the team. It’s more money, you told yourself. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel there’s a part of you, deep down, that needed to say yes.

The loud shrieks of laughter emanating from your table snap you back to reality. You scan the bar, patrons packed in like sardines. The low light mixes with the smoke filtering the air. Your eyes narrow into slits as they land on something quite breathtaking.

It’s a man. He seems older, a professional, with the tailored way his suit coat fits. That doesn’t stop his brown curls from flopping in front of his big eyes. His long fingers graze the rim of a whiskey glass, taking a long sip. Your friend follows your gaze, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline at what she finds.

“Oh!” she gasps, impressed by what she sees. “Good find! You gonna go talk to him?”

You shift your head from side to side, rattling the question around in your brain. You’re typically not bold enough to approach a man in a setting like this, let alone the Adonis sitting across the bar from you now. Tonight, though, you might be just tipsy enough, just desperate enough to escape the anxiety of tomorrow, that you may just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?

You slide out of the booth, fingers delicately gripping the rim your glass as you make your way across the bar. You slink onto the bar stool next to him, refusing to make eye contact, though you feel his gaze on you. You adjust your mini dress, pulling the sparkly gold fabric down as far as it’d go, your upper thigh tantalizingly on display. His head drops down to where your hand lay, and he licks his lips. Check and mate.

“Long night?” You ask, crossing your leg over your knee. You sip your drink, still refusing to look at him.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving your frame.

Your eyes meet his, unable to hold off any longer. God. He’s even more gorgeous than you thought. You study him up close now, your brow furrowing. There’s something about him- his round eyes, the slant of his nose- that feels hauntingly familiar. Like a friend from a past life, returning to you once more. You can’t place your finger on it, though, and the alcohol disorienting you just enough to brush it off. For now.

“How could you tell?” He asks, and it dawns on you that you’d never responded. You poise yourself, sitting up straighter to shake off the mishap.

“Had a hunch,” you reply over the rim of your glass. You let your lips close around it and take a sip. His eyes follow the movement. A shiver runs down your spine.

“You seem like a very smart woman,” he says, his voice soft yet firm. You want to bathe in it.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” you reply, your eyes narrowing as you size him up further. You introduce yourself, reveling in the way his eyes light up at your name.

“Spencer,” he responds, that pesky deja vu creeping back in at the name.

It falls silent between you then, but it’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary, actually. Your eyes never leave each other, having a silent conversation all on their own. His are dark with desire and want, they hang low slightly, due to the alcohol, most likely. They’re otherworldly gorgeous, big and brown like melted pools of chocolate. You could swim in him all night.

There’s something else there entirely, though. Hesitation, confusion maybe. The smallest tint of discomfort lasers through the heat, like he’s out of his comfort zone. A smirk crawls on your lips. What are the odds that tonight, of all nights, was the one in which you both decided to take a chance?

It only takes one more drink and some small talk until you’re up against your own front door. He’s kissing you within an inch of your life, his large hands completely captivating your face. His lips slot over yours, making your brain fuzzy. He kisses like a madman, all encompassing, borderline feral.

There’s a hunger in his tongue that you haven’t tasted in far too long. It’s addictive, his smoky scent, his soft pants against your mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sensations. Your nails grip the root of his curls as his lips move to your neck, softly sucking and nibbling. A whimper escapes your lips, your eyes squeezing shut as you scramble for the doorknob. You rattle against the lock before fumbling for your keys.

You stumble in shortly after, tripping over your gold shoes. Spencer catches you, a large hand splaying over the small of your back. He tugs you closer with it, your chest pressing against his. You walk him down the hall before he scoops you up, taking you the rest of the way to your bedroom.

“Spencer,” you muffle against his neck, overwhelmed by your desire for him.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Give me just one minute and I’m going to make you feel so good,” he whispers against your temple. You nod feverishly, like if you’d stopped he’d disappear.

He lays you down, propping your feet to rest flat on the bed, spreading your knees apart with those large hands. He freezes, his breath hitching at the sight of you under your dress. You smirk, the lace thong you’d worn doing its exact job. His Adam’s apple bobs as you trace a fingernail up his forearm.

“What is it, Spencer?” You question his hesitance, the way he’s stuck in front of you now, dazed. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. It makes you feel divine, the goddess of the universe on display for him.

“You gonna leave me hanging?” you pout, reveling in the way his eyes darken. He kisses you with the fervor to prove he could never do such a thing. You let go. The feeling of his hands are intoxicating, like a rich wine.

They creep up your sides, your dress hitching higher and higher with the movement. You shift under his touch, your body writhing as heat pools in your lower belly.

The second he grazes your bare skin, he freezes. Your eyes shoot open to find his, wide and desperate and so, so gorgeous. It shifts something inside of you, your heart clutching so severely that it scares you.

“Spencer,” you whisper against his lips. He shudders.

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He kisses you again.

You blink slowly, the soft light of the sunrise filtering through your parted curtains. There’s a slight thump in your head, but thankfully nothing too bad. You massage your temples as you turn. Your eyes shoot open as you hit a body next to you, still sound asleep.

Memories of last night come rushing back- meeting Spencer, taking him home, the phenomenal night you had, and now this. This, the first day of your new job. Your heart drops. You scramble on the bed in a panicked attempt to find your phone. You whip around to see it sitting on your nightstand, thanking any and every higher power that might be.

You let out a sigh of relief when you see you still have some time to get yourself ready. You ignore the 47 text messages from your group chat last night. You’ll tell them you’re alive later.

You only have an hour, not what you’d ideally wanted for your first day of a brand new job, but it’s better than nothing. It still doesn’t solve your problem of the man in your bed, however.

Your hands push the dead weight, rustling him awake. He rubs his eyes, a raspy, “what?” escaping his lips. For a brief moment, you’re sad that you don’t have enough time to appreciate the sight, the sound of his morning voice. You shake it off quickly, though. You push him again, urging him out of your bed.

“Babe, it’s 5:30 a.m.,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. You’re both too tired to address the pet name. At least that’s what you’re telling yourselves.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna be late for work,” he scrambles off the bed. You take a moment to admire his naked frame in the sunlight as he gathers his clothing.

“Me too,” you say, lunging off the bed yourself. “It’s my first day on a new job, I’m running more behind than I’d like to be right now.” You’re running around your room like a chicken with her head cut off, grabbing your towels and rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

You can’t help but give him one last peck on the lips. This, incidentally, led to two, three, four more. Lastly, one that lingers longer than it should. One long enough for him to graze his hand along your bare arm. You shiver. Your thin bedsheet is the only fabric separating your bare body to his fully clothed one.

You pull away, taking a step back. You release a deep breath as you take him in once more before you leave.

“Feel free to make some coffee on your way out! Cups are in the cupboard above the coffee pot! Thanks for last night!” You call, before slamming the bathroom door on him, running the shower.

Miraculously, you managed to make it at an appropriate time. You park in the FBI car park at 6:45 on the dot. You lean back in your seat, taking a deep breath and a sip of coffee. Finally, you reapply your lip gloss before you turn off your car.

Your heels echo through the hallway leading towards the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You’d always told yourself you would never follow in the steps of your father. And yet, here you are. Each step you take feels as if you’re walking in a giant’s footsteps. You pray you’ll make him proud.

The FBI seal on the door looms over you, unable to keep its claws out of the Gideon lineage. You’re frozen there, stuck staring at it, unable to enter. That is, until you hear your name from behind you. The voice is familiar, too familiar. Your stomach drops.

You whip your head around, coming face to face with-

“Spencer,” you breathe, the air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him.

His hair is slightly damp, falling in front of his eye. There’s static in your ears, a faint ringing torturing you. Panic swells in your stomach, bubbling, boiling. And then it hits you.

Spencer. Spencer Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid.

“You worked with my dad,” you whispered. It’s all you can manage. Your voice still cracks.

“Your dad?” His brow furrows. He studies your face. His eyes scan up and down, desperation taking over. You can basically hear them asking, begging, “Who are you?”You’re still frozen, unable to speak.

Then, it hits him. You know, because he’s found the exact parts of you that resemble your father, his mentor. Your dark eyes, the slant in your nose, the curve of your mouth. The very mouth that was on his just hours ago.

“Oh, God,” he gasps. You turn, walking into the office. All you hear is static as you move, your heart pounding in your ears as you fake a smile through your introductions.

You move throughout your day as easily as you can. The rest of the team is incredibly kind, welcoming. The work starts almost immediately, which you’re thankful for. Like father, like daughter, you suppose. Yet, you can’t escape Spencer, looming over you like an inescapable shadow.

He hasn’t spoken to you since your interaction outside the door, but you feel his eyes on you the whole day. When you speak to the team, when you analyze a document, he’s there. Watching. You feel his eyes creep up your spine, their penetrative gaze lodging deep in your chest. Your heart squeezes each time he walks past you without recognition. The cold shoulder lasts through the rest of the day.

You’re conflicted, your heart at war with your mind. The Spencer you met in the bar last night is nothing like the image you’d created of him in your head years prior. He’s kind, funny, interesting, not because of, but in spite of his accolades and achievements. He’s someone you could fall for. At least, you thought so before seeing him today.

You were young when your dad took Spencer under his wing. You’d never met him, then, just seen a few pictures and heard endless stories. You always felt in his shadow, though. The way your father’s eyes lit up when he spoke about him, the excitement lacing his tone, it was all reserved solely for Spencer Reid.

You’d cry yourself to sleep some nights, desperate to do something, anything as worthwhile in the eyes of your father. You never did. He loved you, of course, and he was proud of you. Yet, nothing ever measured up to his pride and love for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, for Spencer.

As the weeks went by, Spencer couldn’t help but find himself pulling further and further away from her. It’s an anchor on his heart, weighing it down more and more each day. Everything inside him, his soul, his heart, screams to be near her, to hold her, to have her every night the way he did that first one. His mind, though, is an entirely different story.

His mind pumps the brakes, waging a civil war inside him that he won’t be able to win. He’s terrified. Terrified of being left the same way her father did, though he knows in his heart he can’t blame her for his faults. His mind once again holds him back, though. It’s funny that what’s supposed to be his greatest strength can also be his biggest enemy. He reconciled with that a lot when he was behind bars, yet another reason he’s apprehensive of opening up to her. So, he stays away.

Now, Spencer buzzes through the bullpen, coffee in hand as the team rushes to the conference room. He’s stuck behind her, of course. The floral scent of her perfume infiltrates him, threatening a shutdown of his central nervous system. His heart constricts as he watches her, her snug blouse cinching her waist, the tight pencil skirt it’s tucked into rendering him nearly brainless. He sips his coffee, eyes diverting.

He hasn’t spoken to her much in the month she’s been here, though not from a lack of desire. Quite the opposite, actually. His heart is fighting something. Something deep inside him from before he went to prison, before Gideon even left the bureau. Her relation to his former mentor has shifted his world on a different axis, like life is moving in reverse.

With his luck, the only seat left is the one directly across from her, the shine of her lip gloss inescapable. He tries his best to focus as Penelope debriefs them on a triple homicide in Texas, though something peculiar piques his interest. He sees it through the window, someone delivering an envelope on her desk. It’s a black envelope, not anything that would be used for official government business. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stands. The entire team looks at him.

“I need to go check on something,” he murmurs, but before he leaves, he taps her lightly on the shoulder. “You need to come with me,” he says lowly, so only she can hear.

She stands, hesitantly, offering the team a sheepish, apologetic smile. He suppresses a soft chuckle at that. She’s a Gideon, for Christ’s sake. She could show up late for a year straight and they’d thank her just for showing up. He pushes that thought away as he leads her to her desk.

“There was something that was dropped off on your desk just now,” he murmurs into her ear. “It was weird, I have a hunch. I just think you need to look at it before it’s too late.”

“Too late? Spencer-” she stops, her eyes going wide once she sees the envelope. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her fingers covering her mouth.

“What? What is it?” Spencer asks, his pulse speeding up.

“My father received letters in these exact same envelopes in the months before he died,” she looks at him, eyes wild and glossy, laced with deep seated fear.

Meet me at the park at 2:30 p.m. You know which one. Don’t be late.

Spencer races back to the conference room, the letter gripped tightly in his fingers. He lays it out on the table for the team, their brows quirking.

“This was left on her desk. She said her dad received ones just like it in the months before his murder.” It’s all he needs to say before the team scrambles out of the conference room. Penelope’s already on the phone with the case director, forwarding them a new unit for their case. Rossi, Emily, and J.J. are scanning for a return address,

Spencer exits the conference room to see her holstering her gun, fitting her badge in her back pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks her, a tentative hand out in front of him.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she snaps, and he flinches at her tone.

Regret flashes in her eyes, only for a brief moment.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going to that park,” he insists with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was someone you were interested in at all. What’s it to you that I’m fighting for myself when I couldn’t for my father?” Her voice shakes on the last word, his heart cracking at the sound.

“I know I’ve been…distant,” he mutters, his voice low, “but you need to think about the implications of what you’re doing.”

“Distant? That’s what you want to call it?” She scoffs, moving to follow the rest of the team. “I’ve thought about the implications of these letters since the day my father was killed. You may have been his golden boy, but I’m his blood.” She sneers in his face, before leaving with the team.

His heart plummets, dropping into his stomach like a brick in the ocean. He plows ten fingers through his hair before bringing the letter to Penelope’s office. They have some analyzing to do.

The car ride is silent as you drive. You knew what park they were referring to immediately. It’s the one your father took you to when you were a baby. You stare out the window, mind and body numb to the reality of what’s happening.

“Hey Emily,” your voice is low, tentative. “Did my dad ever talk about me?” You inhale shakily, not sure if you want the answer. You couldn’t help asking, regardless.

“Oh, yeah he did,” she has a soft smile on her face, and it melts something frozen inside you.

You let out an exhale of relief. “Really?” You ask, disbelieving.

“Really. He wasn’t a typical parent, not one to show off accolades or achievements, though we know you had tons of those,” she states, and you smile softly. “What he did show us were glimpses into his life with you.”

You furrow your brow at this, unsure of her point. She looks at you, then smiles, turning her attention back to the road.

“He’d bring you up in random conversation, when we’d work on paperwork, when he was interviewing families…‘Oh, my daughter loves that show,’ or, ‘my daughter loves the color pink.’ Any chance he had, he’d mention it. At a certain point, I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. It just happened.”

You didn’t even realize your eyes were glossing over until a lone tear rolls down your cheek. You swipe it away with your fingers, clearing your throat and looking down at your lap.

“Thank you,” you croak. Emily nods.

It doesn’t take long until you reach the park, each member of the team splitting up in various directions. You’re with Emily, on strict orders to stay near any member of the team. You feel something, though. Something deep down that’s not right, that the team is headed in the wrong direction.

You entered the park at the south entrance, the opposite side from where your father would take you. You scan the premises, your breath catching. It’s mainly families, some couples enjoying a walk or a picnic. It’s peaceful. Guilt boils in the pit of your stomach at the thought of disturbing these people. The job is the job, as your father would always say.

It takes a split second for you to make a decision the entire team will have your head for. You break off from the group, sneaking off to a backwoods trail you would hike with your father. It’ll get you to the other side of the park, the side you need to be. You know you should include the team in this decision, that you’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way. This feels so personal, so vulnerable, though, that your feet are moving before your mind can catch up to your body.

It doesn’t take long for Emily to notice you’ve gone, as you can hear her muffled “shit!” come from behind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you pause, waiting for her to pass by to continue your route.

The trail leads you to the other side, just as it always did, and it doesn’t take long for you to see him. Growing up in the shadow of your father means you know everything there is to know about psychoanalysis. This includes how to spot an unsub. It’s almost too easy at this point, like chess to their checkers.

You exit the trail, the unsub clocking you almost immediately. He cocks his gun, pointing it right at you. You holster yours, holding your hands up in surrender.

“I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk,” you say, voice calm and collected.

“I refuse to talk to a Gideon,” he spits your name. It’s venomous, vengeful. So it is personal.

“Okay, then pretend I’m not a Gideon. Pretend I’m someone who just wants to have a conversation,” you say. You move closer, despite your better judgement.

“Do you think I’m stupid?!” He grits out, aggravation evident in his tone. People around are starting to notice, to flee. You put yourself between him and any other pedestrians still at the park.

“God, you look just like him!” He sounds pained as he says it, like it almost hurts.

He lunges at you, then. Before your body can react, his forearm is held tight against your throat, the gun pressed to your temple. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, as your eyes frantically search for anything they can find.

Then, you spot it. It’s tiny, you could’ve easily missed it. D.M. Small, stark letters tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Your breath catches in your throat when it sinks in.

“Your dad killed my father,” you say. It’s strained as you fight for breath.

“What?” The man says, gripping you tighter.

“D.M. On your wrist. Donnie Mallick. He killed my father,” you breathe, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead. The man pauses, lowering the gun from your head. He’s distracted. Now’s your chance.

You make quick work of gripping the gun, stomping on his foot with your heel to get him to let go of the weapon. His arms collide with your middle, knocking you to the ground. Your knee strikes his gut, and he keels into you. You watch as his arm winds back, gearing up to deliver a severe punch. You wiggle around, bracing yourself for impact.

“I have to finish what he started.”

It’s the last thing you hear before his weight is taken off you completely. You turn to see Spencer on top of him, cuffing his hands behind his back. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the adrenaline mixing with the utter shock of seeing Spencer take down an unsub like that, of seeing Spencer at all. He hands him off to Rossi and makes quick work moving to you.

You dust yourself off, standing on shaky ground. You look at Spencer, only a few feet away, but it feels like oceans. You’re both breathing deep, his chest mirroring your own heaving. You watch as he takes long strides, his hands gripping your face before pulling your lips to his.

He kisses you like you’re Penelope and he’s Odysseus, reunited after 10 years apart. In a way, you feel like you have been. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He deepens the kiss, his lips covering yours almost entirely. His hands find the small of your back, hoisting you closer. He pulls back for air. You can’t help but chase his lips. He gives you one more peck before pulling you back into his chest.

“You really shouldn’t sneak off alone like that,” he breathes. You laugh against him, squeezing him tighter.

The ride back to the bureau with Spencer is quiet. Not tense, but a comfortable silence that falls over you two like a soft blanket. Your brow quirks when Spencer veers to the right, 2 blocks from the office.

“Spencer, you’re going the wrong way,” you breathe out, knowing deep down there’s no possible way he made this mistake unintentionally.

“No, I’m not. You’ll see,” there’s a small smile on his face. You settle back into your seat.

A swarm of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach as he pulls into an all-too-familiar parking lot. The red and white neon sign frames the car in the late sunset. ‘Buddy’s 24H Diner. Best Milkshakes In Town!’ A tear sneaks its way down your cheek before you can stop it.

“My dad used to take me here all the time,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only place he liked that he could take me to after cases.”

“I know,” he smiles. “Let’s go.”

You’re seated in the corner booth, the one your dad insisted on every time. Your lips curl around your milkshake straw, fighting for your life to suck out the thick liquid. It’s not lost on you when Spencer’s eyes follow the movement, bringing his own cup to his lips.

“I’ve been having a hard time, having you on the team,” Spencer mutters. Your heart sinks.

“Oh?” You attempt to remain as calm as possible. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Your heart picks up in speed, thrumming in your ears.

“I was such a different person when Gideon was in my life. I don’t think I was prepared for another one to enter,” he takes a bite of his burger, chewing before continuing. “Since I got out of prison, I’ve been so desperate to put my old life behind me. You joining the team has forced me to admit that life doesn’t work that way.”

You pop a fry into your mouth, chewing on that and what he said.

“Why were you in prison?” You ask, feeling a slight tinge of regret at the way he flinches.

“I was framed by an unsub. She had someone on the outside,” his voice is clipped. You count yourself lucky for getting even this much information.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. He shrugs.

“It’s just…thinking about the me I was when I worked with your father…” he trails off, eyes darting out the window. “I was so different. So naive. I had no idea what this job would do to me. So, when I saw you on your first day, it was like all these pieces of my life were colliding. I wasn’t ready for it. I froze. It’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you these past few weeks, and I’ll do everything and anything to make it up to you. I’m sorry,” he finishes with a deep exhale.

“I had a hard time, too,” you mutter, his eyes shooting up to you.

��With what?” He breathes.

“Reconciling my feelings for the great Dr. Spencer Reid.” His brow quirks in confusion. “You’re not the only one with a past life, y’know?” Your voice is sarcastic, but kind all the same.

“You may have only heard about me in passing, but my dad…God, he worshipped you. You were all he talked about most days. I was young. I felt inadequate. When I found out that was the man I ended up sleeping with, I…retreated. I couldn’t make peace with it either,” you utter, a shaky exhale following.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes going soft.

You reach across the table, holding his hand in yours.

“Thank you for the apology, Spencer. It’s okay. How could you have known?” your eyes gleam, the emotion palpable between you two. “Expect to be put through the ringer, though. You said everything and anything, I’m holding you to that.” You point a fry at him in a threatening manner. He smiles.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” God, his smile is pretty.

“So…” you trail off, flirtation lacing your tone. “What was that kiss back there? You weren’t even supposed to be in the field.”

He avoids eye contact again, fighting back a smile.

“When someone I care about that much risks her life for a case, I’ll find a way to get there. No matter what.” His voice is low, warm. A shiver unzips your spine.

“I’m glad you did,” you smile.

Hours tick by, you and Spencer only moving to use the restroom. It’s like you’re catching up on all the dates you could have had in one night. You’re not complaining.

Each new fact you learn about Spencer makes your heart swell. His pain, his joy, his work. You want to swim in his memories until you’re laced in all of them.

You talked about your dad, about your work at the History Center, and how it led you to the bureau.

“Emily sweet talked me into it. I don’t know how anyone can say no to her,” you chuckle, sipping what must be your fourth cup of coffee.

It’s pitch black out now, the diner nearly empty. Your eyes began to feel heavy hours ago. You still haven’t moved. You can tell Spencer’s tired, too. The bags under his eyes are prominent, darker than usual.

Speak of the devil, both your phones buzz with an alert from your unit chief.

Emily: I know you’ve been at that diner all night. Go home and go to bed, you psychopaths.

You look at Spencer, brow raised. “My place?”

“Let’s do it,” Spencer smiles.

409 notes · View notes

g4rvez-r3id · 6 days ago

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grey’s anatomy dupe 💁‍♀️

OH BELLE THIS WAS SO GOOD