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[pastanest]

HOLY- ??????????????????

WHOEVER THIS WAS, THANK YOU SO MUCH ??????????? I HAD NO IDEA INDIVIDUAL POSTS COULD BE TIPPED LIKE THIS ????????? I’M LOSING MY MIND I HAVE NEVER HAD A PSOT TIPPED LIKE THIS BEFORE ????????????? THANK YOU SOSO MUCH ?????????????

no but seriously I’ve been in such a bad depressive episode recently and this has been such a rough year for me so far honestly my passion for writing completely vanished and to have this happen when I’ve come back genuinely means the world to me, I cannot thank you enough anon (‘: ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: returned from me depressive episode for a professor reid fic BARK BARK ANG ANG ANG GO MY TEETH ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE daddy issues? gottem! 🤠 pls lmk if you guys think a part two’s needed for this one bc I’m honestly torn??

warnings: age gap baby we out here fr (but it’s all wholesome bc Spencer isn’t a creep x)

Someday

Graduating from university was a bittersweet experience for you. On the one hand, you achieved exactly what you set out to, exceeding your own expectations in your capabilities as a student and working towards your dream career; you had dedicated years of your life to your course and earned a sense of pride in yourself that you had only previously hoped for; you had made friends you hoped to keep in touch with for the rest of your life, but even if you didn’t, they were established pillars to you, memories you would never lose, wrapped up in the campus of your university. On the other hand, one lingering thought was enough to sour the joy you felt. One isolated thought, as you celebrated with your friends with graduation caps flying overhead and cheers erupting all around you. Because while everyone was lost in the celebration, you were distracted from it, pulled by a gravity that others appeared to be immune to. Through the crowds, you locked eyes with a man who had made the last year of your course the most important of all. The smile on your face softened, and his matched yours, the same thought floating from your gaze to his: this was to be the last time the two of you could ever hope to cross paths. You were no longer part of the campus, instead, you were to be on your way to your dream career, while he stayed put, watching you fly away like a dove against a perfect landscape.

To you, Doctor Spencer Reid had singlehandedly revived the joy and drive you felt when, by the last year of your university course, those aspects of you had begun to dwindle. He was the best professor you had ever had, becoming your favourite from his first guest lecture. It had been so profoundly impactful to you that when he waved off the other students in the hall as they left, you stayed behind to personally thank him. You divulged the length of your course, how strenuous the workload had begun to feel, but how his passion for profiling had given you a second wind. To Spencer, you were the first spark of light he’d seen since getting out of prison; you looked at him like he was something special, something good, and while he couldn’t thank you for that without becoming far too emotionally intimate with you, you became the reason he sought out a permanent position at your university. If he could make the difference in one person’s life, encourage someone into the career he loved while trying his best to prepare them for the hardships he hadn’t been ready for prior to joining the BAU, perhaps that could play a part in him redeeming himself. Viewing himself as worthy of the way you had looked at him, the day you had met.

Truthfully, Spencer’s intentions with you had been nothing but sincere. He knew you were an attractive young woman, but that was an observation he would make had he only passed you in the street in a fleeting moment; it neither added nor subtracted to his motivations, his existing desire to teach, to help, to inspire - if he dared wish he was capable of such a thing. When you returned to your campus after a weekend barricaded in your dorm, studying in a heap of your own making, to find Doctor Spencer Reid had taken over the majority of lecture slots on your course, to say you were overjoyed would have been an understatement. The grin you gave him when you entered the lecture hall, and the smile he returned, felt like the world’s most wholesome secret; both of you aware you’d played a part in each other’s being there that neither of you understood the scale of. 

From then, the two of you became as friendly as two adults in your positions as a professor and student could, within the bounds of what was appropriate. You would share smiles at the beginning end of every lecture, he would praise your constant ability to hand essays in early, you would retort by praising his continual skill at holding your attention in the topics he delivered and thus being the reason you felt inspired to hand in said essays early. Outside of the lecture hall, you would smile at each other across campus in the event you crossed paths. While it was true that it did seem the two of you were more aware of each other’s presences than you perhaps should be - like a sixth sense for the arrival of the other, looking around until your eyes or his found the other, knowing you would be somewhere close by, somehow - it was not something either of you acknowledged. The tether was as invisible as it was deliberately ignored.

Naturally, your friends would often joke that you were no more than a silly girl with a crush, but even they knew that was not the case. There was nothing immature about the way you felt, or the way you handled it. Yes, it was inappropriate of you to feel as giddy as you did before each of his lectures, daydream of him in between said lectures, and spend far too long swooning at the memory of the one occasion in which his fingertips brushed yours when you handed him an essay you’d completed early, but you were sensible enough to keep those things to yourself. The alternative timeline you dreamt of, where the two of you had met in different circumstances and thus been allowed to pursue whatever it was in the societal norm of two consenting adults, where you shared walks in the park hand in hand, cooked dinner together, discussed baby names - that was entirely fictional and safe in your own head. While you acknowledged they were inappropriate, you allowed yourself to enjoy the pleasant feelings, knowing you could never act on them, and that the time you had together was counting to a definitive end. That is what made the feelings harmless; you knew they couldn’t last.

In Spencer’s mind, things were quite different. He thought he had a knowledge on love and its many forms, though his own experiences were limited, his eidetic memory was painfully keen to remind him of the tales of unrequited love he had read and applied to himself throughout his life. He remembers well, what it was like to be a boy and feel like a particular girl in his class was the center of his solar system, but he had been laboring under the misapprehension that such feelings were restricted to when he had been a boy. Of course, Spencer repressed every trace of feeling he felt for you with an efficiency like you would not believe; not only because love had burned him in the past, but because he knew, as you did, this couldn’t develop or last in any conceivable way. It was doomed. A tragedy already written. He had accepted that as you had, and for the most part, he lived in a peaceful sense of denial about any feelings existing between the two of you. It was only in isolated moments, his resolve crumbled. Every single time you had smiled at him, something had fluttered in his stomach, a palpable skip of his heart was felt in his chest; physical symptoms such as that, he couldn’t deny. He was a man of science, who existed to deny every detail of you that enamored him, until your fingertips brushed his when you passed him another essay you’d completed early, and suddenly the universe around him fell back into place. Every star flickered in the sky above him, an eclipse over his heart that allowed a momentary lapse of judgment, just a microsecond in which he was defenseless to the montage of you that played in his mind of an entirely hypothetical future that could never be. 

That day, and that last shared gaze, you knew you had no choice. You were powerless to the pull of him, and you pushed through the crowds at the same time as he was already turning to you, knowing you were on your way before you’d even decided it for yourself. 

“Professor Reid.” You greeted him, as professionally as ever, and his smile widened into a chuckle, your own smile growing at the sound. 

“(Y/N).” He nodded at you in a polite gesture of respect. “Congratulations. You earned every second of today’s celebrations.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you avoided Spencer’s eyes shyly, glancing at the grass beneath your shoes and his. 

“Thank you, Professor, I…I just wanted to thank you, again, for everything. I can’t wait to brag to every profiler I meet that I was lectured by THE Doctor Spencer Reid!” You couldn’t resist teasing him just a little, even in the midst of your sincere gratitude.

That earned another quiet laugh from Spencer, as you’d predicted it would.

“I’m hardly deserving of being your bragging right, or subject to your gratitude. You got yourself here, I was just lucky enough to be a part of it. I hope to see your name appearing in solved cases before long.” He beamed at you.

“I’ll make sure they only ever put my name in with credits to you in brackets right next to it.” You joked, rolling your eyes playfully at Spencer’s implication of you being on your way to cracking criminal cases in no time. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for that, too, then.” He amended, his smile softening at the same rate yours did with the subtext of his words sinking in: he’d be watching out for you and your successes, wishing you the best all the way. 

“Don’t go retiring early now, I’m counting on seeing you in the field someday!” You raised an eyebrow at Spencer, and the slightest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry, I’ve got my reasons for sticking around for a while.” He nodded to you, then looked over your shoulder and nodded at your friends. “I think your presence is being requested elsewhere.”

Glancing back over your shoulder, following his gaze, you saw your friends waving you over, and you sighed. If only you could freeze the world around you. But, there was a countdown with every moment spent in Spencer’s company, as there had always been.

“Yeah.” You breathed, turning to face him again. “See…your name someday, I guess.” Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what the correct terminology for a goodbye such as that was.

But Spencer snickered, so whatever words you’d chosen were the right ones.

“Yes. See your name, someday.”

With that, you headed back over to your friends, casting one last look over your shoulder to find Spencer still watching after you with a softness in his eyes that you’d not seen before, because usually he had enough time to compose himself before you caught him. You waved at him like it was just another instance of crossing paths on campus, and he returned it, before your shared gaze was swallowed by the crowds, and you were whisked away by your friends.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but you would be the first to argue that time also flies when you are going through rigorous training and extreme stress almost everyday for over a year. There were moments of fun during it, of course, but for the most part, the mental and physical strain was an endurance test that you were far too stubborn to allow to get the best of you. Nobody ever gave you the impression that the FBI academy was an easy avenue, and your favorite professor had warned you of the most challenging aspects of the training in advance. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him during the most difficult points of the past year; the advice he’d bestowed upon you had proven to be infinitely valuable already, and whenever you happened to mention him to others, the expressions of shock and awe you’d receive were testament to the fact he very much had been worthy of being your bragging right - if you could see him once more just to say “I told you so”, you’d take the chance in a heartbeat.

You hadn’t expected to be effectively scouted as quickly as you were, following university. Originally, you had your heart set on some local police work, hoping to climb the rankings and edge your way towards the FBI that way, to have some experience in the field to assist you going forward. Fate had been on your side when you were given the opportunity to showcase your skills on a particularly challenging case that the local police force you worked with were not equipped to handle. A couple of FBI agents had been sent to assist with the case, and by the end of it, the two of them gave you a recommendation to the academy. 

In the year that’s passed since, you have done everything in your power to prove yourself to be exceptional, and now, you are taking the elevator to the floor dedicated to the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Everything you have been working towards has built up to this moment, and while it is only an introduction to the team, you were the only one amongst your peers to be offered this opportunity. There are no vacancies on the team, as far as you’re aware, so they aren’t urgently in need of anyone, meaning you are likely being recommended to shadow them, which could lead to a permanent role if you play your cards right. Once that is secured, all of your hard work will have paid off, the years of your life you have thrown into this will have been worth every second, every tear, every drop of sweat. 

The elevator dings, and you take a deep breath. The second the doors open, you step out of them, only to be greeted by a dark haired woman who has an intimidating stance until she sees you, and then she’s smiling, holding her hand out for you to shake.

“(Y/N), I assume? Great to meet you, I’m Emily Prentiss, the Unit Chief.” She introduces herself, and your eyes very nearly fall right out of your head as you nod, shaking her hand.

“Oh, wow, it’s amazing to meet you! My whole class has heard so much about you!” It’s an exclamation you try your best to deliver as calmly as you can, but you are substantially awestruck.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Emily’s smile warms as she lets go of your hand. “-I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about you, too - your training coordinator’s been singing your praises.” She expresses, gesturing for you to walk with her.

You scoff, feeling a little bashful, but still proud of how far you’ve come. 

“He’s not been annoyingly insistent about passing me off to you guys, has he?” You joke with a cringing expression, causing Emily to laugh as she holds the glass doors to the bullpen open for you, shaking her head.

“No, no, not at all! I actually requested you come up here; given how well you’re doing, and this is where you’ve stated your goal is, I figured it’d be good for you to learn what you can while the team’s in a stable position.” She explains, and you nod along, keeping your eyes fixed on her as she talks, wanting to take in her every word.

You know what she’s trying to say; you’d been right that the team don’t necessarily need you right now, but that’s a good thing - it means you’re safe to learn at your own pace, without any pressure of being expected to take on the role right away, you’re just here to learn. 

“That’s reassuring, thank you.” You smile at Emily, and she returns it. 

Walking through the bullpen, Emily takes the time to introduce you to the different members of the team, and you use that as an opportunity to profile what you can about them. Emily has evidently always been a natural leader, but she’s not quite comfortable in her position yet. Luke is the epitome of the golden retriever personality, Tara is total badass but still a sweetheart, Rossi seems to be the father figure of the group but begrudgingly, JJ is a very protective mother figure despite being around the same age as a few members of the team, and Penelope is the sweetest woman to ever exist - not too difficult to suss them out. 

“It’s such an honor to meet all of you!” You’re gushing unabashedly, but you can’t help it; the thought of working with these people is literally a dream come true for you.

“She says that, and she hasn’t even met our genius yet!” Luke laughs, waving the file in his hands before setting it down on a very neatly organized desk. But, something on that folder catches your eye.

It couldn’t be. It absolutely couldn’t be.

“Sorry, can I see that?” Your heart is already pounding.

Frowning in confusion, Luke passes you the folder he’d just set down, and you take it with clammy, shaking hands. Your eyes scan over the printed text at the top of the brown folder, not opening it to view the contents within, because the front was enough to make your stomach flip.

See your name, someday.

The team of profilers that surround you are exchanging glances, and it doesn’t take them long - considering their unique skill set - to come to a conclusion.

“Have you…heard of Spencer?” JJ poses the question to you as gently and vaguely as she can, and you nod unsteadily.

Do you-? In the alternative timeline you entertain inside your own head, you are happily married to that man with three kids and a house with a wraparound porch. Do you know him?

It takes a few seconds for you to regulate yourself enough to look up from the folder and place it back on the desk that you now recognise has to be Spencer’s. Clearing your throat, you laugh at yourself awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, he was actually a professor at my university, just over a year ago.” You elaborate, feeling like you almost have no choice, given the way your own reaction outed yourself.

In the adrenaline rush that hasn’t left you since being sent to the BAU floor, you’d failed to connect the dots in your own mind, or maybe you didn’t want to get your hopes up in believing that he’s still part of this specific team. That today, he happened to be in the office, not away on a case, or lecturing somewhere, or literally anywhere other than right where you were due to be today.

The team exchange glances again, a silent conversation, but this time it’s one of understanding rather than confusion. All at once, they’re starting to smile at you.

It isn’t your business, so they don’t go into detail, only divulging to you that Spencer hasn’t been himself lately because his mother has been unwell and that it shouldn’t be fatal, but because that’s the only family he really has, he’s been worrying himself exponentially. Regularly stepping out of whatever room the team are in to call the hospital, or talk to his mother directly, and barely talking to the team about it whenever they ask about it. The reason they tell you this is because, knowing Spencer as well as they do, your presence can most definitely serve as the perfect pick-me-up to his presently busy and anxious mind - so, you and the team quickly form a plan.

Twenty minutes or so later, Spencer steps back into the bullpen with a forlorn expression; the vision of a man with every ounce of life pulled from him, drained beyond belief. He barely acknowledges Emily or JJ - the rest of the team being in Penelope’s office, watching via the security cameras and her monitors - instead moving past them, towards his desk.

“How is she, Spence?” JJ asks softly, patting his back in an effort to reassure him.

“Mom refused to pass the phone to the doctors and couldn’t even tell me if she’d taken her antibiotics for today.” He all but collapses into his chair, eyes closing in a pained blink.

Phone calls with his mother have often been difficult, but when she’s sick, her schizophrenia and consequential lack of trust makes them especially so; convinced the government are listening, she won’t relay what medicine she’s taken or when, and without confirmation from a doctor, Spencer has no way of knowing whether his mother is actually recovering from any other sickness that ails her. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” Emily sighs, looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Spencer can only nod his thanks.

Opening his eyes, he looks for something - anything - to distract himself. His gaze lands on the folder on his desk, and he picks it up absentmindedly. It’s then, Emily and JJ take their cue to leave, pretending they have a very good reason to head into Emily’s office and close the door behind them; pretending they aren’t discretely peeking through the closed blinds.

Vision not entirely focussed, Spencer flips the folder over with a sigh, barely glancing over the front of it, until something sparks to life in the mess of his mind. He pauses, frowns, and looks back over the front of the folder. His chest feels tight. 

“Folder contents to be provided to: Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) - (with credits to Doctor Spencer Reid).”

Spencer stands from his desk like he’s been electrocuted, looking around the now empty bullpen and immediately realizing that his team, his beloved friends, his family have helped plan something just for him, and his heart is already racing. 

His lips part to call your name, but no sound comes. It doesn’t need to; his heart has been singing it in a secret mantra, everyday since he last saw you. Summoning you, but taking its sweet time. 

On the other side of the bullpen, you rise from where you’d been hiding under one of the other desks, out of Spencer’s line of sight, now appearing before him. Your gaze locks with his from across the room, a desk’s distance separating you, but it doesn’t obstruct the tether even remotely. Nothing ever has.

Spencer watches as time slows to reveal a smile spreading across your face, one that is so beautifully familiar he has to catch his breath before remembering his own smile. Every detail  of you, he recognises. The color of your eyes, your lips, your hair - each and every one, his favorite shades to ever exist. He notices every minuscule detail of you that has changed in the time that has passed, and immediately finds himself listing praise after praise towards each and every one, in the confines of the mind you have enchanted to emptiness. While his conscious mind has continued to deny the power you hold over him, his subconscious mind has been plagued by dreams of the way he’d hold your hand, the kisses he’d leave on your cheeks, should you ever be so gracious as to bestow the honor upon him. He was foolish to even try and convince himself that your beauty was a passing observation; should he ever dare think such a blasphemous thought again, he’ll request a psych eval on himself. 

“Hi.” He breathes, too lost for words to say anything else.

“Hi, Professor.” You answer, the sound of your voice that of his favorite song returning to him after far too long. 

“You aren’t required to call me that now, you realize.” Spencer clarifies, an almost imperceptibly playful tone laced into his words.

“Should I call you Doctor Reid, then?” You offer, raising your eyebrow at him, as though challenging him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he’s walking towards you, closing every inch of space he can’t allow to exist for another second, until only the desk separates you. 

“Just Spencer, would be preferable.” His own voice is softer than he’s ever heard it.

“In that case, I look forward to working with you, Spencer.” You beam, placing deliberate emphasis on his name and holding your hand out to him.

Every thought he has ever had about every germ that has ever existed, erases itself from his mind. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Likewise. It would seem my list of reasons to delay retirement has just grown exponentially.” Spencer’s hand reaches for yours, shaking it so gently - his hand very nearly swallowing yours and not letting go for anything - crossing the only barrier and turning the tether into something tangible, for the very first time. The spark that previously only existed between your eyes, bursts to life in a warmth that blossoms between your hands now, but not just there. It lingers everywhere. It’s in your cheeks, already aching from how hard you’ve been smiling at each other, and it’s in your chests, your hearts fighting with equal strength to forego your ribcages and fly away; a pair of doves into a perfect landscape.

[pastanest]

- a brief summary of Criminal Minds seasons 1 & 2 -

Hotch: we cant take this case bc legal bc jurisdiction bc-

JJ: 🥺

Hotch:

Hotch: wheels up in 30.

[pastanest]

I have a Spencer Reid idea I really need to be written please! 🤣🥺 I’d love to commission but I really don’t want to under pay. What’s the average?

omgomgomg thank you so much for asking!! it honestly means the world you’d even consider it! 🥺 I think I’ve only had one commission request since setting up the new payment system and if I remember rightly that was around £5 or something?? but it honestly completely depends on how much you want me to write! please feel free to dm me and we can talk about it more in-depth if you’re comfortable doing so - I’d really want to do your commission justice!! ♡

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: returned from me depressive episode for a professor reid fic BARK BARK ANG ANG ANG GO MY TEETH ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE daddy issues? gottem! 🤠 pls lmk if you guys think a part two’s needed for this one bc I’m honestly torn??

warnings: age gap baby we out here fr (but it’s all wholesome bc Spencer isn’t a creep x)

Someday

Graduating from university was a bittersweet experience for you. On the one hand, you achieved exactly what you set out to, exceeding your own expectations in your capabilities as a student and working towards your dream career; you had dedicated years of your life to your course and earned a sense of pride in yourself that you had only previously hoped for; you had made friends you hoped to keep in touch with for the rest of your life, but even if you didn’t, they were established pillars to you, memories you would never lose, wrapped up in the campus of your university. On the other hand, one lingering thought was enough to sour the joy you felt. One isolated thought, as you celebrated with your friends with graduation caps flying overhead and cheers erupting all around you. Because while everyone was lost in the celebration, you were distracted from it, pulled by a gravity that others appeared to be immune to. Through the crowds, you locked eyes with a man who had made the last year of your course the most important of all. The smile on your face softened, and his matched yours, the same thought floating from your gaze to his: this was to be the last time the two of you could ever hope to cross paths. You were no longer part of the campus, instead, you were to be on your way to your dream career, while he stayed put, watching you fly away like a dove against a perfect landscape.

To you, Doctor Spencer Reid had singlehandedly revived the joy and drive you felt when, by the last year of your university course, those aspects of you had begun to dwindle. He was the best professor you had ever had, becoming your favourite from his first guest lecture. It had been so profoundly impactful to you that when he waved off the other students in the hall as they left, you stayed behind to personally thank him. You divulged the length of your course, how strenuous the workload had begun to feel, but how his passion for profiling had given you a second wind. To Spencer, you were the first spark of light he’d seen since getting out of prison; you looked at him like he was something special, something good, and while he couldn’t thank you for that without becoming far too emotionally intimate with you, you became the reason he sought out a permanent position at your university. If he could make the difference in one person’s life, encourage someone into the career he loved while trying his best to prepare them for the hardships he hadn’t been ready for prior to joining the BAU, perhaps that could play a part in him redeeming himself. Viewing himself as worthy of the way you had looked at him, the day you had met.

Truthfully, Spencer’s intentions with you had been nothing but sincere. He knew you were an attractive young woman, but that was an observation he would make had he only passed you in the street in a fleeting moment; it neither added nor subtracted to his motivations, his existing desire to teach, to help, to inspire - if he dared wish he was capable of such a thing. When you returned to your campus after a weekend barricaded in your dorm, studying in a heap of your own making, to find Doctor Spencer Reid had taken over the majority of lecture slots on your course, to say you were overjoyed would have been an understatement. The grin you gave him when you entered the lecture hall, and the smile he returned, felt like the world’s most wholesome secret; both of you aware you’d played a part in each other’s being there that neither of you understood the scale of. 

From then, the two of you became as friendly as two adults in your positions as a professor and student could, within the bounds of what was appropriate. You would share smiles at the beginning end of every lecture, he would praise your constant ability to hand essays in early, you would retort by praising his continual skill at holding your attention in the topics he delivered and thus being the reason you felt inspired to hand in said essays early. Outside of the lecture hall, you would smile at each other across campus in the event you crossed paths. While it was true that it did seem the two of you were more aware of each other’s presences than you perhaps should be - like a sixth sense for the arrival of the other, looking around until your eyes or his found the other, knowing you would be somewhere close by, somehow - it was not something either of you acknowledged. The tether was as invisible as it was deliberately ignored.

Naturally, your friends would often joke that you were no more than a silly girl with a crush, but even they knew that was not the case. There was nothing immature about the way you felt, or the way you handled it. Yes, it was inappropriate of you to feel as giddy as you did before each of his lectures, daydream of him in between said lectures, and spend far too long swooning at the memory of the one occasion in which his fingertips brushed yours when you handed him an essay you’d completed early, but you were sensible enough to keep those things to yourself. The alternative timeline you dreamt of, where the two of you had met in different circumstances and thus been allowed to pursue whatever it was in the societal norm of two consenting adults, where you shared walks in the park hand in hand, cooked dinner together, discussed baby names - that was entirely fictional and safe in your own head. While you acknowledged they were inappropriate, you allowed yourself to enjoy the pleasant feelings, knowing you could never act on them, and that the time you had together was counting to a definitive end. That is what made the feelings harmless; you knew they couldn’t last.

In Spencer’s mind, things were quite different. He thought he had a knowledge on love and its many forms, though his own experiences were limited, his eidetic memory was painfully keen to remind him of the tales of unrequited love he had read and applied to himself throughout his life. He remembers well, what it was like to be a boy and feel like a particular girl in his class was the center of his solar system, but he had been laboring under the misapprehension that such feelings were restricted to when he had been a boy. Of course, Spencer repressed every trace of feeling he felt for you with an efficiency like you would not believe; not only because love had burned him in the past, but because he knew, as you did, this couldn’t develop or last in any conceivable way. It was doomed. A tragedy already written. He had accepted that as you had, and for the most part, he lived in a peaceful sense of denial about any feelings existing between the two of you. It was only in isolated moments, his resolve crumbled. Every single time you had smiled at him, something had fluttered in his stomach, a palpable skip of his heart was felt in his chest; physical symptoms such as that, he couldn’t deny. He was a man of science, who existed to deny every detail of you that enamored him, until your fingertips brushed his when you passed him another essay you’d completed early, and suddenly the universe around him fell back into place. Every star flickered in the sky above him, an eclipse over his heart that allowed a momentary lapse of judgment, just a microsecond in which he was defenseless to the montage of you that played in his mind of an entirely hypothetical future that could never be. 

That day, and that last shared gaze, you knew you had no choice. You were powerless to the pull of him, and you pushed through the crowds at the same time as he was already turning to you, knowing you were on your way before you’d even decided it for yourself. 

“Professor Reid.” You greeted him, as professionally as ever, and his smile widened into a chuckle, your own smile growing at the sound. 

“(Y/N).” He nodded at you in a polite gesture of respect. “Congratulations. You earned every second of today’s celebrations.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you avoided Spencer’s eyes shyly, glancing at the grass beneath your shoes and his. 

“Thank you, Professor, I…I just wanted to thank you, again, for everything. I can’t wait to brag to every profiler I meet that I was lectured by THE Doctor Spencer Reid!” You couldn’t resist teasing him just a little, even in the midst of your sincere gratitude.

That earned another quiet laugh from Spencer, as you’d predicted it would.

“I’m hardly deserving of being your bragging right, or subject to your gratitude. You got yourself here, I was just lucky enough to be a part of it. I hope to see your name appearing in solved cases before long.” He beamed at you.

“I’ll make sure they only ever put my name in with credits to you in brackets right next to it.” You joked, rolling your eyes playfully at Spencer’s implication of you being on your way to cracking criminal cases in no time. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for that, too, then.” He amended, his smile softening at the same rate yours did with the subtext of his words sinking in: he’d be watching out for you and your successes, wishing you the best all the way. 

“Don’t go retiring early now, I’m counting on seeing you in the field someday!” You raised an eyebrow at Spencer, and the slightest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry, I’ve got my reasons for sticking around for a while.” He nodded to you, then looked over your shoulder and nodded at your friends. “I think your presence is being requested elsewhere.”

Glancing back over your shoulder, following his gaze, you saw your friends waving you over, and you sighed. If only you could freeze the world around you. But, there was a countdown with every moment spent in Spencer’s company, as there had always been.

“Yeah.” You breathed, turning to face him again. “See…your name someday, I guess.” Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what the correct terminology for a goodbye such as that was.

But Spencer snickered, so whatever words you’d chosen were the right ones.

“Yes. See your name, someday.”

With that, you headed back over to your friends, casting one last look over your shoulder to find Spencer still watching after you with a softness in his eyes that you’d not seen before, because usually he had enough time to compose himself before you caught him. You waved at him like it was just another instance of crossing paths on campus, and he returned it, before your shared gaze was swallowed by the crowds, and you were whisked away by your friends.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but you would be the first to argue that time also flies when you are going through rigorous training and extreme stress almost everyday for over a year. There were moments of fun during it, of course, but for the most part, the mental and physical strain was an endurance test that you were far too stubborn to allow to get the best of you. Nobody ever gave you the impression that the FBI academy was an easy avenue, and your favorite professor had warned you of the most challenging aspects of the training in advance. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him during the most difficult points of the past year; the advice he’d bestowed upon you had proven to be infinitely valuable already, and whenever you happened to mention him to others, the expressions of shock and awe you’d receive were testament to the fact he very much had been worthy of being your bragging right - if you could see him once more just to say “I told you so”, you’d take the chance in a heartbeat.

You hadn’t expected to be effectively scouted as quickly as you were, following university. Originally, you had your heart set on some local police work, hoping to climb the rankings and edge your way towards the FBI that way, to have some experience in the field to assist you going forward. Fate had been on your side when you were given the opportunity to showcase your skills on a particularly challenging case that the local police force you worked with were not equipped to handle. A couple of FBI agents had been sent to assist with the case, and by the end of it, the two of them gave you a recommendation to the academy. 

In the year that’s passed since, you have done everything in your power to prove yourself to be exceptional, and now, you are taking the elevator to the floor dedicated to the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Everything you have been working towards has built up to this moment, and while it is only an introduction to the team, you were the only one amongst your peers to be offered this opportunity. There are no vacancies on the team, as far as you’re aware, so they aren’t urgently in need of anyone, meaning you are likely being recommended to shadow them, which could lead to a permanent role if you play your cards right. Once that is secured, all of your hard work will have paid off, the years of your life you have thrown into this will have been worth every second, every tear, every drop of sweat. 

The elevator dings, and you take a deep breath. The second the doors open, you step out of them, only to be greeted by a dark haired woman who has an intimidating stance until she sees you, and then she’s smiling, holding her hand out for you to shake.

“(Y/N), I assume? Great to meet you, I’m Emily Prentiss, the Unit Chief.” She introduces herself, and your eyes very nearly fall right out of your head as you nod, shaking her hand.

“Oh, wow, it’s amazing to meet you! My whole class has heard so much about you!” It’s an exclamation you try your best to deliver as calmly as you can, but you are substantially awestruck.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Emily’s smile warms as she lets go of your hand. “-I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about you, too - your training coordinator’s been singing your praises.” She expresses, gesturing for you to walk with her.

You scoff, feeling a little bashful, but still proud of how far you’ve come. 

“He’s not been annoyingly insistent about passing me off to you guys, has he?” You joke with a cringing expression, causing Emily to laugh as she holds the glass doors to the bullpen open for you, shaking her head.

“No, no, not at all! I actually requested you come up here; given how well you’re doing, and this is where you’ve stated your goal is, I figured it’d be good for you to learn what you can while the team’s in a stable position.” She explains, and you nod along, keeping your eyes fixed on her as she talks, wanting to take in her every word.

You know what she’s trying to say; you’d been right that the team don’t necessarily need you right now, but that’s a good thing - it means you’re safe to learn at your own pace, without any pressure of being expected to take on the role right away, you’re just here to learn. 

“That’s reassuring, thank you.” You smile at Emily, and she returns it. 

Walking through the bullpen, Emily takes the time to introduce you to the different members of the team, and you use that as an opportunity to profile what you can about them. Emily has evidently always been a natural leader, but she’s not quite comfortable in her position yet. Luke is the epitome of the golden retriever personality, Tara is total badass but still a sweetheart, Rossi seems to be the father figure of the group but begrudgingly, JJ is a very protective mother figure despite being around the same age as a few members of the team, and Penelope is the sweetest woman to ever exist - not too difficult to suss them out. 

“It’s such an honor to meet all of you!” You’re gushing unabashedly, but you can’t help it; the thought of working with these people is literally a dream come true for you.

“She says that, and she hasn’t even met our genius yet!” Luke laughs, waving the file in his hands before setting it down on a very neatly organized desk. But, something on that folder catches your eye.

It couldn’t be. It absolutely couldn’t be.

“Sorry, can I see that?” Your heart is already pounding.

Frowning in confusion, Luke passes you the folder he’d just set down, and you take it with clammy, shaking hands. Your eyes scan over the printed text at the top of the brown folder, not opening it to view the contents within, because the front was enough to make your stomach flip.

See your name, someday.

The team of profilers that surround you are exchanging glances, and it doesn’t take them long - considering their unique skill set - to come to a conclusion.

“Have you…heard of Spencer?” JJ poses the question to you as gently and vaguely as she can, and you nod unsteadily.

Do you-? In the alternative timeline you entertain inside your own head, you are happily married to that man with three kids and a house with a wraparound porch. Do you know him?

It takes a few seconds for you to regulate yourself enough to look up from the folder and place it back on the desk that you now recognise has to be Spencer’s. Clearing your throat, you laugh at yourself awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, he was actually a professor at my university, just over a year ago.” You elaborate, feeling like you almost have no choice, given the way your own reaction outed yourself.

In the adrenaline rush that hasn’t left you since being sent to the BAU floor, you’d failed to connect the dots in your own mind, or maybe you didn’t want to get your hopes up in believing that he’s still part of this specific team. That today, he happened to be in the office, not away on a case, or lecturing somewhere, or literally anywhere other than right where you were due to be today.

The team exchange glances again, a silent conversation, but this time it’s one of understanding rather than confusion. All at once, they’re starting to smile at you.

It isn’t your business, so they don’t go into detail, only divulging to you that Spencer hasn’t been himself lately because his mother has been unwell and that it shouldn’t be fatal, but because that’s the only family he really has, he’s been worrying himself exponentially. Regularly stepping out of whatever room the team are in to call the hospital, or talk to his mother directly, and barely talking to the team about it whenever they ask about it. The reason they tell you this is because, knowing Spencer as well as they do, your presence can most definitely serve as the perfect pick-me-up to his presently busy and anxious mind - so, you and the team quickly form a plan.

Twenty minutes or so later, Spencer steps back into the bullpen with a forlorn expression; the vision of a man with every ounce of life pulled from him, drained beyond belief. He barely acknowledges Emily or JJ - the rest of the team being in Penelope’s office, watching via the security cameras and her monitors - instead moving past them, towards his desk.

“How is she, Spence?” JJ asks softly, patting his back in an effort to reassure him.

“Mom refused to pass the phone to the doctors and couldn’t even tell me if she’d taken her antibiotics for today.” He all but collapses into his chair, eyes closing in a pained blink.

Phone calls with his mother have often been difficult, but when she’s sick, her schizophrenia and consequential lack of trust makes them especially so; convinced the government are listening, she won’t relay what medicine she’s taken or when, and without confirmation from a doctor, Spencer has no way of knowing whether his mother is actually recovering from any other sickness that ails her. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” Emily sighs, looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Spencer can only nod his thanks.

Opening his eyes, he looks for something - anything - to distract himself. His gaze lands on the folder on his desk, and he picks it up absentmindedly. It’s then, Emily and JJ take their cue to leave, pretending they have a very good reason to head into Emily’s office and close the door behind them; pretending they aren’t discretely peeking through the closed blinds.

Vision not entirely focussed, Spencer flips the folder over with a sigh, barely glancing over the front of it, until something sparks to life in the mess of his mind. He pauses, frowns, and looks back over the front of the folder. His chest feels tight. 

“Folder contents to be provided to: Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) - (with credits to Doctor Spencer Reid).”

Spencer stands from his desk like he’s been electrocuted, looking around the now empty bullpen and immediately realizing that his team, his beloved friends, his family have helped plan something just for him, and his heart is already racing. 

His lips part to call your name, but no sound comes. It doesn’t need to; his heart has been singing it in a secret mantra, everyday since he last saw you. Summoning you, but taking its sweet time. 

On the other side of the bullpen, you rise from where you’d been hiding under one of the other desks, out of Spencer’s line of sight, now appearing before him. Your gaze locks with his from across the room, a desk’s distance separating you, but it doesn’t obstruct the tether even remotely. Nothing ever has.

Spencer watches as time slows to reveal a smile spreading across your face, one that is so beautifully familiar he has to catch his breath before remembering his own smile. Every detail  of you, he recognises. The color of your eyes, your lips, your hair - each and every one, his favorite shades to ever exist. He notices every minuscule detail of you that has changed in the time that has passed, and immediately finds himself listing praise after praise towards each and every one, in the confines of the mind you have enchanted to emptiness. While his conscious mind has continued to deny the power you hold over him, his subconscious mind has been plagued by dreams of the way he’d hold your hand, the kisses he’d leave on your cheeks, should you ever be so gracious as to bestow the honor upon him. He was foolish to even try and convince himself that your beauty was a passing observation; should he ever dare think such a blasphemous thought again, he’ll request a psych eval on himself. 

“Hi.” He breathes, too lost for words to say anything else.

“Hi, Professor.” You answer, the sound of your voice that of his favorite song returning to him after far too long. 

“You aren’t required to call me that now, you realize.” Spencer clarifies, an almost imperceptibly playful tone laced into his words.

“Should I call you Doctor Reid, then?” You offer, raising your eyebrow at him, as though challenging him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he’s walking towards you, closing every inch of space he can’t allow to exist for another second, until only the desk separates you. 

“Just Spencer, would be preferable.” His own voice is softer than he’s ever heard it.

“In that case, I look forward to working with you, Spencer.” You beam, placing deliberate emphasis on his name and holding your hand out to him.

Every thought he has ever had about every germ that has ever existed, erases itself from his mind. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Likewise. It would seem my list of reasons to delay retirement has just grown exponentially.” Spencer’s hand reaches for yours, shaking it so gently - his hand very nearly swallowing yours and not letting go for anything - crossing the only barrier and turning the tether into something tangible, for the very first time. The spark that previously only existed between your eyes, bursts to life in a warmth that blossoms between your hands now, but not just there. It lingers everywhere. It’s in your cheeks, already aching from how hard you’ve been smiling at each other, and it’s in your chests, your hearts fighting with equal strength to forego your ribcages and fly away; a pair of doves into a perfect landscape.

[pastanest]

bro’s casually 8ft tall in the first pic

What was the reason to look this damn hot?

[pastanest]

the way you are the only Spencer Reid writer ever bc this is literally him like this is so spot on this is so accurate this FEELS like him it is recognisable in my bones and heart ok you need to be head of the table of the CM writing team fr bc I-

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

[pastanest]

irrelevant to my usual blog content but restarting Animal Crossing: Wild World has healed something deep within me

[pastanest]

Gale Boetticher Masterlist

REQUESTS: closed.

> fluff (f) angst (a) suggestive (s)

Blurbs:

X

Headcannons:

(f) Being His S/O Would Include

Imagines:

X

[pastanest]

Gale Boetticher x reader

A/N: first thing I’ve ever written for this character/universe but I only recently finishing Breaking Bad (yeah I’m 8 billion years behind Ik) and this man is my mf POOKIE so pls be nice x

warnings: as of writing this I’ve not seen Better Call Saul but I’m aware Gale’s in it so if anything contradicts pieces of his lore found there PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL IT I’ll come back and amend them after I’ve seen that show as well if need be - will be using gifs from bcs tho bc there are barely any gifs from Gale in bb on the internet for some reason

Being Gale’s S/O Would Include

- first of all, Worlds Giddiest Boyfriend™️

- no like actually

- gives very much in-awe-of-everything-his-S/O-is-and-does vibes

- every single thing you tell him you’ve done is a monumental achievement to him, even down to something as simple as going to the grocery store

- LOVES to explain sciencey things to you, regardless of whether you understand the intricacies or not

- in fact, better if you don’t bc he loves going into even more detail just to make it easier for you to wrap your head around

- LEAST condescending person ever, does not believe himself to be smarter than you or anyone else (he is a genius but he’ll only blush and shake his head when you call him that) and is thoroughly impressed by everything you do and know that is outside of his area of expertise

- the king of chivalry

- opening doors for you, pulling a chair out for you, paying the bill at a restaurant, standing up whenever you walk into a room if he’s not already standing, kissing the back of your hand whenever he says goodbye to you; regardless of your gender, Gale Boetticher IS pulling out all the classic romantic stops for you

- is actually a big fan of PDA but not in a making-out-in-public way, more of a will-blush-for-three-business-days-if-you-kiss-his-cheek-in-public-one-time and absolutely loves it

- the fact that you’re proud to be his and proud to love him in front of others makes this man’s heart sing for you

- incapable of giving you anything less than the most heartfelt and expressive compliments you have ever heard in your life

“You are the prettiest star I’ve ever seen.”

“Every atom that makes me the person standing here before you, thanks you for being who you are.”

“If an asteroid hit this exact spot and you, right now, are the last thing I ever see, I will live to be the happiest man there’s ever been.”

- unbeknownst to you he actually has a separate notebook filled with compliments and poetic tidbits that he thinks up whenever he daydreams of you and then saves them up to tell you later

- doesn’t care whether you’re vegan or not obviously but will cook you the most fire vegan dishes ever known to man

- will play records just to slow dance around his apartment with you crying as I type this one fr

- will zone out and smile so fondly, just thinking of you

- the sweetest and most attentive partner in the entire world

- memorizes your every like, dislike, quirk and interest so that he can plan the most perfect dates out for you, surprise you with the most thoughtful gifts and ensure at all costs you avoid things/people/situations that could result in you feeling upset/uncomfortable

- Gale is finely tuned to your emotions and will notice IMMEDIATELY if something’s not quite right with you

“Hey, is everything alright? Actually, don’t answer that; I noticed your hands have clenched marginally more than normal over the past 15 minutes so if you’re comfortable enough to tell me why, I’d love to know, but if not, please just tell me what I can do to make whatever this is better for you.”

- stop it I adore him

[pastanest]

it’s called Criminal Minds bc we see a single shot like that and suddenly

criminal minds isn’t called ‘criminal minds’ because of the horrific murders or insane unsubs. It’s called it because despite having a deadly illness and lying barely conscious on some random hospital bed, Spencer Reid still looks like this:

One word: Criminal.

[pastanest]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSF1XH45g/

u and me - 🍌

tiktok getting nuked for songs rlly ruined this for me I’m cheesed but also real x

[pastanest]

okay umm so i think i fjust inished a doctor who piece?? its a different one than the one i told you about and i kinda just churned it out in like an hour after i had thought about the scenario before falling asleep the other day and um yeah lol. i dont particularly enjoy where its ended rn so i know i wanna add to it, but idk what i could even add. im gonna send it to u but please be gentle with me i am a mediocre writer with the rustiest of skills at best! will send link in another ask -banana

ofc I’ll be gentle with u what do u take me for !!!!!!! I realise it’s been a billion years since u sent me this ask but pls for the love of god send it to me do u have any idea how starved I am for Doctor Who content I’ll literally commit arson in 4 seconds

[pastanest]

I am simply OBSESSED with Criminal Minds (and I got my mom obsessed too). Can’t go a day without watching it. Currently in season 4 already!!!!! What about it is so addictive???? Damn!

How you doing, pretty? Hope new year is treating you good

hello sweetpea, so sorry this is such a late response, how are you getting on with CM now?? it’s been a hellish start to the year tbh but onwards and upwards!! how have you been?? I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself! ily !!!!!!!!!!!! <33333

[pastanest]

hey pasta heather, hope ur doing alright, im here to talk, u know my @ cuz i think ive sent stuff off anon accidentally before lol 😅 always here for u sausage queen 🫶🏼 - 🍌

hello beloved <333 I am so sorry I disappeared it has been a ROUGH start to the year lmao but we move we’re back and thriving kinda 😍

honestly just maladaptive daydreaming to get myself through x

how have you been???!!!! FILL ME IN STAT !

[pastanest]

👀

👄

I literally forgot we were in a feud sorry I fell off the earth but I hope I lulled you into a false sense of security

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

A/N: forgive me for posting another blurb x

Between The Lines

That morning, you rush into the office only slightly later than usual; Spencer is the first to greet you, as always. A warm smile is stretching across his face the second he sees you, and it only widens when his eyes briefly trail down your form and back up to yours.

“Ah, finally cold enough to wear my favorite jacket?” He jokes cheekily, referencing the jacket that he has seen you wear more times than you can count. Spencer has kept count - it’s 94.

“You know it!” You answer with an amused chuckle, completely under the spell of Spencer and his charms as you approach your desk.

“Hypothetically, if someone were to buy you a new jacket-” Spencer pointedly looks towards a hole that has formed in one of the pockets, “-would you part with this one?”

It is an inside joke between the two of you, how often you wear this jacket. It was the jacket you were wearing on your very first day, and Spencer often fondly reminisces on seeing you in it that day. Unbeknownst to him, the jacket had been new when you had worn it then and you hadn’t thought much of it beyond it being appropriate for work. However, when you’d arrived home after your first day and taken said jacket off, only to discover that one of the sleeves was decorated by the scent of Spencer’s cologne from brushing past him, you found yourself setting it down on the back of your couch, ready to pick up before you left for the office the next morning. And in the months that have passed since, whenever it has been cold enough, you have worn this jacket in an effort to capture a piece of Spencer that you can actually take home with you.

So, when he insinuates exchanging the jacket for another, your cheeks grow hot.

“I like this jacket!” You argue, without anything to back yourself up because there is absolutely no way you can be honest.

“I know, I know.” Spencer laughs, slowly walking back over to his own desk, mind whirring with how many days he has until your birthday so that he can track down the exact jacket retailer to order you a new and identical one, because he assumes your attachment is to the jacket, rather than the jacket being a tool to ease your attachment to him.

Sometimes, even a genius misses the obvious. And sometimes, he makes you miss it too.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

A/N: been gone for a hot minute due to personal circumstances but just wanted to drop a lil something (that anyone who watches Doctor Who will be able to tell I started writing a BIT ago given the references here lol) to let you guys know I’m still kickin it <3

warnings: slight hint at an age gap but nothing specific

A Smile

You can imagine the rest of the team would be floored to hear that Spencer has actually exchanged texts with you on a multitude of occasions, outside of professional settings. Numbers were swapped on your first day, naturally, and to begin with you only dared text Spencer if you had absolutely no other choice (if another member of the team could text him, you’d busy yourself to ensure they would, rather than ask you, to save you the embarrassment). But, ever since the first occasion that you texted Spencer a random question out of hours - regarding trivia you definitely hadn’t spent a concerning amount of time deciding on before you sent it to him - you have formed a bond that’s unspoken beyond typed words.

You: so, are you looking forward to the 60th Anniversary? :P

As you hit send, you roll onto your bed, grinning giddily down at your phone. In no more than a few seconds, your screen tells you that your beloved genius is already typing back to you, and within a minute, you receive the paragraph you’d anticipated.

Spencer: Absolutely. The revival of Russel T. Davies’ era, coupled with the return of Murray Gold’s legendary scores, are sure to ignite the spark of nostalgia that the show has been missing for some time. In particular, I am looking forward to seeing how Russel will format this new regeneration of the Doctor, and how many references to his predecessors will decorate the anniversary episodes, especially. I take it you are excited for the anniversary episodes, too, hence the question?

His formality and enthusiasm being conveyed in a way that is so distinctly Spencer, even over text, is enough to have you giggling. You know by now that if you ask something about one of Spencer’s interests, whether it be facts, statistics, generalized trivia, questions, literature, Star Trek or, in this case, Doctor Who, there is no way he can downplay his excitement.

You: knew it! :D and yeah, I'm super excited!!

Mostly, you are thrilled by the thought of discussing the episodes at great length with Spencer for weeks after they’ve aired, but you keep that safely in the subtext of your conversation.

Spencer: Of course you knew. Perhaps we could share a live commentary on the anniversary episodes, if we’re not otherwise engaged with a case?

Only Spencer Reid can make your heart stop with a suggestion like that. Before you can consider any consequences, you are frantically typing back to him.

You: I’d love that! will the commentary be by text or call?

He is typing the moment your message reaches him, his ability to read at what you consider to be the speed of light making for a wonderfully speedy texting partner in every conversation you have.

Spencer: Either is fine, but if we aren’t away on a case, I must admit the idea of experiencing the episodes together in person would be most preferable. It eradicates the risk of our viewings not being synced up or our call connection potentially spoiling the immersion. What do you think?

And just like that, he’s stopped your heart again. In fact, you truly have to consider whether Spencer Reid has figured out a means of reaching through his phone to yours, to snatch your heart right out of your chest. As though he hadn’t already stolen it on the day you met.

You: I think you’re right, like always, Doctor Reid :P

That’s a rational reply, you think. Not too eager. Not the resounding ‘yes’ that every fiber of your being is screaming. In the chess game that is how-to-text-Spencer-Reid, you have marked yourself as the queen. He’d tell you that’s not how chess works, but he’d probably also agree.

Spencer: I’m far from right “always”, but I very much appreciate that you think so.

You’re about to reply, when another text appears on your screen.

Spencer: (:

Doctor Spencer Reid has double-texted you. And, not only that, he’s sent you a smiley face. This is unprecedented. Your jaw drops.

You: omg you did not just send that

Honestly, your life is flashing before your eyes as you lie on your bed. Is this the power of your influence? Could you truly indoctrinate older men into sending emojis? Could this really be you?

Spencer: I most certainly did. I’ll even do it again.

Spencer: (:

He had to send it as a separate text. He couldn’t just add the smiley face to the end of his original message. No, of course he couldn’t.

You: omg who are you!!

You’re laughing now. Actually, properly laughing at the ridiculousness of this situation. Wait until Penelope hears about this.

Spencer: I don’t think these suit me very much, but they are fun. What about this one - 🙂

This is going too far. You’ve played God. You’ve flown too close to the sun. You’ve created a monster in the form of Spencer Reid using emojis while still being so formal. Still, you can’t deny that this is perhaps the funniest conversation you have ever had, with anyone, specifically because it perfectly demonstrates the unique humor shared between the two of you.

You: woah! careful! don’t push it, genius!!

And, in response to that, Spencer Reid is left with a philosophical question he has never before pondered: how does one convey sincere laughter via text? This reply takes him the longest, because he has to consider it very carefully. He wants it to indicate how funny he did find your message, and does find you, in general. He wants it to be obvious in its intent and impossible to misunderstand. So, after four minutes, you receive a text that has you laughing so hard you very nearly fall off of your bed.

Spencer: Haha.

Sometimes, that’s simply how your text conversations with Spencer end. While he does, generally, prefer a more traditional ending in the form of a goodnight text (that he actually makes the effort to sign off with a “- Spencer x”, like it’s a handwritten letter), he enjoys the nuances of an open end, on the basis it means a conversation with you doesn’t have to end. Only has to pause, temporarily, until one of you picks it back up again. There is something poetic, Spencer thinks, to the notion of you being his constant both in metaphor and literally in a text conversation that isn’t formally closed. That door is left open to you, much like the door to his heart is.

And that night, he closes his eyes with a smile on his face at the thought of you, everything you are, everything you make him feel. Everything that makes you, you, and how that makes you everything to him.

A text could never truly convey the heaven that you bring to him by existing, but just like proposing plans to watch Doctor Who with you, it’s a good place to start.