reiding-writing

[reiding-writing]

bro why have i only just realised right now that i responded to the wrong request for this fic 😭😭😭

i love your cold!reader series soooo much! would you ever do a fic kinda like morgan’s profiler, profiled ep where she’s been mistakenly arrested for something and also along the way the team finds out more about her? thankyou :)

MIRROR IMAGE. /spencer reid/

you consult the one team member who can actually understand how you feel, about your developed fear of intimacy.

s11!cold!reader hurt/comfort 1.9k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | yeah so there’s actually like zero spencer in this fic but it’s still worth reading i promise bc we all love morgan right? TW FOR MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT

You look like shit. And Morgan is the first to say so.

“Damn girl, you look like you haven’t slept in a year,” he says, glancing over the rim of his coffee cup. “What’s the matter, you and Boy Genius too busy getting busy to sleep?”

Normally, you’d meet that with a sharp remark, something about his tragic taste in button-downs or the fact that he still doesn’t know how to make a proper cup of coffee. But today, your mouth doesn’t move quite fast enough. You lift a brow, offer a half-hearted hum, and keep your eyes on your tablet.

Morgan pauses.

That’s not like you. You’re usually quicker than that. Brash, blunt, maybe even a little mean when the mood strikes. It’s never personal, that’s just the way it’s always been between the two of you—banter laced with affection, sarcasm with a side of loyalty—but complete silence is unfamiliar.

You don’t want him to ask. Don’t want the concern that’s already starting to soften the lines in his forehead. You want to focus on the case, get through the day, and go home to a boyfriend who loves you in ways that make your chest ache. But even Spencer's gentle devotion can’t fix everything.

You close your tablet with a snap, stand too quickly.

“I’m fine.”

Morgan raises both palms. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

—

You’re doing this for Spencer. That’s what you tell yourself when your therapist asks how the week’s been. That’s what you repeat when you wake up soaked in sweat, clawing at the memory of hands that don’t belong to Spencer.

You want to be better. For him. For you, too, if you're honest. But mostly for him.

Because he’s kind, and patient, and so painfully in love with you that sometimes you can’t meet his eyes. Not when your stomach twists with guilt every time his hand lingers on your thigh for half a second too long. Not when you recoil from touch you want, touch you ask for, and flinch away from anyway.

You’re a psychologist, for fuck’s sake. You know the mechanics of this. You understand the neural pathways, the trauma responses. You’ve lectured about this in conferences. But when it’s your own body betraying you, textbook knowledge is a piss-poor weapon.

And you want him.

God, you do. Spencer is all clever fingers and careful words, but it’s the love—quiet, steadfast, real—that does you in. You love him. You do. And you want him. But every time it gets close, every time he looks at you like you're something holy, the image in your mind flickers.

And it’s not Spencer anymore.

It’s him.

You shut your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s not real. Not anymore.

But your body doesn’t know the difference.

You’ve been with him for months now. Longer than anyone expected, including you. But every time his hands linger, every time his lips get a little too close, your heart doesn’t race with excitement. It clenches. It burns. And then it pulls you straight back to Stanford, to that office, to that smell of coffee and old books, and—

You snap out of it when Morgan leans over, lowering his voice. “Hey. You alright?”

You force a nod. “Just tired.”

He gives you a look. That look. The one that says he’s not buying a word of it.

Later, after the briefing, he corners you near the coffee machine. It’s quiet. Spencer’s disappeared to update the file. Hotch is on the phone. You’re sipping lukewarm coffee like it’s going to make up for the two hours of sleep you didn’t get. Morgan steps in front of you, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“Talk to me, Snowball, what’s wrong?”

You stare at him, silently daring him to push further. Most people wouldn’t. Most people know better. But Morgan isn’t most people.

“You’re not like this,” he says, soft but firm.

You flinch again. It’s so small, so fleeting, you think you might’ve gotten away with it. But his face tightens. He saw.

“You know,” he says, tone quieter now, “you’re not the only one who’s been there,”

You meet his eyes. You don’t have to ask. You’ve known about Buford for years. You were there the day Morgan finally arrested him, watched from behind the tape as he closed that chapter of his life. And he was there for you—on the ten-year anniversary of your graduation, standing outside as Wittchen blew his brains out in front of you like it was the final act of some horrific performance.

And now here you are. Two ghosts sharing coffee.

“I’m in therapy,” you say eventually. “I’ve been going. For Spencer.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “For Spencer?”

“I mean, not for him,” you clarify, running a hand down tour face. “But because of him. Because I want to be able to give him what he deserves. What he wants.”

“You think he wants someone who’s pretending to be okay?”

You look down at your coffee.

“No,” you admit. “But I think he wants someone who doesn’t flinch every time he touches her. Who doesn’t have to remind herself that she’s not in some office in California anymore, that he’s not— a threat.”

Morgan is quiet. Listening. Letting you talk, for once.

“I keep thinking I’m fine,” you say. “That I’ve moved past it. But I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear to God, Derek, it’s like I never left. Like I’m nineteen again, frozen in that goddamn chair, trying to pretend it’s normal for your teacher to stare too long at your chest while talking about your dissertation.”

Morgan closes his eyes briefly, jaw tense. “Yeah,” he says, “I know that feeling.”

And he does. Of course he does. You’d forgotten for a moment—not the facts of it, but the feel of it. That shared silence between two people who know too much about powerlessness. You sip your coffee again, even though it tastes like ash.

“When did it stop?” you ask quietly. “The guilt. The shame. The… block.”

Morgan leans against the counter, thoughtful. “Took a long time,” he says. “Longer than I wanted. I dated some good people. Pushed some of them away. Tried to rush things a few times just to prove to myself that I could do it. That he didn’t ruin me,”

You nod. You understand that. That need to be normal. To be someone who doesn’t freeze when hands wander, or bolt upright when someone breathes too heavily in your ear.

“But eventually,” Morgan continues, “I met someone who didn’t make me feel like I had to perform. Didn’t expect anything. Didn’t get offended when I needed space. And one day… it didn’t hurt to be touched anymore,”

You blink hard. The words are comforting, in a strange, raw sort of way. You stare into your cup.

“I want to sleep with him,” you whisper. “God, I want to. I’ve wanted to for months. But every time I try, every time I even think about it, it’s like Spencer disappears and he’s there instead and I feel sick. Physically sick.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything, just watches you.

“And the worst part?” you continue, voice cracking slightly. “Spencer is… he’s so loving about it. So patient. He never pushes. Never asks. Just waits. And that makes me feel even worse. Because he’s ready, and I can’t. And I’m supposed to be the one with the psychology degree. I know this is trauma. I know what’s happening in my brain. But I can’t switch it off.”

Morgan reaches out, placing a gentle hand on your forearm. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up because your brain isn’t obeying your degree. You’re not broken. You’re just healing.”

You bite your lip. “I want to have sex with my boyfriend without feeling like I’m going to die.”

“I know,” Silence again. But not uncomfortable this time. It’s warm. Familiar. There’s history in it.

“Does he know?” Morgan asks eventually.

You shake your head. “He knows enough. I just… I’ve never— not about what I see when..” You sigh. “I can’t. It’s not fair,”

“You don’t have to,” Morgan says. “Not until you’re ready. But maybe telling him a little could help. Let him carry some of it with you.”

You sigh. “He carries enough already.”

“You know he wants to help you,”

“He has. He is. I don’t want to ruin the rest of his perception of me.”

Morgan frowns. “You’re not ruining anything by asking for help, Doc. He chose you.”

Your voice is barely audible. “I can’t even be with him, Derek.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. Warm, grounding.

“You are with him,” he says. “In every way that matters. You think he’s sitting around pissed off that you won’t have sex with him? That man would probably marry you if you asked him to,”

You smile despite yourself. Just a twitch at the corners of your mouth.

“I just want it to stop,”

“I know,”

You lean back against the wall again. Close your eyes. “Do you ever wish you could go back and just… kill him?”

“Every damn day,” Morgan replies.

You both laugh, though it’s a hollow sound.

“I don’t know what to do,” You wipe your eyes before tears can threaten your lids.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready. Crappy advice, I know, but it is what it is,” He nudges your shoulder with his. “But I’m always here, you know. If you need someone who understands,”

Your voice is hoarse. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He smiles at you. “Probably be super boring.”

You smile back. This time, for real.

—

Later, when you crawl into bed next to Spencer, you don’t panic when his arm wraps around you, when he presses tired kisses against your throat. You let him hold you. You rest your cheek to his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

You still can’t bring yourself to take it further. Not yet. But when he whispers, “I love you,” you finally whisper it back.

And maybe that’s a start.

[reiding-writing]

hey guys, sorry i’ve been so inactive the last few weeks, writer’s block has hit me like a truck and i have no motivation to write anything for spencer right now 😔✊

especially for my ongoing series’, i want the stuff i put out to be well thought-out and actually meaningful rather than some small one off drabble, so i’m gonna hold off for a while until my motivation returns

sorry, i love you guys 🙏

[reiding-writing]

some of these lore drops are crazy

1. my dad found out (after 39 years of life) that he had an older half-brother—said half-brother was put up for an adoption, lived in spain for twenty years, and managed to located my grandfather based on nothing but his first name and the knowledge he liked going to pubs

2. the street i live in has a staggering 2 arsons average per year (the guy across the street from us is in some deep gang-related shit) to the point where we know the regular firefighters by name

3. my mum and my dad are technically cousins through marriage 😭 (two sets of my dad’s aunts married two of my mum’s uncles)

npt <3 @avis-writeshq @alovesongtheywrote @siriuslylantsov @de4dlyniightshade @livinginshambles @violetrainbow412-blog @misserabella

hey guys, if you get tagged in this share 3 random facts about yourself that people may not guess, then tag the last 10 people in your notifs

1: I'm terrified of yellow flowers

2: My favorite band is The Linda Lindas

3: I'm in a band with someone tagged here (stay guessing >:3)

@demonshauntme2 @sasgaycumfilledcondom @warden-draws-sometimes @megarattdrawsstuff @draxolot @cheeseboi101010 @nyxisclown @gothweirdo1 @harumichan12 @jocie-questions-reality

[reiding-writing]

AMATEUR INVESTIGATIONS

MINI SERIES [GENRE]

a television drama or online publication shown in a small number of episodes or uploads, often consecutively.

[ pair ] s1!spencer x fem!student!reader

[ genre ] mystery, crime drama

[ parts ] three

main masterlist.

hushed whispers. | 1.3k | part one

after college girls not unlike yourself go missing, you decide to take the first step in bringing them home.

echoes of silence. | 3.3k | part two

digging to deep into something you're not directly involved in can have consequences.

scream at the abyss. | 4.0k | part three

after being kidnapped because of your involvement in the case, spencer and the team rushes to shut down the operation as quickly as possible.

taglist (closed)

@jjunebug @kitty-kei @pacmil @yourfavoritefangirl @mindfullycriminal @n0r4aa @bonza-bear @kodzukenie333 @irma-10 @navs-bhat @skepvids @theylovemelody @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @breadbrobin @darlingcharling-blog @catchthewindd @eliscannotdance

[reiding-writing]

pookie you got tattoos ? 👀 👀

i do 🤭🤭 i have 8 🙂‍↕️

[reiding-writing]

note to self: hip tattoos hurt

but surprisingly not as bad as elbow tattoos

[reiding-writing]

new hyperfixation alert: Hadestown 🙂‍↕️

i’ve been major into greek mythology for literally forever (see: the massive icarus tattoo i have on my arm), and i’m re-reading percy jackson which didn’t help, and also i’ve been super into epic the musical recently and i remembered that hadestown exists and i some how had never seen it before

i have now, trust

more than once

[reiding-writing]

i'm literally so in love with how you write for each !reader, like they all feel like real characters that could very well exist in the cm universe, with their own quirks and lore :)))

thank you so much ! i try to keep the readers mannerism etc separate from each other so they don’t all blur together lol 😭

[reiding-writing]

are u gonna write smut for cold!reader in the future? not pressuring or anything!!! i'm just curious how things are gonna go - either way, i'll still be reading bc i'm so fond of her and her characterization <33

i probably will—but if i do it will be very infrequently

the series is really plot-heavy, and i don’t want to say that adding smut will dilute the storyline, but it’s not really the point, you know?

[reiding-writing]

i love your cold!reader series soooo much! would you ever do a fic kinda like morgan’s profiler, profiled ep where she’s been mistakenly arrested for something and also along the way the team finds out more about her? thankyou :)

MIRROR IMAGE. /spencer reid/

you consult the one team member who can actually understand how you feel, about your developed fear of intimacy.

s11!cold!reader hurt/comfort 1.9k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | yeah so there’s actually like zero spencer in this fic but it’s still worth reading i promise bc we all love morgan right? TW FOR MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT

You look like shit. And Morgan is the first to say so.

“Damn girl, you look like you haven’t slept in a year,” he says, glancing over the rim of his coffee cup. “What’s the matter, you and Boy Genius too busy getting busy to sleep?”

Normally, you’d meet that with a sharp remark, something about his tragic taste in button-downs or the fact that he still doesn’t know how to make a proper cup of coffee. But today, your mouth doesn’t move quite fast enough. You lift a brow, offer a half-hearted hum, and keep your eyes on your tablet.

Morgan pauses.

That’s not like you. You’re usually quicker than that. Brash, blunt, maybe even a little mean when the mood strikes. It’s never personal, that’s just the way it’s always been between the two of you—banter laced with affection, sarcasm with a side of loyalty—but complete silence is unfamiliar.

You don’t want him to ask. Don’t want the concern that’s already starting to soften the lines in his forehead. You want to focus on the case, get through the day, and go home to a boyfriend who loves you in ways that make your chest ache. But even Spencer's gentle devotion can’t fix everything.

You close your tablet with a snap, stand too quickly.

“I’m fine.”

Morgan raises both palms. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

—

You’re doing this for Spencer. That’s what you tell yourself when your therapist asks how the week’s been. That’s what you repeat when you wake up soaked in sweat, clawing at the memory of hands that don’t belong to Spencer.

You want to be better. For him. For you, too, if you're honest. But mostly for him.

Because he’s kind, and patient, and so painfully in love with you that sometimes you can’t meet his eyes. Not when your stomach twists with guilt every time his hand lingers on your thigh for half a second too long. Not when you recoil from touch you want, touch you ask for, and flinch away from anyway.

You’re a psychologist, for fuck’s sake. You know the mechanics of this. You understand the neural pathways, the trauma responses. You’ve lectured about this in conferences. But when it’s your own body betraying you, textbook knowledge is a piss-poor weapon.

And you want him.

God, you do. Spencer is all clever fingers and careful words, but it’s the love—quiet, steadfast, real—that does you in. You love him. You do. And you want him. But every time it gets close, every time he looks at you like you're something holy, the image in your mind flickers.

And it’s not Spencer anymore.

It’s him.

You shut your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s not real. Not anymore.

But your body doesn’t know the difference.

You’ve been with him for months now. Longer than anyone expected, including you. But every time his hands linger, every time his lips get a little too close, your heart doesn’t race with excitement. It clenches. It burns. And then it pulls you straight back to Stanford, to that office, to that smell of coffee and old books, and—

You snap out of it when Morgan leans over, lowering his voice. “Hey. You alright?”

You force a nod. “Just tired.”

He gives you a look. That look. The one that says he’s not buying a word of it.

Later, after the briefing, he corners you near the coffee machine. It’s quiet. Spencer’s disappeared to update the file. Hotch is on the phone. You’re sipping lukewarm coffee like it’s going to make up for the two hours of sleep you didn’t get. Morgan steps in front of you, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“Talk to me, Snowball, what’s wrong?”

You stare at him, silently daring him to push further. Most people wouldn’t. Most people know better. But Morgan isn’t most people.

“You’re not like this,” he says, soft but firm.

You flinch again. It’s so small, so fleeting, you think you might’ve gotten away with it. But his face tightens. He saw.

“You know,” he says, tone quieter now, “you’re not the only one who’s been there,”

You meet his eyes. You don’t have to ask. You’ve known about Buford for years. You were there the day Morgan finally arrested him, watched from behind the tape as he closed that chapter of his life. And he was there for you—on the ten-year anniversary of your graduation, standing outside as Wittchen blew his brains out in front of you like it was the final act of some horrific performance.

And now here you are. Two ghosts sharing coffee.

“I’m in therapy,” you say eventually. “I’ve been going. For Spencer.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “For Spencer?”

“I mean, not for him,” you clarify, running a hand down tour face. “But because of him. Because I want to be able to give him what he deserves. What he wants.”

“You think he wants someone who’s pretending to be okay?”

You look down at your coffee.

“No,” you admit. “But I think he wants someone who doesn’t flinch every time he touches her. Who doesn’t have to remind herself that she’s not in some office in California anymore, that he’s not— a threat.”

Morgan is quiet. Listening. Letting you talk, for once.

“I keep thinking I’m fine,” you say. “That I’ve moved past it. But I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear to God, Derek, it’s like I never left. Like I’m nineteen again, frozen in that goddamn chair, trying to pretend it’s normal for your teacher to stare too long at your chest while talking about your dissertation.”

Morgan closes his eyes briefly, jaw tense. “Yeah,” he says, “I know that feeling.”

And he does. Of course he does. You’d forgotten for a moment—not the facts of it, but the feel of it. That shared silence between two people who know too much about powerlessness. You sip your coffee again, even though it tastes like ash.

“When did it stop?” you ask quietly. “The guilt. The shame. The… block.”

Morgan leans against the counter, thoughtful. “Took a long time,” he says. “Longer than I wanted. I dated some good people. Pushed some of them away. Tried to rush things a few times just to prove to myself that I could do it. That he didn’t ruin me,”

You nod. You understand that. That need to be normal. To be someone who doesn’t freeze when hands wander, or bolt upright when someone breathes too heavily in your ear.

“But eventually,” Morgan continues, “I met someone who didn’t make me feel like I had to perform. Didn’t expect anything. Didn’t get offended when I needed space. And one day… it didn’t hurt to be touched anymore,”

You blink hard. The words are comforting, in a strange, raw sort of way. You stare into your cup.

“I want to sleep with him,” you whisper. “God, I want to. I’ve wanted to for months. But every time I try, every time I even think about it, it’s like Spencer disappears and he’s there instead and I feel sick. Physically sick.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything, just watches you.

“And the worst part?” you continue, voice cracking slightly. “Spencer is… he’s so loving about it. So patient. He never pushes. Never asks. Just waits. And that makes me feel even worse. Because he’s ready, and I can’t. And I’m supposed to be the one with the psychology degree. I know this is trauma. I know what’s happening in my brain. But I can’t switch it off.”

Morgan reaches out, placing a gentle hand on your forearm. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up because your brain isn’t obeying your degree. You’re not broken. You’re just healing.”

You bite your lip. “I want to have sex with my boyfriend without feeling like I’m going to die.”

“I know,” Silence again. But not uncomfortable this time. It’s warm. Familiar. There’s history in it.

“Does he know?” Morgan asks eventually.

You shake your head. “He knows enough. I just… I’ve never— not about what I see when..” You sigh. “I can’t. It’s not fair,”

“You don’t have to,” Morgan says. “Not until you’re ready. But maybe telling him a little could help. Let him carry some of it with you.”

You sigh. “He carries enough already.”

“You know he wants to help you,”

“He has. He is. I don’t want to ruin the rest of his perception of me.”

Morgan frowns. “You’re not ruining anything by asking for help, Doc. He chose you.”

Your voice is barely audible. “I can’t even be with him, Derek.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. Warm, grounding.

“You are with him,” he says. “In every way that matters. You think he’s sitting around pissed off that you won’t have sex with him? That man would probably marry you if you asked him to,”

You smile despite yourself. Just a twitch at the corners of your mouth.

“I just want it to stop,”

“I know,”

You lean back against the wall again. Close your eyes. “Do you ever wish you could go back and just… kill him?”

“Every damn day,” Morgan replies.

You both laugh, though it’s a hollow sound.

“I don’t know what to do,” You wipe your eyes before tears can threaten your lids.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready. Crappy advice, I know, but it is what it is,” He nudges your shoulder with his. “But I’m always here, you know. If you need someone who understands,”

Your voice is hoarse. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He smiles at you. “Probably be super boring.”

You smile back. This time, for real.

—

Later, when you crawl into bed next to Spencer, you don’t panic when his arm wraps around you, when he presses tired kisses against your throat. You let him hold you. You rest your cheek to his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

You still can’t bring yourself to take it further. Not yet. But when he whispers, “I love you,” you finally whisper it back.

And maybe that’s a start.

[reiding-writing]

a new fic is in the works to hopefully be published today 🙏

although it is cold!reader and morgan centric so there’s actually not a whole lot of spence, sorry 😭😭

[reiding-writing]

my brother and i are now officially branded as siblings forever (we got matching tattoos) 🙂‍↕️

i am now reluctantly admitting to being player 2 for the wii console eternally

[reiding-writing]

if ur cold!reader fics were actually scenes/episodes in the series, would stanford’s finest be the episode titled as their name? Or would it be like snuck in as one of the 100, 200, 300.. episodes? Love ur series btw!!

stanfords finest is 100% a rip-off of the ‘character name’ episodes 😭

obviously i couldn’t actually title it like that but my working title whilst writing it was quite literally [insert name here] 😭😭

[reiding-writing]

Hey so 1. I’m very sorry you don’t get your glasses from the NHS anymore glasses are so expensive I had to wait till I had student finance to pay for them 😕

2. Are you going to be writing for enemy!reader at some point no rush 🩷

thank god for SFW and my student loans allowing me to see clearly for another day 🙏🙏

i shall be updating the enemy!reader storyline soon 🙂‍↕️ i’m just kinda slow on the uptake atm bc i’m going through a massive bout of writer’s block rip 😭

[reiding-writing]

being an adult sucks sometimes bc tell me why i don’t get my free NHS glasses anymore 😔

[reiding-writing]

"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

[reiding-writing]

15, 38 and 41 for the questions thingie ? also bonus one, of the reader types you write for, which is your favorite ? lots of love <3

thank you lovely <3

15. Do you have any houseplants? Do any of them have names?

i fear i have a black thumb 😭 every plant i’ve ever tried to house has died, so all of my plants are fake rip

38. What’s one show you watch or musician you listen to that your friends know nothing about?

two for one special here, two set violin on youtube are my guilty pleasure fr, even though they’re not uploading much anymore which makes me super sad

41. What scent is your deodorant?

everything in my life is coconut scented for some reason 😭

bonus : my favourite reader?

honestly, this question is super difficult— cold!reader is obviously my baby, and is a super massive passion project because i get to go into such niche character aspects and make her really fleshed out

but my unsub!reader series was like the first long-form series and was written whilst i was researching sociopathy for my psych class, and as someone who has such an all-encompassing fixation on human psychology, getting to figure out how to actually write someone with sociopathy was so interesting for me

also bonus points for enemy!reader, because i am an advocate for enemies to lovers fics being done correctly, instead of being super rushed

sorry for yapping lol