#dr. taylor swift

[sheerioswifties]

I just love Washington for this

Taylor Swift was named an "Honorary Geologist" by Washington State prior to her Eras Tour arrival in Seattle, where "Taylor Swift Week" was also officially declared.

[lavendertheys]

THE PITT: you’re on your own, kid

[xximperioxx]

Help Me Hold Onto You

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k (not proofread)

Warnings: parent death (mother) , mourning, panic attack/breakdown(reader throws up), patient death, robby walks in on reader having a panic attack, fluff, age gap, medical inaccuracies, very brief mention reader having tattoos

Notes: For some reason did not include a dad but oh well. Probably why the reader has a thing for Robby. this took me a while to write idk. Also I based the panic attack symptoms on mine so pls don’t come at me. Totally listened to The Archer by Taylor Swift while writing this. Thank you for all the love recently and hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————

You don’t hear Robby’s voice telling you to call the time of death until he puts his hand on your shoulder. You flinch.

You silently watch Donnie and Mateo cover the woman’s body.

“She was your family?” Mel asks

Your eyes pull away from the now sheet covered body to look at her confused, “No, she-she came in yesterday.”

She sees your confusion and nervously rocks on the heels of her feet. “Oh. You called her mom, I just assumed.”

Your head whips up and your eyes burn with anger. “No, I didn’t.”

Mel shrinks and is about to open her mouth before Robby pops his head back into the room instructing everyone to take a break.

An irritated scoff leaves your mouth as you slip away from the group. Donnie and Mateo share a silent look.

Your heart hurts. It’s not that you didn’t believe Mel- you absolutely did. You just didn't think you would slip like that. Someone else’s mom you couldn’t save. You let her slip away like your own mother. Same cause of death. A heart attack.

You come to a stop and your hand rests at your chest. Your heart thumping loudly. Your eyes begin to burn as you try to focus your breathing.

Your feet move you to the closest bathroom which happens to be the unisex bathroom.

You bust open the bathroom door, fully hyperventilating now.

You couldn’t save her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to your own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mel finds herself approaching Dr. Robby at the hub. “Dr. Robby,” She interrupts, “I’m um… concerned about Dr. (Y/N).”

Robby continues his work on the tablet, “Well, she did just lose a patient, Dr. King, and that doesn’t get easier no matter how many times.”

“She kept calling the patient ‘mom’. At some point during compressions I heard her say, ‘Please don’t do this mom’.” Robby’s eyes glance up with concern. She continues, “I tried to ask her about it and she got angry.”

He sets the tablet on the counter. “I’ll check in on her.” He gestures to the screen, “And you keep up the good work with your patients.”

As Dr. King walks away, Robby slides his glasses to the top of his head before running his hands down his face. He knew something was up. Normally the two of you worked in sync. Two peas in a pod. You were his top senior resident, not that he would admit it out loud.

You were always in his eyesight and even on your days off, Robby’s eyes would search for you. You had taken a few days off during the week and you had left suddenly. Not even letting him know, he had found out from Gloria you would be taking a few days off due to personal reasons. He knew something was wrong when he texted you and never got a response or when you had come back to work with dark circles under your eyes. You looked fragile and not your usual radiant, lighthearted self. There were no jokes, no smiles, no laughs, no glances directed at Robby or anyone in the Pitt.

Robby had watched Gloria approach you at the beginning on your shift. How she took your hands and gently told you something he couldn’t read on lips. How you gave her a weak smile as you said thank you. When you just silently stood with your arms around yourself for a few moments after Gloria walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slide to the floor gripping at your chest and neck as if it would help you breathe.

You don’t hear the door open with the ringing in your ears nor do you see who swiftly comes into the small bathroom. Your eyes are closed with the intent of trying to focus on your heartbeat. Hopefully to also stop the tears from flowing.

Robby rushes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, finally catching a moment to pee.

The sound of a zipper causes your eyes to peek open. A noise attempts to come out of your throat. You recognize the navy blue sweatshirt and cargo pants. Your head finds itself back in between your knees.

Robby jolts at the sudden noise, “Jesus – fuck.” He whips his head around. His eyes widen at the sight of you. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

He quickly zips his pants back up ignoring his belt as he kneels in front of you. His hands pull your face up, his eyes scanning your face. Your name continues to slip from his mouth.

Your eyes open and your vision is still fuzzy. His fingers graze over some stratch marks on your neck before checking your pulse. 160 bpm. Your shortness of breath suddenly turns into dry heaving. Without thinking, you shove Robby to the side and retch into the toilet. All that comes up is the iced coffee you had this morning.

Robby places a gentle hand on your back. You let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally feeling like you can breathe again as if you threw up the heavy feeling in your chest. You finally pull your face away from the toilet and let your body relax. Grabbing some toilet paper, you wipe the lingering tears on your face before looking at Robby.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your bathroom break,” your voice raspy. A tired smile attempts to form.

He leans against the bathroom wall with you. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes studying you. “You doing okay?”

You blink.

He takes in your bloodshot eyes and the dark circles before letting out a nervous chuckle at your reaction.

“Besides the fact that you walked in on me having a panic attack?” You press your lips into a fine line, “Just peachy.”

He nods and nudges your shoulder with his. “What’s going on? You’ve been distant.”

You scoff while standing up. Robby lets out a groan as he stands up, his joints yelling at him. You turn the faucet on and begin washing your hands. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You wipe your hands,“That’s rich coming from you.”

Robby wants to flinch. There had been moments in the past where you had begged him to tell you how he was feeling whenever he would shut himself down. You had begged him to let you help him. You always saw right through him. He always pushed you away and you would always pull him back in.

He sighs. “I just want to help you. I’m worried about you.”

You huff, “Just stop. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Robby tries to reach for you. You jerk away as your voice wavers, “Please just leave me alone. I-I want to be alone.”

His heart breaks. You sound like him. His lips press together as he watches you unlock the door. He runs his hand through his hair. The roles are reversed now.

You pause before leaving, “Don’t forget to piss.”

All you hear is a snigger as you slip out of the bathroom.

You make your way to the hub. Your eyes up to see Langdon already staring at you. A small smirk resting on his face.

You sigh, “What?”

He leans against the counter, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you just walked out of the single bathroom Robby happens to be in.”

The two senior residents watch Dr. Robby walk out of the bathroom. You quickly clear your throat and reach over Langdon, grabbing a tablet, “You just love being an asshole, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Robby would never want to admit it to himself but you’re the one he would risk it all for. Yet he’s too scared to act on his feelings with you. When he looks at you, he’s reminded of his failed relationships and deep down he knows he’s better off alone. He wouldn’t make you happy in the long run. You’re young. You have your whole career left ahead of you and he doesn’t want to put that in jeopardy.

Dana snaps her fingers in front of Robby’s face. He gently shoves her hand out of his way. Her hands now on her waist.

“I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes.” She searches his face. “You okay?”

He aimlessly nods, his mind still on you. Dana gives him an update regarding some patients. Half listening, he glances past Dana and focuses on you. You meet his gaze.

Robby interrupts her, “Do you know what’s going on with (Y/N)? She’s not herself.”

Dana tries to joke, “Worried about her, lover boy?” He gives her a look. “Right. Well, the poor kid just lost her mother. She just lost a part of herself. So of course she’s going to be out of it.”

Robby's face falls. His heart drops. The pit in his stomach is now bigger. Why didn’t you tell him?

Dana notices the look and frowns, “Did she not tell you?”

He goes to look for you but you’re nowhere to be seen. He shakes his head out of frustration. “It’s like she’s shutting me out.”

The charge nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, “Sounds like someone I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby finds you making a coffee an hour later. Just as you’re about to take a sip, Robby takes the cup out of your hand and tosses it in the trash.

“Robby, are you fucking serious?” If looks could kill.

“You’re going home.”

“What?”

“Grab your bag. You’re going home.”

This time you laugh. You brush past him.

He backs up, blocking the doorway. “I’m serious.”

You look at him unimpressed, “Well, jokes on you I don’t have any more PTO or sick time so I can't leave.” You try to sneak under his arm through the doorway.

His arm curls around you, stopping you once again. He sighs, “As your attending, I am making the decision to send you home.”

You furiously blink away some tears, “You’re going to pull the attending card now, Robby?”

He silently nods.

“Y-You don’t understand I need,” you let out a shaky breath, “–I need to work. Please Michael.”

His lips press into a thin line as the sinking feeling in his chest returns. He was trying to do what’s best for you.

Robby’s arm drops. He looks down and gently takes a hold of your hand, “You need to mourn.”

You rip your hand away. Almost angry he knew about your mother. Your lips trembling while shaking your head, “No-No, I don’t.”

Robby lets out a deep breath. “Please.” Finally, you look up at the man in front of you. “You need to go home.”

You stand there, bitterly wiping away tears as you watch Robby walk away to grab your backpack from the hub. You sniffle.

How could he just send you home like this? How could you let yourself break down this much? He can’t just do this to you when you have tried to help him mourn Adamson for years. You angrily take your bag from his hand and brush past him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jess, if I get any more sympathy flowers I’m going to start giving them back as a warning. Like an omen.”

Your roommate, Jessica, takes the vase of flowers from you. “I like them. They brighten up the apartment.”

You begin to walk to your room, “Yeah...nothing like being reminded your mom just died with flowers.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She yells from the other room.

You lay on your bed, picking at your fingers. Your eyes close. You haven’t slept in days. You have a migraine from crying. Any time you were alone your thoughts were plagued with her. Childhood memories. Her passing. The future without her. She would never see you get married, meet her grandkids, see you succeed.

Your mind wanders to Robby. She would never meet him. You talked about him enough that she probably had him imaged out. You see him with you. Your future. Together.

Your eyes pop open. Did you just think about marrying him? Suddenly your heart aches, feeling guilty with how you treated him. You were shutting him out. You don’t want to push him away. God if anyone knew what you were going through it would be him.

You stare at the ceiling fan. Maybe you should text him.

“(Y/N)! You have a special delivery.” Your roommate sings out.

You sigh and curl into your bed. You hear her call your name again.

Slowly but surely you stand up from your bed. Your feet pad against the wood floor as you make your way to the living room. You can hear Jess making small talk with someone. “Jess I told you - give the flowers back. Let them be an omen.”

You pause when you see Robby in your apartment. Tired eyes, a warm smile on his face, a hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the other holding a coffee, and his backpack on the floor by his feet. He’s still in his scrub top and cargo pants meaning he had come right after work. To see you.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes move away from Jess, taking you in. Your hair still damp from a shower, an oversized college shirt, and a pair of pajama shorts. Robby’s eyes can’t help but trail up your legs, noticing tattoos he didn’t know you had.

He snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “I brought you a coffee.”

“To make up for the one you threw out?”

He nods. You purse your lips to stop you from grinning. You take the coffee from his hand.

“I’m uh–going to go grocery shopping. Please make yourself at home.” Jess picks up her bag from the kitchen table. She hesitates, stopping by you. She whispers with excitement, “Is this doctor daddy?”

With a roll of your eyes, you give her a shove. You notice the tip of Robby’s ears turned bright red at the not so quiet comment. Your roommate waves goodbye before heading out.

You take a seat on your couch. “How’d you find my address anyways?”

Robby rubs the back of his neck, “Langdon.”

“That little fucker,” you mutter. He cracks a smile.

Robby follows you to the couch. He walks over to a shelf, admiring your life outside of work in pictures. You sip your coffee. It’s quiet.

He gently picks up a face-down picture frame. It’s you and your mom smiling at each other. You watch him as his eyes study the picture.

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want people knowing.” You sigh, “I guess it’s been a way for me to feel like the whole thing never happened.”

He takes a seat next to you. Your knees touching, “You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to send you home like that– I just don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I know you didn’t get to mourn Adamson like you should have. I know it still haunts you.”

He shakes his head almost wincing at his mentor’s name, “I could see myself in you today and that terrified me.”

He reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers. Your eyes become watery, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Robby mutters, “I hated that you shut me out.”

Looking down, you blink away your tears, “I just feel so broken. Alone.”

He looks at you and whispers quietly, “I’ll put you back together,” he lets go of your hand. His calloused fingers trace your jawline, gently turning your head to look at him. “Just like you’re doing with me.”

Your eyes search his, “You would stay?”

A grin spreads onto his face, “Can’t get rid of me. Even if you tried.” His face softens, “Help me hold onto you.”

Your face mirrors his, “I mean I’ve held onto you this long.”

Robby jokes, “I know how you feel now when you try to take care of me.”

You lean into him, “I can be pretty annoying.”

He smirks and leans in closer, “I’d say so.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.”

He brushes your hair out of your face, “And why’s that?”

“We see right through each other.”

There was never a time where you didn’t see through Robby’s bullshit lies. Whenever Gloria would get on his nerves, when he was struggling with his depression or anxiety, or when he had a tough patient. Robby always seemed to know when you didn’t get enough sleep, having a rough mental health day, when you were hangry, or when you just needed a hug.

Robby’s dilated eyes dart down to your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Dr. Robinavitch?” You murmured. Your soft lips brush against his.

“If you’d let me.”

He takes your nod as a yes. Robby closes the gap between you and connects your lips together. You immediately reciprocate, gently kissing him back. His rough calloused hands cup your face, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds you slowly pull away. His forehead rests against yours.

You let out a soft laugh. “I’ve thought about that for an embarrassingly long time.”

A groan rumbles at the back of Robby's throat. “You don’t want to know what I’ve thought about.”

You snicker before placing a soft kiss beneath his beard. “We can discuss that later.”

He pulls your legs over his lap and wraps his arm around you. Your head rests on his chest as his hand rests on your bare thigh.

You listen to his accelerated heart beat slowly calm. He lays his head on top of yours. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. You stifle a yawn.

“I wish you could have met her,” you whisper.

“I would tell her she has the most intelligent and beautiful daughter…” his thumb gently caressing your skin, “And that she won’t have to worry about you because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart swells, “Thank you.”

“Adamson is proud of you. I know it.” You mumble into his chest. Robby releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A sense of reassurance floods him. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

After a few moments, Robby hears your breathing become slow and rhythmic.

Robby sighs, “I would also tell your mom–I have loved her daughter for a long time and have just been too afraid to admit it.”

“I love you too, Michael.” You tiredly mumble as the curve of your mouth curled up slightly.

He presses his lips to the top of your head with an embarrassed smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jessica comes back to the apartment to find the two of you on the couch. Robby quietly snoring and you in his arms, sleeping for the first time in days.

[cowboy1ikereid]

spencer reid wearing cardigans ❤️

‘and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favourite’

[aftergubler]

if clarity's in death, then why won't this die? years of tearing down our banners, you and i living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

[inksreid]

Cornelia street • S. Reid

SUMMARY: you been wanting to take Spencer shopping in out to eat like a date , for awhile but the thing is you have a crush on him and not sure how he will react , you want to ask for advice but your afraid Derek will tease you so you go to the girls and Derek gets his feelings hurt because you didn’t trust him with the advice…

Pairing : shy/Fem!reader X Shy Awkward Spencer Reid 

Tags : Reader , asks for advice to ask out Spencer , Spencer likes reader but didn’t know reader liked him , fluff they go shopping together no use of your name .. pure fluff except were Derek gets his feelings hurt ..

W/c: 1.9K

A/notes : I took the plunge , making this my first attempt to write fic for Spencer Reid .. I hope you like it I’m scared if I missed anything please be kind to let me know .

@dearlenore thank you for letting me use your format forgetting started .. thank you for the follow back as well 😢💕.

It was warm but cloudy, the kind of day that felt like it could rain at any moment. The bullpen was quieter than usual—just the hum of computers, the occasional clatter of the ice machine in the break room. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something familiar. Spencer’s cologne. Subtle but distinct. You noticed it the second you walked in.

Your eyes found him instantly, sitting at his desk, completely lost in his book. His fingers traced the edge of the pages, his lips moving slightly as he read. Focused. Unaware of the way your stomach twisted just looking at him.

JJ and Emily stood in the corner talking, while Derek walked by, flashing a smirk. You barely had time to react before he stopped right in front of you.

“What’s up, love?”

You stiffened. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “I’ll ask JJ.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No, you can ask me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders before you shoved it off.

“Actually, no—I can’t. You’ll tease me, and I can’t take that right now. I just need a girl’s advice, sorry, Derek.”

Derek scoffed, holding his hands up. “Alright, alright.”

You turned away, heading straight for JJ and Emily.

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?”

Emily glanced up. “Sure, what’s up?”

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder before lowering your voice. “I wanna take… um, Spencer out,” you admitted. “Like shopping. Maybe grab something to eat. But I don’t know how to ask him.”

Before either of them could answer, a voice cut in.

“This is what you needed help with?”

Your stomach dropped.

Derek stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“I could’ve helped with that without teasing you,” he said, almost offended. “If that’s what you were worried about, all you had to do was ask.”

You opened your mouth, but he just sighed and walked away.

JJ nudged you. “I think someone’s feelings are hurt.”

Your chest tightened. “I’ll be right back.”

You found Derek in the break room, stirring his coffee a little too hard.

“It’s not like you to get upset,” you said.

“I’m not upset,” he muttered. “It’s just—he’s my best friend. And I thought we were friends too. If you needed something from me without the teasing, you could’ve just said so.”

Your shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. Just then

“I really like him,” Derek , in I just didn’t want you to tease me about it .

Just as you said that , “Spencer walked in”..

Spencer froze mid-step, his hands in his pockets.

“Who do you like?” he asked. “Do I know him?”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Great You murmured to yourself, That’s the second time today someone’s overheard me say something today.”

Spencer stepped back immediately. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t, pretty boy.” Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She needs to talk to you.”

Spencer glance at you, eyes filled with curiosity—and something else.

Nervousness.

“ you glared back at Derek..” — it’s okay you thought to yourself you can do this …

Your breath hitched. “Spence, I was wondering… would you want to, um, go shopping? And maybe grab something to eat after?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “It’s… me? You like?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “I was scared to tell you. Maybe just nervous,” you admitted. “I was gonna ask JJ and Emily for advice, but then Derek caught me . He wanted to help, but I thought he’d tease me, and… well, now we’re here.”

You exhaled sharply. “I get it if you don’t want to, Spence—”

“If I don’t want to?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the words.

You could see it then—he was just as nervous as you were. His fingers twitched slightly, his lips parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“So… you like me?” he asked, careful, hesitant.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. But it’s not a big deal,” you mumbled.

Spencer stared at you. “Not a big deal? You were literally trying to get advice on how to ask me out,” he pointed out. “How is that not a big deal?”

You hesitated, turning toward the counter, needing something—anything—to do with your hands. “I don’t know, I’m just… not good at these types of things.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment before he admitted, softly, “I’m not either.”

You looked at him.

He gave a small, nervous smile. “I… I didn’t even know you liked me back.”

His voice was gentle, like he was still trying to believe it.

Spencer shifted on his feet, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He hesitated for a moment, then took a breath, meeting your eyes with that soft, unsure look that made your stomach flip.

“Let’s do it,” he said, his voice careful but certain. “Let’s go shopping—whatever you had in mind, I’m in.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Really?”

His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I like you too.” His voice dipped slightly, more unsure now. “And I want to do this.”

You felt like you forgot how to breathe for a second. All the nerves, all the overthinking—it all seemed so ridiculous now. He was just as uncertain, just as hesitant, but he was still standing there, choosing this. Choosing you.

A slow smile crept onto your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “Then let’s do this.”

Spencer gently took your hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Now?” you said, caught a little off guard.

He nodded. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Okay then,” he said, offering a small smile as he guided you out of the break room, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

As the two of you stepped into the bullpen, you hesitated. “Spence… what if—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured you softly. “It’s just our first date.”

Your heart stuttered at the word date, but before you could overthink it, Spencer glanced toward JJ and Emily. They were already watching, grinning as if they had known this was coming all along.

Just as you reached the exit, Hotch stopped the two of you. He barely lifted his gaze from his paperwork, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Have fun, you two.”

You and Spencer exchanged a quick, nervous glance before smiling. Then, without another word, you walked out together.

“Do you wanna walk?” Spencer asked, glancing at you. “Or ride?”

“Walk,” you said without hesitation, smiling. “We’re so close to everything, and it’s, um—” You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “Never mind.”

Spencer looked at you curiously. “More peaceful?”

You nudged him lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re the genius. What do you think I meant?”

A small chuckle escaped him, his smile soft but genuine. “I think I get it,” he said, glancing down for a second before looking back at you. The warmth in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

The first place you stopped was a little bookstore with a small café tucked inside. The scent of coffee and old paper filled the air, making the place feel cozy and warm.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and pulling him inside.

He let out a small, breathy laugh, his lips curling into a smile—of course, he didn’t mind.

You spent the next couple of hours wandering through the shelves, flipping through pages, and sharing quiet comments about different books. Eventually, you convinced Spencer to pick out one of his favorites and read a few pages to you.

His voice was soft but steady, each word carrying a certain rhythm as he got lost in the story.

You couldn’t help but smile as you listened, watching the way his eyes lit up.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, a knowing look in his gaze as he closed the book for a moment.

“I am,” you admitted, still smiling.

“Let’s go,” you said, giving his pant leg a gentle tug to get his attention.

Spencer looked up from the book, blinking. “Where to?”

“No clue,” you grinned. “But that’s the best part. Come on.”

He hesitated for a second before placing the book back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on the spine as if saying a silent goodbye. Then, with a small nod, he followed you out of the store.

Back on the street, the air was crisp, the faint hum of the city surrounding you both.

“The mall is just around the corner,” Spencer offered, glancing at you.

You smiled, leaning against his shoulder for a brief moment. “Okay,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You spent a few hours wandering through the mall, picking up a few things along the way. Spencer did too, though he was more subtle about it. At some point, he had slipped away for a moment, just long enough to buy you something—a delicate bracelet that caught his eye. He tucked the small bag carefully inside his coat pocket, deciding to wait until the end of the date to give it to you.

"Spence," you said softly, glancing up at him as you walked. "I’m having the best time."

His lips curved into a small smile. "Me too."

"Wanna grab some food?" you asked, nodding toward the food court.

Spencer nodded. "Let’s get some sandwiches or something."

You agreed, and soon the two of you were sitting across from each other, the hum of mall chatter in the background as you unwrapped your food.

"This has been a really good first date so far," you said, smiling at him between bites.

Spencer swallowed, then tilted his head slightly. "What’s your favorite color?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "My favorite color? Umm…" You thought for a moment. "Light orange and bright pink mixed together."

"Like a sunset," he added.

"Right," you said, a little surprised.

"What about you?" you asked, taking a sip of your pink lemonade.

Spencer hesitated for a second before shrugging. "I don’t really have one… but if I had to choose, light blue."

You nodded, then paused, watching him. "Wait—" You blinked. "The color of my eyes?"

His gaze met yours, warm and honest. "Exactly," he admitted.

Your heart skipped a beat.

As you finished eating, you both stood up. Spencer grabbed your tray, dumping it before you could, while you gathered the shopping bags.

“Night person or day person?” he asked as you stepped away from the food court.

“To be honest?” You glanced at him. “Night person.”

He nodded. “Most days, I’m a night person too.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re just saying what I wanna hear, Spencer Reid.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shifting beside you. “I mean, I do like my mornings… but I love nights.”

“Fair,” you said with a small smile.

There was a brief pause before Spencer cleared his throat, his voice quieter this time. “Are you… a cuddle person?”

You felt your face warm at the question. You glanced down, suddenly aware of the slight chill in the air. Before you could answer, Spencer was already slipping off his jacket, gently draping it over your shoulders.

“I do like to cuddle,” you whispered, pulling the jacket around you. “But, umm…”

Spencer smiled softly, watching you with that awkward yet endearing nervousness of his. “Good to know,” he murmured.

You finally made your way back to the BAU. It was late, the bullpen quieter than usual, only a few desks still occupied.

“I had a great time today, Spence,” you said, turning to face him. “Honestly, hands down the best date I’ve been on in a really long time. And with a guy who actually listens… who actually enjoys my company.”

Spencer’s gaze softened. “I’ll always enjoy your company.”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag that had been tucked away the entire day.

“What is it, Spence?” you asked, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

“Open it.”

You did, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal a delicate bracelet, silver with tiny, sparkling bow charms. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Spence… you didn’t have to spend money on me,” you said, looking up at him. “Just spending time with you was enough. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I wanted to do this for you,” he said simply. “May I?”

You nodded, holding out your wrist as he carefully clasped the bracelet around it. You tried not to let the emotion welling in your chest spill over, but your eyes burned anyway.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Spencer gave you a small, nervous smile. “You’re welcome.”

"Spence," you started, shifting on your feet. Your fingers played with the edge of your sleeve as you glanced up at him. "I was wondering… is it okay if I, umm… can I hug you?"

His lips parted slightly, almost like he hadn't expected the question. But then, that shy, endearing smile of his appeared.

"Of course," he said softly.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. Spencer hesitated for just a second before he hugged you back, his arms gentle but firm around you. He smelled like old books and coffee, the faintest trace of his cologne still lingering from earlier in the day.

You exhaled, melting into the warmth of him.

He didn’t say anything—he just held you, and somehow, that was enough.

[ghsface]

I CAN SEE YOU - spencer reid

summary: You watched him from a distance, dreaming of a moment when you could muster the courage to talk to him beyond the professional.

warnings: spencer reid x bau!fem reader ,kissing and I think that's all, if I'm missing something let me know.

author's note: The only thing I can do when I listen to this song is imagine Spencer, idk why this reminds me so much of him. I hope you like it and I'm sorry if there are mistakes/misspelled words, my native language is not English.🎀

All the friction in the hallways when you found him going to get some files or when you were going to see Penelope, all the stolen glances that you noticed almost every day when you were at your desk, even when they were on the Jet, he never took your eyes off.

The FBI office in Quantico was bustling with constant activity, but you were always lost in thought while pretending to review a file. You couldn't help but let your eyes wander to Spencer Reid, the genius of the team, who was sitting at his desk, engrossed in his books or his work.

You saw it every day, noticing the small details that others overlooked. The way he bit his lip when he was focused, how his fingers played with his hair when he was nervous.

There was something hypnotic about him, something that made you feel an inexplicable connection. But you always lacked the courage. You didn't want to risk your professional friendship, or your place on the team, for feelings that might not be reciprocated.

That afternoon, after a particularly tiring day, you found yourself reviewing some reports at your desk, trying to keep yourself busy. Most of the office had already left, leaving you alone with your group mates, leaving the place a little silent. You realized Spencer was there too, working on a file.

"Hi, Spence," you said, trying to sound casual as you approached his desk. The way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, y/n,” he responded, his tone relaxed but attentive. "I thought you had already gone"

"No, I don't have to do three reports yet, it's like it's never going to end," you said, smiling warmly but with noticeable tiredness on your face.

Conversation flowed effortlessly as you shared stories and laughter as the two of you completed your reports. You felt more and more comfortable around him, and the connection you felt was palpable. As the afternoon wore on, you noticed a growing tension in the air, an implicit desire that you both seemed to share.

But all this was interrupted when you had to go get a file. "I have to go get a file," you said, getting up from your chair. "Wait, I'll come with you anyway, I am missing a file to finish this," he said, getting up and following you to the room where all the files were.

The filing room was dark and lined with shelves, and the atmosphere was filled with a tension that had nothing to do with work.

As we reviewed the files we were looking for, the conversation flowed naturally. We talked about books, movies, and of course the case we were reporting on.

Suddenly, I found a file that looked promising, but it was on a high shelf. I asked Spencer to help me reach it. As he reached out to grab it, I lost my balance and fell backwards. Just before I hit the ground, I felt Spencer's arms wrap around me, cushioning my fall.

"Are you OK?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

I nodded, feeling my heart beat faster than usual, not only from the shock, but also from the sudden closeness to Spencer. His eyes were shining with a mix of concern and something else she couldn't identify.

We stayed in that position for a moment, and the air between us was charged with a tension I had never felt before. Slowly, Spencer helped me to my feet, but his hands remained on my arms, as if he didn't want to let me go.

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, a shy but genuine smile that made my heart beat even faster. Before I realized what I was doing, I leaned towards him. Spencer didn't pull away, instead he closed the distance between us.

Our lips met in a soft, sweet kiss, filled with a suppressed emotion that had been building for a long time.

The kiss intensified quickly. We moved to a corner of the file room, out of sight of anyone who might enter. Our bodies joined in a dance of desire, the outside world fading as we gave ourselves to each other. Passion drove us to undo buttons and explore with trembling hands, desire growing with every second.

Just when the moment seemed like it was going to end in something more, a noise outside the room made us stop abruptly. We looked at each other, both out of breath and with flushed cheeks.

"We should stop," Spencer said, her voice hoarse and thick with emotion.

I nodded, trying to regain my composure. We made up the best we could and parted ways, knowing that what had just happened would change our relationship forever.

Leaving the archive room, we meet the team. Derek looked at us with an amused smile.

"Where have you been?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and a mischievous smile on his face.

I felt my cheeks blush, but before I could respond, Spencer took the initiative.

"Checking some important files," he said, with an enigmatic smile.

The team accepted the explanation, although not without some suspicious looks. As the night wore on, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the file room. It was an intense and beautiful, albeit interrupted, moment that marked the beginning of something new and exciting between Spencer and I, something I was eager to explore further.

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

Months later...

From that day on, Spencer and I began a secret relationship. We kissed in hidden places in the office, taking advantage of every opportunity to be together without being seen. Meetings became an excuse to brush hands under the table, and coffee breaks were furtive moments of quick kisses in deserted hallways.

One night while working late, we met again in the file room. The tension between us was palpable, and we couldn't resist. Spencer cornered me against a bookshelf, his lips meeting mine in a hungry kiss. His hands explored my body urgently, and I found myself responding with the same intensity.

"We have to be careful," Spencer whispered against my lips, his breathing ragged.

"I know," I replied, my fingers tangling in his hair, "but I can't help it."

Our secret romance continued, each encounter filled with the thrill of the forbidden. Despite the risks, neither of them wanted to stop. The passion we shared was too strong, and every kiss and caress only fueled our desire more.

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly☆

[science-hoes]

Robby is Eras Tour coded

Jack is Short N Sweet Tour coded

Hope this helps!

[alana-reid-2005]

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favorite 🍁

[luckyscauldron]

autumn at the fbi

[cherryblossomfairyy]

Come Back...Be Here.

Pairing: spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

Summary: He chose the job. She never got the chance to choose. Now oceans and silence stretch between them. But some loves don’t disappear, no matter the distance. Missed chances, late-night calls, and finding your way back. Along the lyrics of the song "Come Back...Be Here" by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

You hadn’t planned on seeing him again—not tonight, not ever if you were being honest.

But there he stood. Leaning against the frame of your door like the night never ended badly between you two. Like he hadn’t walked away three weeks ago with a barely whispered goodbye and a promise he didn’t keep. You were still wearing the black dress from your sister’s engagement party. Hair curled. Lips red. He looked just the same as he always did—messy curls, chestnut cardigan, tired eyes.

“Looks like you haven’t change much, since I last saw you.” A flicker of a smile touched his lips. “And you’ve still wear that red lip classic thing that I like.” You sighed and leaned against the edge of the couch. “What are you doing here, Spencer?” He stepped inside without asking. Of course he did. “I shouldn’t be here. I know that. But I—I kept thinking about you. About us.”

You scoffed. “There is no ‘us’, remember? That’s what you said before leaving.” “I said I couldn’t stay,” he corrected softly. “There’s a difference.” You hated the way your heart still sped up at the sound of his voice. “And now what? You just show up, say the right words, and I forget how badly it hurt?” “I’m not saying that,” he said. “But we never really ended, did we? Not fully. We just... paused.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Because damn it, he was right. Even with all the back-and-forth, the late night calls, the brief meetimgs, and the stolen glances in the cafe near where you lived—it never really ended. And that was the problem.

He stepped closer. “I’ve tried to move on, Y/N. God knows I’ve tried. But...” You met his gaze. “But what?” “I keep coming back to you. It’s like—we’re caught in this loop. You and me.”

You exhaled shakily. “Spencer, this isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” he said. “But... it’s us.” You looked away, heart thudding. “I said I wouldn’t do this again.” “I know.” “You leave, then you come back. And it’s always the same.” “That’s the thing,” he said. “We always come back to eachother.” His voice cracked at the end. Like even he hated how true it sounded.

You looked at him for a long moment. “Say we do this again... How do I know you won’t run next time?” “I don’t want to run anymore,” he said. “But I can’t promise it’ll be easy. I just know I want you in my life. However you’ll have me.” You crossed your arms, studying the man who had both ruined and revived you so many times.

“…One condition,” you said finally. His brows raised. “Anything.”

You smirked, just a little. “No disappearing in the middle of the night. If you’re going to come back, you stay. At least for coffee in the morning.” He smiled, relief softening his whole face. “I’ll bring the pastries.”

You reached for his hand without thinking, and just like that—like the guitar riff of a familiar song—you fell back into the rhythm of you and him. You both knew it might not last forever. But it would always come back.

“The delicate beginning rush.”

The sun filtered in through your blinds, casting warm golden stripes across your sheets. You stirred, feeling the heat of another body near yours before your mind fully caught up.

Then you remembered.

Him.

Last night.

And the way it had all happened again—like muscle memory. You turned slowly. Spencer was already awake, laying on his side, head resting on his hand as he watched you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” you said groggily. He gave a sleepy half-smile. “You said stay for coffee.” You arched a brow. “You brought pastries?”

He gestured toward the kitchen with a little nod. “Raspberry danish. And a chocolate croissant, in case you changed your mind about fruit fillings.”

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “That’s dangerously thoughtful.”

“I’m a dangerous man,” he said, mock-serious.

You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. “What happens now, Spencer?”

He didn’t answer right away. You knew he hated that question. It was a future question. And the two of you had never done well in the future.

He finally said, “I don’t know. But I know I want to try. For real this time.”

You turned to face him. “We always say that.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I’ve been thinking... maybe we’re not broken. Maybe we’re just... complicated.”

You laughed softly. “Is that your profiler opinion?” “No,” he said. “It’s my human one.”

You sat up slowly, tugging the sheets around you. “Complicated doesn’t fix the way it hurts when you leave.” He sat up beside you. “I can’t erase that. But I can choose not to do it again.”

You looked at him, eyes searching for something. Maybe a crack in the promise, maybe hope. “You and I,” you whispered, “We’re like ghosts in each other’s lives. We fade in and out, but never really go away.”

He nodded. “That’s what scares me. That I’ll always want you. Even when it’s not right.”

Silence settled for a moment. Not heavy. Not light. Just... real. Then he reached for your hand, fingers hesitant but warm.

“I think we’re right enough to keep trying,” he said quietly. “Because you and me? We never go out of style.” You stared at your intertwined fingers. Then looked at him.

And maybe it was the way the morning light hit his face, or the way your chest ached a little less when he was near—but you believed him. Just for today.

So you squeezed his hand and said, “Then let’s get coffee. Before we ruin it again.” He smiled, and it wasn’t just that soft, nervous smile you’d seen too many times before.

It was hope.

It was a start.

And as he followed you into the kitchen, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—it could last a little longer this time.

You tried to be normal.

And at first, it almost worked.

You went grocery shopping together like a couple in a toothpaste commercial. Argued over bagels. Bought lavender dish soap. You cooked pasta while he read out loud from a book of weird Victorian riddles. He left his cardigan on the back of your kitchen chair like it belonged there.

It was quiet. Domestic. Strange.

It made your heart ache in a way that felt suspiciously like joy.

But normal had its limits. Because you weren’t just anyone. And neither was he.

Normal didn’t account for crime scenes at 3 AM. Or pictures of crimescenes on your diner table. Or the way Spencer sometimes sat on your couch with his fists clenched after a case, eyes distant, trembling in a way he didn’t want you to see.

You noticed, though. You always noticed. One night, two weeks in, you asked softly, “Are you okay?”

He was sitting in your bed with the case file closed beside him, half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. You saw the tension in his shoulders. The kind that never fully left.

“I’m fine,” he said, without looking up.

You reached over and took the file, sliding it off the bed. “That’s not what I asked.” He looked at you then, eyes sharp but tired. “I don’t know how to do this. Be... here. Be happy. With you.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you whispered. “I just need you to stay.”

He exhaled slowly, hands gripping the edge of the blanket. “Every time I try to build something good, it collapses. I’ve lost people, Y/N. You know that.”

You did. You knew better than most.

You crawled over and rested your head on his shoulder. “So stop running from the fact that you’re allowed to have something good again.”

He turned his head toward you, voice barely above a whisper. “You think we’re good?”

You smiled, just barely. “I think we’re chaotic and messy and a little tragic—but yeah. I think we’re good.”

He looked down at you, something soft behind his eyes. “You still wear that red lipstick, even when you know it’ll end up on my collar.”

You smirked. “It’s part of the brand.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “We’re not normal, are we?”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “No. But maybe normal’s overrated.”

And in that moment, tangled in bedsheets and old trauma, in whispered jokes and bruised hope, you both knew: Whatever this was—whatever you were—style might not be practical.

But it was real. And that was enough for now.

“I told myself, don't get attached.”

“Remind me again,” you said, arms around Spencer’s neck as he kissed you against your front door, “why we’re sneaking around like we’re fifteen.”

He smiled against your jaw. “Because I work with federal agents trained to detect deception and you are, very distinctly, not FBI.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you think they don’t know? You’ve been less subtle than a car alarm.”

Spencer grinned, hands trailing down your sides. “I’m not that obvious.” You leaned back. “You left your badge here last week.”

“…Okay, that’s a little obvious.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and for a moment you forgot about the very real, very awkward complications that came with dating a BAU profiler.

Until—

*knock knock knock*

You froze. “Please tell me that’s not—” Spencer pulled back, eyes wide. “…Oh no.”

You whipped the door open before he could stop you.

And there they were.

Derek Morgan. JJ. Emily. Coffee cups in hand. In the middle of a casual off-day brunch patrol that had not been meant to include uncovering their resident genius’s not-so-secret romance.

Morgan blinked. “Well damn. Reid, you didn’t say you had company.” JJ’s mouth hung open, then curved into a slow grin. “This is where you’ve been disappearing to?”

Spencer opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Emily smirked. “This feels like the part where you tell us it’s not what it looks like.”

You cleared your throat, stepping fully into the doorway in your oversized hoodie—Spencer’s, of course. “Hi,” you said, holding out your hand. “I’m Y/N. Definitely not FBI. Apparently very bad at hiding.”

Morgan grinned, shaking your hand. “Nice to meet you. We’ve been trying to figure out what the hell’s been making Reid smile like he knows a secret.” JJ leaned in, stage-whispering, “Now we know.”

Spencer groaned behind you. “Can we just skip the part where you all analyze this like a crime scene?”

Emily raised a brow. “No. Absolutely not.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed, half-trying to own it. “Listen, I know this is weird. And messy. I’ve never dated someone whose coworkers carry guns and quote statistics about behavioral patterns.”

“You get used to it,” JJ said sympathetically. “Mostly.”

Morgan crossed his arms, studying you. “You know he’s got… a lot of history, right?”

Spencer tensed behind you. You reached back and took his hand. “I do,” you said. “And I’m not trying to fix him or rescue him or turn him into anything he’s not. I just want to be there. That’s it.”

Morgan looked at you a moment longer, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s fair.”

Spencer exhaled in visible relief.

As the team filed off toward the corner cafe—still teasing him, of course—you turned to him.

“Well. So much for subtle.”

He laughed, tugging you into a hug. “I think they like you.”

You smirked. “That’s good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And as his arms wrapped around you, grounding you to the center of the storm that was Spencer Reid, you realized:

Normal or not, secret or exposed—this felt like staying.

You weren’t even trying to start a fight.

It began with a text.

Y/N (19:37): hey, are you okay?

Spencer (21:42): Busy. Case went long.

Y/N (21:44): That’s all I get?

Y/N (21:50): are you okay??

You stared at the screen, stomach twisting. You knew better than to take his cold responses personally, but tonight, it hit different. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was how he'd pulled away the last few days like a tide slipping out before a storm.

When he walked through your door after midnight—looking exhausted, shirt rumpled, not even meeting your eyes—you tried to keep your voice calm.

“Spencer. What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just dropped his bag and rubbed the back of his neck.

You stepped closer. “You’ve been distant for days. I don’t expect constant texts, but I do expect something. Some sign you still alive, that you want to be here.”

He finally looked up, and there was a flicker of sharpness in his voice that surprised you.

“I don’t have time to reassure you every second.”

That stung. “I’m not asking for every second. I’m asking for something. This—whatever we are—it doesn’t work without communication.”

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, already regretting his tone but too raw to fix it. “You knew what this would be. My job, my schedule—”

“I didn’t sign up to feel invisible,” you snapped. “Not after everything we’ve already been through.”

He froze. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Yes, you are,” you said, louder than you meant to. “You don’t get to shut down and walk out every time things get hard.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched. “I’m not walking out.”

“You always do,” you said, voice breaking. “When it gets too real. When I start to mean too much. You panic and retreat and leave me standing here wondering if I’m just another thing you’ll run from.”

Silence.

A long one.

Then: “I’m not running because you mean too little,” he said hoarsely. “I run because you mean too much.”

Your heart dropped.

He looked at you then—eyes full of so much pain it made your chest ache.

“You think I don’t feel it?” he said. “The second I start to believe I can be happy again, I remember what happened last time. Maeve. I loved her and she died. Because of me.”

Your breath caught. He’d never said her name out loud to you before.

“She wasn’t your fault,” you whispered.

“But she was mine to protect.” His voice cracked. “And I failed. So how the hell am I supposed to trust myself to love you?”

Tears slipped down your cheek before you realized they’d come.

“Then why did you come back?”

He looked like he didn’t have an answer.

You stepped back a pace. “You came back, Spencer. You kissed me. You brought pastries. You told me to believe in this again. And now you’re breaking it because you’re scared?”

“I’m terrified,” he admitted.

You swallowed hard, voice quiet. “Then fight for it anyway. Or walk away. But don’t do this half-in, half-out thing. I can’t survive it again.”

Silence.

Then he did something you didn’t expect.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, buried his face in his hands, and whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You walked over slowly and knelt in front of him. Gently pulled his hands away.

“Then don’t,” you said.

Your voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was tired. Sad. But still full of love.

“I don’t need perfect. I just need honest.”

He nodded, throat tight. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “So am I.”

And maybe that was enough—for now.

Not to fix it.

But to keep going.

Spencer fell asleep on your couch that night—still in his work clothes, head tilted back, brow furrowed even in rest. You hadn’t spoken much after the fight. Just enough to make space for silence that didn’t feel like punishment.

You brought him a blanket, tucked it gently around his shoulders, and sat beside him on the floor for a while—knees pulled to your chest, eyes on the shadows dancing across your ceiling.

You didn’t sleep much either.

In the morning, he woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of a chair scraping across tile. His eyes opened slowly, and he found you sitting at the kitchen table, wearing his cardigan over your pajamas, holding a mug in both hands like it was anchoring you.

He stood, moved toward you with that hesitant energy he always carried when he wasn’t sure he was welcome.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said softly.

You nodded. “Didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed the rest.”

He paused. “Can I sit?”

You gestured to the chair across from you. He sat.

A long beat passed.

You finally said, “I meant what I said last night. I can’t do this if you keep disappearing every time your fear gets too loud.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

You looked up at him then—really looked—and saw the guilt painted all over his face. The way his shoulders slumped. The bruise of regret in his eyes.

“I’ve built my whole life around fear,” he said quietly. “Predicting outcomes. Controlling what I can. It makes me good at my job, but terrible at trusting the things I want most.”

You exhaled, voice soft. “I don’t need you to stop being afraid. I just need you to stop letting it make your choices for you.”

He reached across the table then, tentative but steady, and took your hand.

“Then this is me trying,” he whispered.

You stared down at your fingers, entwined with his. “You always say the right thing.”

He gave a quiet, sad laugh. “I wish saying it was enough.”

“It’s not,” you said honestly. “But showing up is a good start.”

He nodded, eyes shining a little now. “I want to show up. For you. For us.”

Your throat tightened, but you smiled. “Good. Because I bought those dumb raspberry pastries again.”

He blinked, surprised. “You hate raspberry.”

“I do,” you said. “But you like them. So maybe we start small. You eat the pastry. I drink the coffee. And we try again.”

He stood, walked around the table, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

And this time, it wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t fiery or frantic.

It was steady.

Still.

Soft.

Healing.

“I’m still here,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes.

“So am I.”

“But in my mind, I play it back.”

You weren’t supposed to be there.

Your best friend had dragged you to a fundraiser gala you didn’t belong at — something about “supporting federal initiatives” and “free wine.” You’d worn the one dress that didn’t have a stain on it, spent twenty minutes pretending to know what the hell a federal subcommittee even was, and finally gave up and wandered toward the quietest corner of the building.

And that’s where you saw him.

Leaning awkwardly against the far wall in a suit that fit his arms like he’d grown into it reluctantly. Hair slightly too long. Tie slightly too crooked. Fingers curled tightly around a glass of ginger ale like it was a shield.

You almost didn’t say anything.

Almost walked past him without a word.

But then he muttered—under his breath, to no one—

“Ninety-three percent of people here are faking it. But I still feel like the weird one.”

You turned.

Raised your eyebrows.

“Did you just say that out loud?”

He jumped slightly, as if he’d forgotten his thoughts could escape.

“…Yes.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “Well, make it ninety-four percent. I have no idea what’s happening either.”

He blinked at you, surprised. And then—just barely—he smiled.

It lit something up behind his eyes.

“I’m Spencer,” he said after a pause, offering his hand.

“Y/N,” you said, shaking it. “Do you work here, or are you just pretending really convincingly?”

He chuckled. “I’m with the BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your brows lifted. “So like… profiling serial killers?”

His head tilted slightly, curious. “Most people don’t get it that quickly.”

You sipped your champagne. “I’ve seen your team on TV.”

His face did not hide the twitch of recognition-slash-discomfort. “It’s... more than what they show.”

You laughed. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a very academic no.”

You ended up talking for thirty minutes. Then an hour. The party blurred around you. You found yourself sitting on the edge of a planter, shoes off, laughing about obscure psychology studies and his weird obsession with chess, while he listened to you describe your work, your favorite books, your irrational fear of geese.

At one point he said, “You talk like you’re not afraid of silence.”

You replied, “You look like you’re used to people filling it.”

And that was it. The shift.

The spark.

He asked if you’d want to meet again sometime.

You said, “I already hope you don’t disappear.”

He said, with almost no hesitation, “I don’t want to.”

And maybe that should’ve been your first warning.

Because people like Spencer Reid don’t just walk into your life.

They disrupt it.

In the best, most terrifying way.

Back in the present, you found the photo someone had taken of that gala—both of you in the background, blurry but laughing. You held it in your hands as Spencer walked into the kitchen, half-awake.

You looked up at him. “Remember this night?”

He leaned over your shoulder, smiled. “How could I forget?”

You turned, wrapped your arms around his waist. “You were so shy.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You were so patient.”

You smirked. “Still am.”

He looked down at you. “I’m still grateful.”

And somewhere between the past and the present, you realized:

You didn’t fall in love all at once.

You chose each other—over and over.

From that first glance to now.

“You didn’t tell her I was coming?”

Spencer had the decency to look sheepish as the elevator opened to the BAU floor.

“I might’ve… mentioned it vaguely. In a non-specific, non-threatening way.”

You stared at him. “You said what, exactly?”

“That I was bringing someone upstairs. To… meet Garcia. In an entirely non-romantic, totally platonic—”

You cut him off, eyes wide. “Spencer.”

“I panicked.”

Before you could drag him back into the elevator, a high-pitched squeal rang from across the bullpen.

“DR. REID!”

You turned just in time to see a blur of florals, sequins, and blonde hair charging toward you.

You barely had time to prepare before she pulled you into a very enthusiastic hug.

“You’re even cuter than I imagined,” Penelope Garcia said, stepping back to examine you like a particularly beautiful art piece. “And believe me, I imagined.”

You blinked. “Um—hi?”

“Penelope Garcia. Oracle of all things digital. Also, Spencer’s ride-or-die, which means I have questions. But I also brought you cookies.” She shoved a tin into your hands. “Because interrogations are more fun with sugar.”

Spencer groaned behind you. “Please don’t scare her off.”

Garcia turned dramatically. “You’re lucky I didn’t run a full background check the moment I found out someone was making you smile like a Hallmark character.”

You bit back a smile. “To be fair… he does that all on his own.”

Garcia’s face softened just slightly, like you’d passed the first test.

“Well. You’ve got good taste in cardigans and compliments. You’re doing great so far.”

Spencer mumbled something and ducked into his office like a man fleeing a war zone. Garcia pulled you toward her desk.

“No, no. You’re staying. I’ve waited weeks for this. Sit. Tell me everything. First kiss, first fight, what his sock drawer looks like, go.”

You laughed, actually kind of relieved. “Do you always do this?” She tilted her head, serious now. “Only when it matters.”

That hit you harder than you expected. Because it meant this—you—mattered. And somehow, coming from Garcia… that made it real.

You sat, sipping the weird soda she handed you, telling stories and answering rapid-fire questions while photos of cats and case files blinked across her screens.

Eventually, Garcia’s voice softened.

“You love him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

She looked at you for a long moment, eyes softer than you’d ever seen.

“Good,” she said. “Because he deserves someone who sees the light in him. Even when he can’t.”

You swallowed.

“Thank you. For protecting him.”

She smiled. “Now I get to protect you, too.”

Behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe, watching you with something like awe in his eyes.

Later, as the three of you walked out together, Garcia winked and said, “Don’t break him. But if you do, at least do it gently. And with glitter.”

You squeezed Spencer’s hand.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

“If I had known what I'd known now.”

“Taxi cabs and busy streets.”

Later that night, you and Spencer walked through the streets of D.C., coffee cups in hand, the air still warm from the fading sun. It felt like a normal day—until he kept glancing at you with that look.

You noticed it. The way he opened his mouth once, twice, then closed it again.

“What?” you finally asked, bumping his arm with yours. “You’ve been weird since we left Quantico.” He looked down, bashful. “Garcia likes you.”

You grinned. “That was a very polite way of saying she interrogated me.” “She interrogates everyone. It’s how she shows love.”

You laughed, but then his expression shifted.

“I, um…” He hesitated, voice going softer. “I heard you. Earlier. When you were talking to her.” You blinked. “Heard what?”

He looked straight ahead, like he couldn’t quite meet your eyes yet. “You said you loved me.”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t even realized you’d said it aloud until that moment. Garcia had asked, you’d answered—without thinking, without hesitating. Like the truth had just spilled out because it had nowhere else left to hide.

“I—” you started, but he stopped walking.

He turned to face you completely.

“You don’t have to take it back,” he said quickly. “Or explain. I just wanted to tell you that I heard it. And…” You waited.

Waited through the little war you saw happening behind his eyes. Then he took a breath and stepped closer.

“I love you too.”

The words were so quiet you almost didn’t hear them.

But you did.

You heard them.

And the weight of them, the honesty in them, hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at him. He stared at you.

“I love you,” he said again, firmer now. Like he meant to leave no room for doubt. “I think I’ve loved you since you didn’t laugh when I panicked over that chessboard on our second date. Or maybe before that. Maybe since the gala. Or before I even knew your name.”

You stepped closer, your free hand reaching for his. “You have this habit,” you whispered, “of saying the exact thing that makes my heart ache in the best way.”

He smiled, eyes bright now. “It’s science. Emotional vulnerability produces oxytocin and—”

You kissed him.

Slow. Warm. No rush. Just the kind of kiss that means I see you. I’m not going anywhere.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his and whispered, “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

He nodded.

“I believe you now.”

“Right when I was just about to fall.”

And under the quiet D.C. sky, beneath the hum of the city and the buzz of too much caffeine and just enough truth, Spencer Reid held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Because maybe it was.

You didn’t mean to find it.

You were looking for an extra charger in the drawer by Spencer’s desk — the one filled with mismatched cables and half-filled notebooks and pens that all somehow worked even though they looked a decade old.

And underneath it all, folded neatly between the pages of a worn paperback, was a photo. A woman. Dark hair, soft smile. A library in the background. She looked like she laughed quietly. Like she had secrets.

You didn’t touch the photo. You didn’t have to. You knew who she was. You’d never asked. Not because you didn’t wonder, but because you were waiting for him to be ready. You shut the drawer softly, quietly, and went back to making tea.

Later that night, he found you sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, hands wrapped around your mug like a shield. He sat beside you, slow, deliberate. Like he knew something had shifted.

After a minute, he said quietly, “You found the photo.” You nodded, not looking at him yet. “I wasn’t snooping. I swear.” “I know.” His voice was gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Silence settled between you. Not heavy, but not weightless either. You finally turned to him. “She was important to you.”

He nodded. “She was.”

You waited.

“I never got to say goodbye,” he said. “Not really. Not out loud.” You didn’t speak — just reached out, took his hand, gave him space to breathe.

“I loved her,” he said. “In a way that was… quiet. Safe. She was the first person in a long time who made me feel like I wasn’t too much.” Your heart clenched, but you kept holding his hand. Kept listening.

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving her,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room in me for something new. For you.” You looked at him, voice soft. “I don’t want to take her place, Spencer.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t. You don’t have to.”

Another pause.

“Loving you feels… different,” he continued. “Less like something I’m protecting. More like something I’m building. It’s scarier. But it’s stronger.”

You blinked back tears.

“Do you talk to her?” you asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “In my head. When I’m afraid. When I miss her.” You nodded. “I think she’d want you to be happy.”

“I think she’d like you,” he said, with the softest smile. “You’re bold. Kind. You tell the truth, even when it hurts.” You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t promise I won’t feel weird about her sometimes,” you admitted. “But I won’t run from it. From her. From you.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair.

“That’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

You stayed like that — curled up in shared silence — until the weight of grief and love and memory softened into something bearable.

Not gone.

Not forgotten.

But held.

Together.

It started with a letter on Spencer’s desk. Thick paper. Government seal. And a heading that read:

UNITED NATIONS PSYCHOLOGY & BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE RESEARCH INITIATIVE – Geneva Division

Lead Field Analyst: Dr. Spencer Reid – Conditional Acceptance Pending

The room went quiet. Your heartbeat didn’t. You stared at it for a long time before saying anything.

“Without knowing anything at all.”

He walked in minutes later, coffee in hand, completely unaware. “Hey,” he said casually. “Want to watch that documentary tonight?”

You turned slowly.

“When were you going to tell me?” Spencer blinked. “Tell you what?” You didn’t say anything. Just showed him the letter.

His face fell.

“Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing. “Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. When were you going to tell me you accepted?”

He set the coffee down. “I was going to. I just hadn’t figured out how.” “How?” you snapped. “How to lie better? Or how to make it sound like I shouldn’t be hurt?”

“That’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is you already chose, Spencer! You said yes. You said yes to a YEAR. You said yes to leaving me and didn’t even give me a chance to talk about it.”

“How strange that I don't know you at all.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Because I knew if I talked to you, I wouldn’t do it.” You froze. That admission hit harder than any lie.

“Oh,” you whispered. “So I’m the reason you almost didn’t chase your dream. Is that it?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you believe.”

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I was choosing between you and the work.”

“But you were. And you didn’t choose me.”

Silence.

He stepped closer. “It’s not forever—”

You took a step back. “But it’s without me.”

“I can't help but wish you took me with you.”

His voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

“Then maybe you should’ve figured that out before you made the decision for both of us.” He swallowed, chest rising and falling fast. “I love you.” You laughed bitterly. “Yeah? Then why do I feel like a footnote?” “I was scared,” he whispered. “Scared I’d never get another offer like this. Scared if I stayed, I’d resent you. And scared if I left, I’d lose you.” You nodded slowly. “Well. Congratulations. You got what you were afraid of.”

Spencer closed his eyes like he’d been punched. You grabbed your coat, voice shaking. “Go to Geneva. Do the work. Be brilliant. But don’t pretend this didn’t cost something.” And then you walked out — before either of you could take it back.

“Come back, be here.”

Later that night, Spencer sat alone, the laptop still open. He hovered over the email. The acceptance. And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t tell if being right felt worse than being alone.

“She’s not even in the FBI,” Garcia said quietly, her voice shaking. “And he still did this.”

That was what made it worse.

You weren’t one of them — not technically. You didn’t carry a badge or read behavioral patterns or chase monsters in the dark.

You were the one who made Spencer come home. The one who reminded him there was a world outside of case files and serial killers. And now you were the one he was leaving behind.

Without warning.

Without a say.

Emily leaned on the edge of the table, arms crossed, staring Spencer down. “So you accepted the fellowship,” she said. “And didn’t tell her until after?” He looked away. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“No,” Rossi said. “It was simple. You just made it complicated.” Spencer bristled. “I didn’t want her to stop me.” “Did she ask you not to go?” JJ pressed. “She didn’t have to,” he muttered. “I knew if I looked her in the eyes, I wouldn’t go.”

Garcia was pacing.

“She’s not a profiler. She’s not trained for this kind of heartbreak. She’s just…” Her voice broke. “She’s just a person who loved you.”

That silence was worse than shouting.

“She trusted you,” Tara said gently. “And you left her behind like she was a footnote.”

“I love her,” Spencer said, barely audible.

“No one’s saying you don’t,” JJ replied. “But love doesn’t matter if you can’t respect someone enough to let them in before you change their future.”

Garcia finally stopped pacing.

“I had to sit in her living room yesterday while she made me tea with hands that were shaking. She said she was ‘happy for you,’ like she wasn’t falling apart.”

“Garcia…” he started.

“No,” she said. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia’ me right now.” She stepped closer.

“She was your soft place. Your real life. And you blew it up because you were scared of letting her love you more than you love the job.”

Spencer blinked fast, his voice thin.

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, Spencer?” Garcia asked. “Because from where I’m standing, you got everything you ever said you wanted — and somehow still managed to make the one person who believed in you feel like she never mattered.”

Spencer didn’t answer.

Because there was no good answer.

Emily looked at him. “We’re proud of you. We are. But don’t expect us to pretend you didn’t break something good.”

He nodded slowly.

And for the first time in his career, success felt like failure.

“One last kiss, then catch your flight.”

It was two nights before his flight.

The knock on your door came just after 10 PM. You almost didn’t open it. But of course you did. You always did when it was him.

He stood there in that coat you hated — the one that smelled like old libraries and sleepless nights.

And you? You looked like someone who hadn’t slept in three days. “Can I come in?” he asked quietly. You stepped aside. Said nothing.

He walked in slowly, like the room might reject him. You stayed by the door. “I don’t know how to make this better,” he said. Your arms stayed crossed. “Then maybe don’t try.” “Please,” he said, voice catching. “Please just—say something.” You looked at him, jaw tight. “You already said everything, Spencer. You just didn’t say it to me.”

He flinched. “I was scared,” he admitted. “Of choosing wrong. Of regretting it. Of—”

“Of being honest with me,” you cut in. He exhaled. “Yes.”

Silence sat between you. “I thought I had to go,” he continued, “because I didn’t know who I was without this job. Without the work.”

“And who are you with me?” you asked, voice breaking. “Because I thought we were building something. I thought I was part of your life.”

“How strange that I don't know you at all.”

“You are,” he said quickly. “God, Y/N, you are. I just didn’t know how to take both of you with me.” You shook your head, tears brimming. “You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to try. You didn’t trust me with the choice.” He stepped closer. “I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “Not yet. I just— I’m asking if there’s still a version of this where I go and we don’t end.”

You looked up at him, pain in every breath. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can love you the same way knowing you didn’t love me enough to fight for us first.” That gutted him.

But you didn’t walk away. Not yet.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small. A book. A well-worn paperback of Persuasion. “I bought this for you in San Diego during a case, before everything blew up,” he said. “You once said it was your favorite because it was about second chances.”

You stared at it. At him. “You don’t have to take me back,” he said. “But maybe… just maybe you could read it again. And think about us.” He placed it on the table, like it might disappear. And then he whispered, “I still want a life with you. Even if it starts again after I get back.”

“Stumbled through the long goodbye.”

You didn’t say anything. To scared to even speak. An overwhelming amount of emotions storming in you. You closed the door after he left. On the table beside the door he left the book, face-down. A note slipped between the pages in his handwriting:

“Sometimes we are forced into second chances. And sometimes, we choose them.”

— Yours, maybe.

The hotel was beautiful.

High ceilings. Big windows. A view of the Alps in the distance. The kind of place meant for people who feel proud of where they’ve landed. But Spencer didn’t feel proud. He felt… unfinished.

“And this is when the feeling sinks in.”

He unpacked in silence. Folded his cardigans. Lined up his journals. Filled the bathroom with his usual toiletries. The second toothbrush stayed in his bag.

His watch ticked too loud. The silence pressed in, thick and unfamiliar. He sat at the desk and pulled out a photo you once printed for him — the one where you're curled up in his arms, laughing into his chest like the world outside didn’t exist.

He stared at it. And said your name out loud, just once. Like a prayer. Like a wound. It didn’t make him feel better.

“I don't wanna miss you like this.”

He tried to sleep. He just couldn't. He turned to your side of the bed instinctively. It was cold. Of course it was. He reached for his phone more than once that night. Hovered over your name. Typed half a message:

"I hate that I'm here without you."

Deleted it.

Typed again:

“I thought this would feel worth it.”

Deleted that too.

At 3:12 AM, he gave up and pulled out the book he gave you — the extra copy he bought for himself. Persuasion. The same page you once quoted to him came up like fate: “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.” He shut the book slowly, let the ache sit in his chest, and whispered into the dark: “God, I miss you.”

And the worst part? You weren’t asleep either. Back in your apartment, you sat on the floor in his hoodie, the same book unopened beside you. Phone in hand. Name on screen.

No message sent. And 3,000 miles away, Spencer felt that silence like gravity.

“4:00 a.m. the second day.”

Day 11.

Spencer couldn’t focus. He sat at the long wooden conference table in the Institute library, notebooks scattered around him, three pens open, not one word written in thirty minutes.

The fluorescent lights buzzed. Someone was typing aggressively across the room. He kept trying to return to the paper in front of him. Cognitive flexibility in multilingual memory recall. He’d read the abstract four times. He still couldn’t tell you what it was about.

Day 12.

He was supposed to meet with the other researchers on his team.

He was late. He forgot to bring the data set he was assigned to prep. "You okay, Reid?” someone asked. He nodded too quickly. “Just jet lag.” It wasn’t jet lag. It was you.

Or more accurately, the absence of you. You hadn’t responded to his last message. Or the one before that. He didn’t blame you. He just missed you. And missing you made everything else feel… wrong.

Even the things he’d once fought for.

“Come back, be here.”

Day 15.

He had a dream the night before that you were in his kitchen — the one back home. Wearing that worn flannel shirt he always reached for. You were making tea. You looked up at him and smiled and said, “You never left.” Then he woke up in a bed that wasn’t his, with a view that felt like a painting, and no message on his phone.

He didn’t make it into the office that day. He stayed in bed. Stared at the ceiling. Listened to your last voicemail on repeat.

Just to hear your voice.

Day 16.

He finally emailed Garcia. Subject line: Quick Question. It wasn’t a question. He just wanted to talk to someone who knew you. They Zoomed. She took one look at him and frowned.

“Spencer… you look like a haunted man.” “I feel like one.”

“Still no word from her?” He shook his head. Penelope sighed. “This is what happens when you try to outrun love, genius. It doesn’t just wait quietly back home. It takes you with it.” He nodded slowly. “I thought I’d feel like myself again here.” “Do you?” He didn’t answer.

That night, he started a letter. Handwritten. Messy. Raw.

Dear Y/N,

I thought this would fix something in me. I thought I needed to prove I could be more than the man who fell apart. But every version of me without you feels…

…fractured.

You once said I made your world quieter.

But without you, mine won’t shut up.

I don’t know if it’s too late. I just needed you to know that nothing about this works without you.

He didn’t send it. But he folded it carefully. And put it in the same drawer as your picture. Right next to the book he still hadn’t finished.

You didn’t plan on seeing Garcia that day.

But she showed up anyway — on your doorstep, oversized tote slung over her shoulder, sunglasses in her hair, holding your favorite latte and wearing that look. The one that meant, We’re talking whether you like it or not. You sighed, stepping aside. “You brought caffeine. I can’t say no to that.” “Exactly,” she said, breezing inside. “Bribery: the foundation of any good friendship.”

You hadn’t seen her in two weeks. Not since Spencer left.

She sat on your couch, handed you the coffee, and gave you a long, searching look. And then: “Sweetheart,” she said softly. “He’s not okay.” You blinked. Looked away. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Tough,” she said. “Because I do.”

You didn’t answer. She leaned forward, voice gentle but firm. “Do you know how many times he’s emailed me in the last week?”

You stayed quiet. “Seven,” she said. “Seven emails. None of them about work. All of them about you.” You laughed bitterly. “And yet not one to me.” “Oh, he’s written you,” she said. “I saw the drafts. Long letters. Pages. But he’s terrified he broke something in you.”

You swallowed hard. “He left, Penelope.” “I know. And I was furious. I am still kind of furious. But Y/N… he’s unraveling over there.”

Your chest tightened. “I don't wanna miss you like this.”

“He can’t focus. He’s forgetting meetings. He's pulling all-nighters but doing nothing with them. The research director actually called me to ask if he was okay — and I had to lie, because ‘No, he’s not, he left the love of his life behind like an idiot’ doesn’t fit well in an HR report.” Tears burned your eyes.

“Come back, be here.”

She softened her voice. “He misses you. Like, real miss-you. Not 'regret' miss-you — wanting-his-life-back miss-you.” You whispered, “He left anyway.” “I know. And you’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to not want him back. But I also know you’ve been staring at your phone every night since he left, just waiting for something to feel right again.”

You wiped a tear off your cheek. Garcia stood up and crossed to you. “This thing between you two? It’s not over unless you say it is.” “I don’t know if I can forgive him.” “That’s okay,” she said. “Just… don’t lie to yourself and say you don’t love him.”

You nodded. Quiet. Broken open again.

“Come back, be here.”

Garcia pulled you into a hug, fierce and warm.

And whispered, “He’s coming home in three weeks for a conference. He doesn’t know I told you. But maybe that’s the universe giving you both one more chance to stop pretending you’re over it.”

You didn’t answer. But your hands gripped her tighter. Like maybe you were already considering what you’d say if you saw him again.

The rain tapped against the window like a ticking clock.

You sat on the floor of your bedroom, knees pulled to your chest, a blanket around your shoulders. The book Spencer had given you last fall was open in your lap, but the words were nothing but black smudges tonight.

Your phone sat next to you. No new messages. You picked it up. Checked again. Still nothing.

The ache was quiet, but sharp. It wasn’t like the dramatic sobbing kind of grief. It was the kind that settles in your bones, the kind that comes when you realize you’re doing life alone again—even though you weren’t supposed to.

You called the one person who always answered.

“Garcia?”

She picked up immediately. “Hey, sweetness. You okay?”

You hesitated. Your throat tightened. “I don’t know.”

“Talk to me.”

You looked at the empty spot beside you. The one he used to curl into. The one that still smelled like him when you tried hard enough.

Your voice cracked, low and honest. “This is falling in love in the cruelest way.”

“Oh, honey…”

“This is falling for him,” you whispered. “Still. But he’s… worlds away.”

There was silence on her end, but you knew she was listening with every ounce of her heart.

You wiped a tear with the sleeve of Spencer’s hoodie. “He’s in Geneva. I know it’s only for a little while longer, but… he feels so far. Like I can’t reach him. Like I’m trying to love someone across an ocean, and all I want is for him to be here.”

Garcia’s voice softened. “Say that again.”

You took a shaky breath. Let it out slowly.

“In New York, be here,” you said. “But he’s in Geneva.”

Another breath. And then, the part that cracked your chest open. “And I break down. ’Cause it’s not fair that he’s not around.”

Garcia’s voice broke. “You miss him.”

“So much it makes my ribs feel like glass.”

She was quiet for a beat. Then, gently: “Want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Please.”

You lay down slowly, blanket still wrapped around you. The line stayed open. No pressure. Just soft breathing and comfort on the other end. And somewhere, hours ahead, Spencer was probably looking at the same moon.

Spencer hadn’t seen Quantico in almost two month.

It was surreal walking through the old hallways again—familiar walls, familiar voices, and yet, nothing quite settled inside him.

The team had arranged a small get-together that night. “Just something casual,” Garcia had promised. “Snacks, hugs, mild emotional damage.”

He tried not to think too much as he stepped into the room at Rossi’s place. It was warm. Loud. Home. JJ hugged him tight. Emily clapped him on the back. Luke handed him a beer. Garcia cried exactly the way he knew she would.

But every time someone walked through the door…

His head snapped up. Every single time. And every time…

It wasn’t you. Not once. And it burned.

“Come back, be here.”

He stayed for two hours. He tried to laugh. Tried to smile. He kept glancing at the door, heart climbing his throat. Garcia noticed, of course. “She’s not coming,” she said gently, pulling him aside. “I invited her. But she didn’t RSVP.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I thought maybe…”

“I know,” she whispered.

By the time 10:30 rolled around, he couldn’t fake it anymore. He slipped out. No big goodbye. Just a quiet, ghost-like exit.

The hotel room was too quiet. Too bright. Too cold. He dropped his bag. Took off his coat. Sat on the edge of the bed and stared at nothing.

You didn’t come.

And the worst part? He didn’t even blame you. He buried his head in his hands, feeling the ache coil up in his chest like something living.

God, he was stupid. He shouldn’t have expected anything. He left. He chose to leave. And now—

*knock knock*

He froze. Two soft knocks. Not housekeeping. He stood slowly. Heart hammering. Opened the door. And there you were.

Hair curled slightly from the night air. Hands shoved in your coat pockets. A flicker of nerves in your eyes. You looked up at him like you weren’t sure you were allowed to. “Hey,” you said softly.

He stared at you, stunned. “I didn’t go to the party,” you continued. “I couldn’t.” “Why?” he managed, voice hoarse. You looked down. “I was scared if I saw you there, I’d forget how angry I still am.”

Ouch.

He nodded. “You deserve to be angry.” Silence. And then, barely above a whisper— “But I missed you anyway.”

His breath caught. You looked up at him again. “I didn’t want to see you in front of everyone. I wanted to see you here. Just… you.”

His hands trembled. “I didn’t think you’d come.” “I almost didn’t.” “And now?” You swallowed. “Now I’m wondering if this door is going to close… or if you’ll let me in.”

He didn’t say a word. He stepped back. Held the door open. And you walked in. Slowly. Quietly. Like you’d never been gone.

It was past 3:00 a.m. by the time the last word was spoken.

Neither of you knew who said it. There wasn’t a grand conclusion to the hours-long conversation—no sweeping fix, no perfect closure.

Just silence. And honesty. And finally, peace.

You were curled up on one side of the bed, tucked under the too-white hotel duvet, still fully clothed. Spencer had changed into a soft gray T-shirt but left his jeans on. He lay beside you, arm barely brushing yours. Neither of you moved You stared at the ceiling together for a while. Let the quiet stretch. Then, gently, softly— “Will you face me?” he asked.

You turned over, shifting until you were facing him, nose a few inches from his. His eyes were tired, but clear. A softness lived there again—one that hadn’t been there since the night he told you he was leaving.

His hand reached forward slowly, landing on the blanket near yours. Not touching, not pushing. Just… waiting. You inched your hand over until your fingers slid between his. Finally.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It wasn’t a promise.

It was enough.

He let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it for weeks. And then, with his forehead barely brushing yours, he whispered: “I haven’t really slept since I left.” You nodded once. “Me either.”

“Do you think we could now?” You answered by tugging the blanket a little higher, then resting your hand over his heart. It was steady. Slower already. He smiled softly. “You always do that.”

“What?” “Put my mind to sleep.” You whispered back, “That’s because you always wake up my heart.” “You said it in a simple way.”

And with that, you both closed your eyes.

For the first time in weeks—no tossing, no racing thoughts, no dreams laced with absence— you slept. Not just because you were tired. But because, finally, you felt safe again.

The morning came soft. Sunlight poured in through the slats of the hotel curtains, falling across the bed like a secret. Spencer stirred first, blinking against the warmth, a little disoriented—until he felt your weight beside him.

You were still curled into his side. His shirt had slid off one shoulder during the night. And for the first time in a month, he felt human again. Alive.

You opened your eyes slowly. Saw him watching you. “Hi,” you whispered, voice still sleep-soaked. “Hi.” Neither of you moved right away. Eventually, you sat up. Rubbed your eyes. Ran a hand through your hair. Then looked over your shoulder at him.

“We should talk,” you said gently. “Before I turn this into something in my head that it isn’t.” He nodded. Sat up too. “I’d like that.”

You turned to face him fully. Feet tucked beneath you on the bed. Legs barely brushing his.

“I don’t want you to give up the study,” you started. “I need you to know that.” “I’m not sure I still want it,” he admitted. “Don’t say that just because I’m here.” “I’m not. I’m saying it because I don’t feel like me when I’m not with you. And if a job takes that away from me, then maybe it’s not the right job.”

You reached for his hand—twined your fingers.

“Then let’s try something before it comes to that,” you said. “Long distance.” His eyebrows lifted. “You mean—?” “I mean… what if we didn’t treat this like it has to be all or nothing? What if we try? Texts. Late-night calls. Long weekends. Letters. Anything we can.”

He stared at you, wonder in his eyes. “You’d really do that?” “I almost didn’t,” you said honestly. “But Garcia gave me your hotel address.” His eyes widened. “She—wait, she gave it to you?”

You smiled, sheepish. “She said, and I quote, ‘If you want to fix this, stop being passive and go knock on his door like the main character you are.’” He huffed a soft laugh. “Of course she did.”

You leaned in. Pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll let you shower and get your head on straight,” you said, sliding off the bed. “I’ve got to head to work. But…” you paused at the door, pulling your coat on, “Dinner tonight?” “Where?” “Anywhere. Just you.”

He smiled. “You have no idea how badly I want that.” You left with a soft click of the door.

“And this is when the feeling sinks in.”

And he sat there for a moment. Quiet. Grateful. Then grabbed his phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Garcia. It’s me.”

“Oof. You sound suspiciously well-rested.”

He smiled, sinking back against the pillows. “She showed up last night.”

Penelope let out a dramatic gasp. “Did she punch you or kiss you?”

“Neither. She… talked. We talked. All night.”

“…So you slept. Actually slept?”

“For the first time since I left.”

A pause. A smile even through the phone line.

“She told me you gave her my hotel address,” he added.

“Oops,” she said unconvincingly.

“Thank you.”

There was a pause.

Then softly—

“You’re welcome, boy genius."

[unseededtoast]

When Was It Over? | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: You had suspicions that another woman was receiving Spencer’s affections, and one night your worst fears are confirmed. Heartbroken, you try to move on but find yourself contemplating when things went wrong, and when it was all over. Inspired by “Is It Over Now?” By Taylor Swift

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.7k

content warnings: infidelity, angst, mention of blood

a/n: thank all of you lovelies for taking the time and reading, I appreciate each and every one of you. But especially to @mirdnightmass who suggested this, thank you🫶🏼 and if you have any suggestions please send them my way!

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

Reading the words on your phone screen cause you stomach to turn with anxiety. Spencer had texted you that he will be home from a case tonight, and that he'd like to come over. Usually, this wouldn't be an issue and you'd be overjoyed to see him. But lately you suspect that there might be someone else entering the picture.

Your suspicions started small. He'd take phone calls that weren't from his boss, he would purposely order an extra coffee in the mornings to take to work, and he started working later than usual. Though you had no concrete proof of anything, it was a gut feeling that you just can't seem to shake.

But you push your anxiety aside and text Spencer back, letting him know that he's more than welcome to come over tonight. And as soon as you send the message, you put your phone away and clean your home to occupy your thoughts.

All too soon, Spencer's knocking on your door and you let him in with a smile on your face. He kisses you as he comes through, smelling oddly sweet. Fighting the urge to throw up, you convince yourself not to overreact until you're certain there's someone else in his life.

Throughout the evening, while the two of you are tangled together on the couch, you peek at him out of the corner of your eye and wonder where things started going wrong. There's a tension between the two of you, and though unspoken, its presence is well known.

You remember how only a few short months ago you would have been beyond excited to spend an evening with Spencer, and now you find yourself counting down the minutes until he leaves. He used to shower you in love and affection, but now his hand barely grazes your thigh.

When Spencer leaves for the night, he kisses your cheek and wishes you a goodnight. You realize as you shut the door that he hadn't told you that he loved you once.

- - - - -

Two weeks pass and Spencer has once again come back home from a case. This time his message asks you if you'd like to come over to his apartment. And you tell him you'll be there, but there's an odd sinking feeling residing in your chest.

Later in the evening you go to Spencer's apartment with distant memories dancing in your head. It seems like just yesterday you came here for the first time, bright eyed and head over heels in love with your boyfriend, who couldn't have been more perfect.

You walk in and place your coat on the rack beside the door, smiling at Spencer who stands with his hands in his pockets. Biting the insides of your cheeks, you wonder if he's even going to lay a finger on you tonight.

"How was your day?" He finally breaks the silence and you nod your head,

"It was okay. Just went to work and now I'm here." The conversation feels like one between new coworkers, not significant others of three years.

"Come on in, I rented your favorite movie and dinner should be here any minute." He finally takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head atop yours.

Feeling his arms hold you for the first time in almost a month is almost enough to drive you to tears. You take in his scent as it comforts you, and you nuzzle your head into his chest, wishing that whatever was happening between the two of you would pass and things would go back to normal. You miss Spencer's affections, your heart yearns to hear him declare his love for you.

After dinner, the two of you retire in the living room where you take your usual spot on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped over the back, and you pull it over top of you, but your heart stops once it lands in your lap.

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

Spencer walks into the room after getting a glass of water, but he falls short of sitting beside you. He must've noticed something was wrong in the way you're sat on the couch.

While Spencer watches, you grab the hair between your thumb and pointer finger, pulling it through the fabric and hold it in front of you, eyes meeting Spencer's. Your hand shakes as adrenaline pumps through you, Spencer's jaw falls slack.

"What is this?" Your voice is oddly even and calm given the situation. Spencer's mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat and answers you.

"A friend had to crash here for a few nights." He admits, and you wonder why you're just now hearing of this.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

"JJ, I work with her." He says, eyes casting down to the hair still in your grasp. Your heart wildly pumps in your chest.

"So you weren't going to tell me that a woman was staying the night with you?" Finally releasing the hair from your grasp, the realization dawns on you and it's like the puzzle pieces you'd collected over the last few weeks have suddenly put themselves together.

"No, she just needed a place to sleep for a few nights." He says, like he's also trying to convince himself of the same thing.

"Spencer don't lie to me. I know you've been taking coffee to her in the mornings, you've been staying later, and the last time you came over you smelled like her." Your voice starts to shake and you step away from Spencer. Tears well in your eyes and you beg your body not to betray you right now.

"She's just a friend." Is all Spencer refutes your argument with. Your head shakes back and forth, the reality setting in.

"Spencer you've taken better care of her than you have me. Hell, last time we saw each other you barely touched me and you didn't even tell me you love me. And tonight you're doing the same thing." Your throat feels like it's closing up from battling your emotions.

As you wait for him to say something, anything, your bottom lip trembles. Where did this all go wrong? Was there anything you could've done? Could you have held him tighter or kissed him more? The questions race through your mind but are cut short by Spencer.

"I'm sorry. We were on a case and she told me she loves me. But, I promise you that she is just a friend." The words that leave his lips are like knives being dug into your eardrums. And with his words, the tears resting in your lash line fall over and cascade down your cheeks, one right after another.

"How could you? Spencer, how could you? We had everything going for us. I love you with every fiber of my being. I thought you were the love of my life. But now you're just, you're just a lying traitor." You force the words out before you completely break down. Turning away from him, you rush to collect your things.

You're not even sure you put your shoes on the right feet but you don't care. The door of Spencer's apartment swings open and you take one last look at him. His mouth is open, eyes wet, but he says nothing.

He doesn't try to stop you as you leave his apartment, and that makes you sob even harder on your way home.

Is this really how things are ending between you?

- - - - -

"Come on have some fun!" Your friend, Sarah, nudges your shoulder, interrupting your daydream. It's a Friday night and the weather is nice, so she's begging to go out.

"I don't know Sarah, I'm not really in the mood." Your tone is melancholy, and all you want to do is crawl into bed. With a huff, Sarah steps in front of you and grabs your shoulders so that you're forced to look at her.

"You need this. I haven't seen you smile in weeks. Come on, go get ready. It'll be good for you." Her voice is kind, and soft, and you know she's only trying to help. As your lifelong best friend, she's always been in your corner with support and love.

"Fine." You relent, and go find something to wear. You're in no mood for anything uncomfortable or flashy, so you settle on a loose button up and a pair of ripped jeans.

"You look so good!" Sarah tries to hype you up as she grabs her keys, but it doesn't really work. You can't feel good while you're suffering on the inside. With her arm slung around your shoulder, you accompany her to whatever she has planned for tonight.

"Really?" You deadpan ask her as you stare at the neon light adorning the front of the building. This is quite literally the last place you wanted to be tonight, but here you are.

"Yes, it'll be fun, come on." Sarah grabs your hand and drags you alongside into the bar where the music is too loud and the people are even more annoying.

Against your wishes, you line up at the bar and wait to gain the bartender's attention. You figure if you're going to be here you'll need something to numb the experience. Sarah knows you've never been a fan of crowded places so you're confused as to why she even brought you here in the first place.

Once the two of you have your drinks in hand, you find an empty table and take a seat. As you sip, you look around at the patrons; people watching has always been quite enjoyable for you. Your eyes scan the bar and land on a tall man across the way. His smile is wide, hair dark and curly, eyes bright and soft.

Blinking rapidly, you pull your eyes away from the man and order another drink. Guilt eats you from inside as you realize you had been checking out another man; albeit one that looks oddly familiar. And surely another drink will help numb the guilt as well.

Hours later and two drinks turned into four. You feel your cheeks warm from the alcohol, and you're keenly aware that your eyes are back on the tall, handsome man from earlier.

"You should go say something." Sarah says, leaning on the table as she nurses her drink. Shaking your head, you disagree.

"No, I can't." You say, almost as if convincing yourself of your own answer. You're not even sure if you and Spencer are over, you can't possibly go introduce yourself to another man.

"Come on. He's been looking at you all night." She nudges you out of your seat and through the power of liquid courage, you relent.

Turning away from Sarah, you find the man easily and take a quick deep breath. It doesn't take you long to cross the bar and in seconds, you find yourself staring up at the man's green eyes. He's got a small smile on his face, his eyes gleam with curiosity.

"Hi." You smile up at the man, who smiles back.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing talking to a man like me?" He smiles wider, showing off his perfectly white teeth. Your eyes dance from the man's smile to his eyes, relishing in their familiarity.

"My friend said I should come say something." You tell him, having nothing actually prepared to say to him beyond an introduction. The man finishes off his drink and looks over to where Sarah is. He nods,

"Well I'm glad she did. Can I get you another?" He raises the empty glass in his hand. While you feel a little tipsy, you know one more wouldn't hurt.

"Sure." You smile up at him and watch as he goes to order the two of you another drink.

While he's away, you glance over to Sarah, who's smiling at you and giving you a thumbs up across the bar. You suppress your smile, but you're thankful she's still here; she wouldn't leave you alone with a stranger and you know she'll be here to make sure you're okay. Her reassuring presence is probably why you agreed to approach the man in the first place.

The man comes back with two glasses in his hands, and he gives you one of them. He invites you back to his table, which is only a few feet away from where you are standing, and the two of you get to know each other. You learn that he's from the area, he works in finance for a fortune 500 company, and he recently got out of a long-term relationship.

You share how your relationship status is hugely unknown at this point, but spare him the details for your own pride's sake. Thankfully, he doesn't inquire and the conversation flows easily. He even makes you laugh a time or two, which hasn't happened in weeks.

As the night goes on, you find yourself sitting closer and closer to the man, drawn in by how he reminds you of someone you dearly miss. It's entirely clear to you why you're attracted to the man, but you push all of those thoughts away, the alcohol working diligently to cloud your logic and judgment and all you can focus on is the man's lips.

Not even twenty minutes later, you're pulling him in by the front of his shirt, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands hold your waist securely, and his lips move in tandem with your own. The taste of sweetness lingers between the two of you. Your body moves on its own volition, and in the heat of the moment you find yourself practically sitting in the man's lap. Thankfully, the table you two are at is tucked away in the corner, but you're still entirely visible to everyone else. However, that doesn't seem to matter as you place kisses on the man's jaw and down to his neck.

His hands move from your waist up to the first button of your shirt where he expertly undoes it. Your wet lips place another kiss on the man's neck, just underneath his ear like you're used to doing with someone else, and the feeling of another button being undone makes you realize what's happening.

Backing away from the kiss abruptly, your heart drops to your stomach. Your fingers work quickly to clasp the buttons on your shirt and you get off of the man, who looks confused and hurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't- I shouldn't have..." You trail off, giving him no specific answer as you turn around and find Sarah.

She must have been able to tell from the look on your face that you're ready to leave. And thankfully she doesn't ask you a single question on the way back to your house. The entire trip back, you stare out the window and wonder why you let that happen, and how you could've let yourself kiss another man. But mostly you just think about how it should've been Spencer.

Sarah drops you off and wishes you a goodnight, and you half-heartedly tell her goodbye.

Your mind is too preoccupied as you go through your nightly routine and by the time your head hits the pillow, your thoughts have shifted from the unknown man's lips to Spencer's.

You remember how his hands would map out every curve of your body and how his lips would kiss your tender skin, as if you'd break if he wasn't careful. Spencer would always hold you close to him as he showered you in love and affection, his hands unable to get enough of you. Even if the two of you were relaxing on the couch, he would always find a way to touch you, whether that meant you were cuddled in his arms or barely touching his shoulder.

A lone tear drips down your face as you try to sleep, missing having Spencer beside you, missing the feeling of his arms around you, and you know you'll miss seeing his gemstone eyes first thing when you wake up. You mourn the relationship, and can't help but wonder if your actions tonight were the final nail in the coffin.

That night, all you can dream about is Spencer, and how in love you used to be.

- - - - -

Awaking earlier than wanted, Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes the best he can. It's still dark outside, but he knows that he's not going to be able to fall back asleep. And even if he did, he knows that the only thing he will dream about is you.

The past few weeks all of his dreams have centered around you. At first, they were about how you two met and your first few dates. They were vivid, almost as if they were happening all over again. He could clearly see the tulips he picked for your first date, and he remembers the shade of lipstick you wore that brought out your eyes in the best way possible.

As he makes his way through his morning routine, he's distracted by the traces of you that remain in his apartment. You still have clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush still sits on his bathroom counter. And most noticeably, your scent still lingers on his sheets.

But, his apartment now has traces of JJ too. Her blonde hair sticks to the blankets draped over the couch, her perfume embedded in the material. She had left a hair tie on his coffee table and the mug she used for coffee sits untouched in the sink.

Spencer knows that her confession of love was mainly spurred on by a life or death situation, but he would be lying if he said it didn't reawaken repressed feelings. Back in his early days at the BAU, he had been head over heels for her, but he moved on when she got together with Will. And truthfully, when he met you it was the happiest he had ever been, and he was convinced that you were his soul mate.

That was until JJ told him that she loved him.

A heavy feeling of guilt has taken residence in Spencer's chest since you walked out of his apartment. He knew that you had every right to be upset, and truthfully he doesn't know if the two of you will ever reconcile. As you walked out of the door he wanted to stop you, to beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't. He had to let you go.

Staring at the couch, he can't help but wonder if your relationship had died the moment he let JJ stay over, the moment she laid on his couch could've been the exact moment your relationship took its last breath. Had that one decision been the beginning of the end?

And he can't help but wonder why he agreed to let her stay in the first place, after a confession of that magnitude, and why he hadn't told you. Was it his subconscious way of admitting he also has feelings for JJ, and that by allowing her to stay in his home it was an acknowledgment of that fact? Had he not told you because of the feelings he harbors for her? Would telling you force him to confront those emotions?

No matter what it may have meant, he can't help but to regret it. The look on your face as you called him a lying traitor will forever be ingrained in his mind. Spencer had never meant to hurt you, no, he loved you dearly.

As each day passes by without hearing from you, Spencer wonders if things are truly over for the two of you. His heart aches from your absence and he yearns to have you back in his arms. But he can't help but feel guilty as he realizes that he may have some of those same feelings for JJ.

- - - - -

Months had gone by since you last saw Spencer, and you finally feel like you can begin to heal. It took some time for you to process what had happened, and now you've come to be at peace with his decision. If he wanted to search for something greater, and found it in her, then there's nothing you could've done.

On a regular routine again, you enter your favorite coffee shop on your way to your new job, needing the extra caffeine. The warm air inside greets you and the rich scent of coffee fills the air.

After you order your usual, you stand off to the side to wait, pushing yourself up against a wall so that other people have room to move around. The lightly falling snow outside catches your attention and from the warmth of inside you can appreciate the beauty.

The barista calls your name out as the front door bell jingles. Grabbing your drink, you relish in how the warmth gives life back to your fingertips before turning to leave, preparing yourself to brace the bitter cold that awaits you outside.

But as your eyes land on the people who had just walked in, it seems as if the wintry cold followed you in after all. Spencer stands at the counter with a blonde haired, blue-eyed, woman next to him who looks like she just walked out of a magazine. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold, but you feel yours drain of all color. And if that wasn't enough, it's like your feet have been superglued to the floor, forcing you to watch as he orders for her with a smile on his face.

It seems he found something greater after all.

After the initial wave of sadness washes over you, you feel a familiar fire within you. Jealousy is an ugly beast, but you can't help the way your eyebrows knit together as you watch them, your thoughts consumed with how that should be you next to him, how it used to be you.

In fact, your jealously goes so far as to create hundreds of impulsive plans to earn his attention away from her. If you spilled your coffee, surely that would do the trick. Or if you tripped on your way out, that would be sure to make him look. Even the fleeting thought of jumping from the roof makes an appearance; the only consequence you can think of is how he'd surely come running straight to you.

But your imaginative plans are all for naught, as they grab their drinks and leave together. She laughs at something he said as the door shuts behind them. And you're still stuck in the middle of the coffee shop with one question floating around in your mind.

Did he really choose her over you?

- - - - -

Staring out of your window that's been frosted over with fresh snow, you can't help but to ponder how exactly you got to be where you are right now. In three days it'll be Christmas, and you've never dreaded the holiday more than you do in this moment.

A few evenings ago you had been rummaging through your closet and found the gift you planned on giving Spencer this Christmas. It was simple, but you knew he'd love it. He had always worn a purple scarf during the colder months, and when you saw this one you just knew he needed it. It was another scarf, but the seamstress who was selling it offered to stitch something on the back of it, and so you had asked her to stitch your initials on the back, so that even while he was away on cases he still had a piece of you with him.

Now the gift lays wrapped on your coffee table, where it silently taunts you with thoughts of what could've been. You stare at it, wondering if you should give it away, throw it away, send it through the mail, or do nothing with it at all.

Unable to look at the box any longer, you take it and put it with the rest of Spencer's things you intend to give back to him soon. Having his belongings in your home is slowly starting to drive you mad, and you know that in order to have any shot of getting over him, it all has to be gone.

In a momentary burst of determination, you grab the box of his belongings that sits in the back of your closet and you take it out to your car, despite the fact that the air is so cold it burns your face and that the snow is coming down at a considerable rate. You figure he's had you in his grasp for too long now and it's time to start reclaiming your home, your life, and begin piecing together who you're going to be after Spencer Reid.

The box is haphazardly shoved into your back seat and your hand quickly grazes the side of a book he had left on your nightstand, and as your luck would have it, you managed to give yourself a papercut. You hold your hand out of the car so you don't get blood on any of his things before closing the door with haste.

Your eyes cast down at the bright, crimson red blood that dots the pristine snow below your feet. Drops of blood roll down your finger and drip from the tip, each drip creating its own prominent mark in the snow. And you can't help but feel like it's more than just blood on the snow, that somehow it symbolizes how you may have very well killed what remained of your relationship with Spencer.

But he gave you no other choice.

- - - - -

Your insides twist and turn with anxiousness as you park your car along the street of a familiar curb. Looking back down at your phone screen, you confirm that this is the time you're supposed to be here before getting out of your car and picking up the box from the back seat.

After Christmas you had sent Spencer a text asking if you could come by and get your things that you had left in his apartment, and thankfully he agreed. You hadn't told him that you were bringing his things, and he hadn't asked for them, but you figured it was just common courtesy to bring them anyways. Plus you can't stand looking at the box any longer, all it does it resurface memories of a better time, one where you were happy and in love. Neither of those things are true anymore.

Walking up the stairs, you remember how excited you were the first time to come over and how you were awestruck by how well he decorated for a man. Of course you added a few things here and there over the years, but soon there will be no trace of you left. Your heart sinks with the realization that Spencer's apartment will no longer be your second home, his arms will no longer be your safe haven.

Once you reach his door, you knock lightly. You had partially hoped that he would just leave your things in the hall, and that the exchange would be easy, but of course he wouldn't do that. And within seconds of knocking on the door, he answers. His hair is messy and he's opted for his glasses today, your favorite look on him. Swallowing hard, you hold the box out in front of you.

"I think this is everything." Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. He steps further inside his apartment,

"Come on in." He invites you, and you wonder if you should accept. You know that if you walk in that a plethora of memories will invade your mind, and you know that if you don't that you may never receive the closure you need. After a few moments of contemplation, you step inside.

You place the box on the ground and put your hands in your pockets as you look around. The decorations you had placed around various locations are no longer there adorning the shelves or the walls, your spare coat no longer hangs from the rack beside the front door, and your handwritten notes are no longer on the front of the fridge. You swallow again and avert your eyes, pleading with yourself to not cry in front of him. But as your eyes move elsewhere, you spot a photograph that still hangs on the wall in his living room.

It was a sunny day in the early spring, and the two of you had just celebrated your one year anniversary. The two of you agreed that a nice picnic would be more than enough of a celebration, and honestly you were just happy that he wasn't being dragged away on a case that day. The two of you laid side by side on the blanket in the plush grass, content with one another's presence, fingers interlaced as his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. Before the sun went down you had asked him to take the picture, and you always loved how bright his smile was that day.

"This should be everything." He comes back into the entryway with a box in his arms. You spot every little decoration you had ever brought over, along with your clothes that you had almost forgotten about. Spencer places the box on the ground as well, and you nod, clearing the emotion from your throat.

"Thank you." You say and go to pick up your box and get out of his apartment. Truthfully, there's a part within you that wants him to beg you to stay, you hope that he will profess his undying love for you and that you won't have to leave.

No matter how heartbroken you are over his decision, you know that you would take him back in a heartbeat. Your soul still aches for his touch and you're not sure that feeling will ever fade. The intensity with which you love him is passionate and all encompassing. For just another moment in his arms, you can't even begin to list everything you would give and sacrifice. His hugs were always the most comforting, his words always sweet and honeyed, his lips always soft.

Until they were for the blonde-haired woman who came in and took everything from you.

Once the box is in your hands, you give him a weak smile and are almost brought to tears just by looking at his face. Your sweet, sweet Spencer is so close yet has never been farther away. Feeling tears well in your lash line, you commit to memory just how beautiful he is for what is very well the final time you'll ever see him.

In an instant, flashes of what your future could've been runs through your mind. You see the two of you hand in hand at the end of an aisle, long nights of waiting for him to come back home only to be greeted with the most loving kisses, and countless mornings waking up in his arms. You were prepared to give him everything, but now you're left with nothing except the memories of when he still loved you.

Giving him one last chance to say something, your hope begins fizzling out. There's only one thing you want to hear him say, and you're coming to understand that you'll likely never hear those words come from his mouth.

When it's clear that there's nothing left to say, you turn and open the front door. Before the door gets closed on you, you turn to look at him just one last time. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you can almost swear you see a tear fall from his eye.

"Goodbye, Spencer." You say as a lone tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, unable to keep them at bay any longer. Feeling your bottom lip beginning to tremble, you make yourself walk away before you have a full breakdown in the hallway right in front of him.

The ride back home is silent, except for the occasional sound of your sniffles. Before the exchange of belongings, you had held out hope that it meant that there might still be hope. But now there's nothing left to give you hope.

It seems things are really over now.

- - - - -

Spencer's phone lights up on his counter, catching his eye as he was walking by. Glancing at it quickly, he sees your name attached to the message. He picks the phone up and reads the message that reads less like a text and more like a cordial email.

"Hi, hope all is well. I was wondering if there is a time that I could come by and collect the rest of my things?"

The words make his heart sink, but he replies and lets you know when he'll be home. He knew that this day would eventually come, but he wasn't prepared for it to be so soon. Placing his phone back down on the counter, he looks around and notices just how many traces there are of you everywhere he looks.

In every part of his apartment he can easily recall a memory the two of you made there. The kitchen is where he remembers making cookies together on a friday night, the living room reminds him of the times you fell asleep in his lap, and the bedroom reminds him of all the mornings he was lucky enough to be awoken by your gentle kisses.

But he respects your wishes and begins collecting your things, committing each one to memory. With each and every little item he packs away, he finds himself becoming more and more angry with himself. He can't understand why he jeopardized the love of his life for JJ. Sure, he thought he loved her, and the two of them had spent extra time together after her confession, but after you left Spencer realized that he could never love JJ the way he loves you. And so he came to the painful conclusion that he could only ever love JJ as a close friend, but only after breaking your heart and shattering your relationship he cherished so dearly.

Spencer knows that he has forfeited every right to be with you by making those series of poor decisions but it doesn't make it any easier for him to accept.

As he packs away the rest of your things, he finally finds himself at his dresser, where some of your clothes remain. He remembers the day you brought some of your wardrobe over and he was happy to make room for you. You had told him that by keeping some of your things here that you two could spend more time together as you wouldn't have to go back and forth between homes when staying over or going out. But he never needed convincing, he would've let you do whatever you wanted as long as it kept that smile on your face.

And all too soon, you show up at his apartment with a box in your arms, filled to the brim with his belongings. As soon as he sees your face behind the door, he feels like he wants to collapse to his knees and beg for you to forgive him.

But instead, he gathers your things and returns them to you when you should be staying here. You should be wrapped up in his arms for the rest of the night. He watches as the photo on the wall catches your eye, and even he can't help but to look at it as well.

Seeing the two of you so happy together in a moment frozen in time makes his throat constrict with emotion, and he feels the tears well in his eyes. What he wouldn't give to be able to see you smile like that again, to hold and love and cherish you until the end of time.

Instead, he watches as you turn and leave his apartment. The realization hits him like a brick wall that this could very well be the last time he ever sees you, and he can't keep his composure.  A tear escapes his eye and falls as you turn around and wish him farewell.

Once the door closes behind you, Spencer finally collapses to his knees, sobs wracking through his body while he mentally curses himself for not saying more, for not fighting harder for you.

His chest hurts from crying, but he can't find it within himself to care about anything other than you. He wishes he could forget, things would be easier that way. But instead he's sentenced to a life where he has no choice but to remember everything.

That night while he lays in bed, throat raw and eyes sore, all he can think about is you. The way you fit in his arms like you were made just for him, how you would rake your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and how sometimes, after particularly hard cases, you would hold him close.

As the hours pass and he gives into sleep, he can almost swear he feels your arms wrapping around him while you whisper for him to "come here", like you always did. Your voice was always soft and understanding as you took him into your warm embrace.

But now the room feels colder than it ever has before, and there's nobody to blame but himself.

- - - - -

A warm spring breeze blows your hair and with it comes the sweet smell of budding flowers. The sun is shining brightly through the puffy, white clouds and for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.

Once the snow had melted and signs of life began springing back up, it seems your spirits rose as well. Sure, some days are harder than others and you still miss Spencer, but you're able to live without the constant ache in your chest.

You've taken the time to reflect on what happened, and you have come to accept that there was nothing more you could've done. You had given him your entire heart, but that just wasn't enough for him. He searched for something better, something greater, and it seems like he found it. You only hope she makes him happier than you could have, and that she loves him well.

But no matter how hard you work on healing yourself, you can't silence the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you of just how badly you want to see him again. You yearn to even just see him from a distance, and you desperately crave to hear him tell you that he still loves you.

You wish that he could be here sharing this wonderful afternoon by your side, hand in hand and you wish that things had played out differently. Maybe you two would've been engaged, or even married, by now. After all, tomorrow would've been your five year anniversary.

No matter how much time passes you still don't think you're ready to try to get back out there, much to Sarah's disproval. It just wouldn't be fair to the other man, the way you would still see parts of Spencer in him.

With a sigh, you can't help but think of what could've been, how your future with Spencer could've been filled with happiness, laughter, love, and so much more. But no, instead you sit alone on a bench in the middle of a busy park.

After hours of soaking in the warm sun, you decide it's time to go back home. As you walk down the street you recount memories you've thought of a hundred times before and wonder if maybe your path will cross with Spencer's again someday.

Before you open your front door you stop and take a deep breath. The looming anniversary date has made you a touch more melancholy and sentimental than usual and after a long day of reflection, you're finally ready to admit something to yourself that you've been pushing away for far too long.

It's over now.

[dear-reider]

My world colliding, I love it

My boy deserves a true love

@.xoxoreid on tt

[xervoxs]

spencer: oh my god

spencer: you broke emily

derek: what do we do??

aaron: *speechless*

emily: *crying*

penelope: i just let her listen to taylor swift

[aftergubler]

do you believe me now? they say i did something bad

[allthistimeeee]

the way house would be a swiftie but never admit it until someone else insults taylor swift and he's ready to bury them underground. he's anything but a misogynist and he respects the hell out of someone who can stand their ground.

also when wilson asks about his favourite t.s. song he says something popular like 'blank space' but secretly he loves to play 'new years day' on his piano when wilson's fast asleep in their shared apartment.

mainly because the lyric “please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere” resonates with him and his sentiment towards wilson more than he'd like to admit.