#he has an eidetic memory and remembers where it is

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Andrew’s eidetic memory has always come with more baggage and downsides than good. He doesn’t want to remember all of his foster houses and all of his “brothers” and “fathers”. Getting good grades are not worth the cuts and bruises and memories.

If he was any other person having eidetic memory would have been such an advantage but not to Andrew minyard.

But then when he gets to remember in vivid details the first time Aaron genuinely smiles at him and the insults sounds more affectionate than vicious, and how Nicky was there for him throughout his teen years, Kevin when he finally got his tattoo cover, and Neil.

Every single moment he has with Neil Andrew gets to remember down to how the weather was like that time.

Then maybe having an eidetic memory isn’t all bad when there are more good memories than bad memories and those bad memories seem more like nightmares than his present.

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [13]

Impulse is a little back in time, simply to retrieve a thing from the most haunted city in america.

the instructions were clear, in. grab thing. out. no funny business, no anything else.

why the fuck did it had to be impulse then?! that’s never gonna- ah, whatever…

So Bart does not just do only that. He remembers to keep moving fast so he’s not seen, but well, he spotted these two white suited goofballs who looked upset with their little box contraption and somehow were missing the little unplugged wire and Bart figured, what could the harm be?

so he might have plugged the little wire in while he was there, sue him, the guys looked surprised but pleased that their little thingy was suddenly working. good job Impulse right?

he didn’t forget about it but he might have shoved it in the back trunk of his head while he went on to do his actual job which is essentially forgetting for a guy with eidetic memory.

So yeah, imagine his surprise when he gets back to where he came from and finds himself on a doomed, desolate earth with green skies and nothing but scorched rock and ruins for miles.

What he’s seeing is an earth in the aftermath of a war against the infinite realms.

So now he has to go back to the past and fix his reckless mistake. Would it be wise to maybe see if he can find a single living soul with some info on what happened to make this ordeal a little easier? maybe, but that might involve him having to explain himself which will most likely be followed by a subsequent well deserved lecture and Bart is hoping to fix this without all that because he clearly fucked up. like, it’s very obvious. and he’s feeling very bad about it, honest.

back in the past again though, he nearly collapses, he’s seriously overdoing it at this point, afterall he was supposed to be able to recuperate once he got back. 

But he has to push through, he can’t slow down, he has to find those two guys and nab their little machine that’s apparently a doomsday device or something, he doesn’t know when they will use it, or where, so slowing down now is absolutely out of the question.

“woah hey there man, are you alright?”

he’s startled into complete stillness, and then he’s just thinking about how this guy looks like a fusion between Robin and Superboy, he can picture it perfectly in his head, fully animated dragon ball fusion style.

it’s SuperRobin, real name Ton, or maybe Kim.

getting distracted, he was asked a question, better answer.

“yeahI’mfine” he wheezes, very believable stuff.

“no you’re not, do you need a hand? sick Impulse cosplay by the way”

So, yeah, Danny pesters Bart into at least eating and drinking something, he says that if the two guys, who are now identified to Bart as the guys in white also known as the GIW or the Ghost Investigation Ward… and Bart going “oh I know a ghost! she’s really great” and Danny being pleasantly surprised.

but anyway if those guys do anything he will know, cause apparently they are very loud and quite destructive. and that’s honestly no comfort to Bart cause he knows what the future is gonna look like, but also he’s about to pass out and that would be super uncool and also make him totally useless anyway so… eating and drinking first it is.

Danny is a local, which is useful cause Bart only knew the route he needed to take for his previous mission and not really anything else regarding this place. And he tells Bart that he’s screwed with the GIW before so he knows how they operate. it fucking sucks that Bart accidentally aided apparent government bad guys… the others can never find out…

Overall, working with Danny is pretty great. For a civilian the guy is very resourceful. he’s witty, smart, funny, a lot stronger than he looks, honestly maybe the SuperRobin fusion thing he thought about before has some merit… are there any hidden clone labs around? billionaires with zero morals? yes? no? maybe?

Bart simply told Danny that he needs the machine from the white suit guys for future superhero reasons. and he’s fully intending on just handing it over to Robin, hopefully while not having to explain why he has it in the first place, and see if he can figure out how it’s gonna cause the world to end so they can make sure that can never happen.

Danny says that the machine is probably just an anti ghost weapon of some kind. Bart is skeptical, because first of all, why would anyone need anti ghost weapons when magic is already a thing and works on them just fine. Like all the superhero exorcists that Bart knows use some form of magic, well he guess anti ghost weapons would be useful for the bats, but that begs the question why is the government going around trying to shoot ghosts? and why hasn’t Bart heard of this before, cause this sounds like something Robin would enjoy telling him about.

But Bart, with significant help from Danny, manages to… confiscate (steal) the machine from the white suits.

he promises Danny he’ll visit, cause they are friends now, it’s official. And he would love to introduce him to the others as well.

Once back Bart still gets lectured of course, and Tim does reveal that yeah, the box really is just some sort of ghost trapping device, and he’s keeping it.

Bart doesn’t really care, the only thing he cares about is that everything is back to normal and he even got a new friend out of the whole ordeal.

It's then that Robin brings up a new member for Young Justice who will soon be joining them, and Bart is completely confused.

Everyone else is confused at Bart’s confusion, this was already known a week ago? and Bart figures that something did change somewhere somehow anyway, that’s fine.

Kon reminds Bart of the new guy’s callsign, apparently it’s Phantom.

Bart tries to imagine what they would look like, but at the moment he can only picture Danny in a SuperRobin outfit.oh well, hopefully this just means that Bart manages to get two friends out of this whole mess.

[shewroteaworld]

Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times? 

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume. 

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you. 

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism. 

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned. 

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence. 

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?” 

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics. 

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve. 

You stood. 

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied. 

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete. 

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?” 

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said. 

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears. 

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall.  You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called. 

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace. 

He flung a door open and yanked you inside. 

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger. 

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands. 

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug. 

 “I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.” 

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.” 

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it. 

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare. 

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.” 

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

[luveline]

whenever youre free!! can you please write a spencer x reader where we meet spencer during an early season where he’s still cute and awkward maybe we date too but something happens and we don’t see him for a long time only to meet him again when he’s older and hotter (post prison) and there’s still crazy tension after all those years. in love with your writing btw!!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok :D ♡ 1.2k

cw vaguely suggestive theme

Looking at Spencer, you could almost think you were fresh out of college again, unsure of yourself and in need of a friend. 

He'd been much more than a friend. It's why you're here. 

The cake might have been a bad idea. You hold it between two hands, the subtle smell of chocolate rising from the box's ill-fitting lid. Your breath catches, words coming out wonky, "Hey. Spencer?" 

He looks up from his book, startled at being found, you think. "Y/N?" 

He looks the same. 

Obviously, he's older. He has facial hair and his curls are styled rather than having been left to their own devices, but you feel as hopelessly enamoured with him as you had years ago, because he still smiles like a puppy dog.

You're twice as surprised as he is when he stands from his coffee table to hug you. The cake box wobbles in your hands as he squeezes you, swaying you from side to side, his laugh warm in your ear. 

"What are you doing back here?" he asks, diving backward to see your face. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again." 

"I still had JJ's number, you know, from when I wanted that address, and she texted me to say you'd been released, and I," —your voice curls tighter, are you talking too much?— "know you might not want to hear from me, but I was worried about you. You were my best friend." 

His smile flickers. You press the cake into his hands. 

"That's for you," you say. 

Spencer's wavering smile turns to the box. He sets it down on the table beside his coffee cup and tented book, removing the lid carefully. You remember suddenly how nice his hands are, and the tracing of his fingertips down your bare shoulders. Goosebumps erupt along the ghost of his touch. 

"Well done on not being a criminal," he reads, snorting. "Funny. Little too soon." 

You feel like your stomach's fallen out, but he drops the act with another laugh. 

"Oh, you're still a jerk," you say. "I'm glad something hasn't changed." 

"You think I've changed?" he asks. 

"You didn't get any taller, if that's what you're asking." 

Spencer's smile turns fond. It's the sweet, sticky smile he'd always give you before he'd tell you he loved you, or that you were the best best friend ever. Or that last night, when you followed him hand in hand down the long hallway to his bedroom. 

"I wasn't that much of a jerk, was I?" he asks. 

"No, you weren't." You hold your hands behind your back. "Could I join you? Just for a bit?" 

"You brought me a cake. I can't say no, can I? Of course you can sit down. I'll get you a coffee, okay?" 

He touches his hand to your arm as he passes. You sit down in the seat across from him, sick with what-if and should-have. What if I could've stayed? Maybe I should have done more. But when Spencer ignored the letters you sent him while he was incarcerated, you figured you'd done more than he wanted. The cake was a last ditch effort, spurred on by JJ's text that read, I think he'd be really happy to see you. 

Spencer puts a china cup down in front of you. You take a sip, muscle memory, and grin at him shyly as he slides into the seat across from you. "You remembered." 

"I remember everything." 

"Right. Your photographic memory." 

"Eidetic, and sure, but I wouldn't forget about you." He reads your shyness for what it is, worry you've overstepped. He's too perceptive to trick. "I think I tried, but… I have so many bad memories, I wanted the good ones to keep." 

You can't imagine the things he experienced in prison. JJ couldn't tell you much. You knew from how you had to address his letters alone that he was sent to a general correctional facility in Mexico, rather than the protective custody he'd needed. He doesn't look terrible considering, but you've barely seen him since you had to leave. He's aged well. The only worry is his dark under eyes. 

"We had a good time," you say gently. "I knew you'd need that. That's why I sent you all those letters, you know? I wasn't trying to come back into your life, I know I don't deserve it after I left, but I couldn't stop thinking about you by yourself." 

You stare at his book. 

"How many letters did you send?" he asks. 

"I don't really remember." 

"I didn't get one." He grimaces. "I didn't get any from my mom, either. Think it was a coincidence?" 

Spencer's time in was kind of sick. He stabbed himself, made friends with criminals, played a lot of chess, and learned how to make tacos in a doritos bag. It was also arguably the loneliest and most degrading time of his life. 

One coffee becomes two, two becomes a third to go. You feel a hundred emotions but there's one that stands out the most as you drift around Pentagon City with him —wanting. You want him to be your best friend again, to rub your back and hold you when you're tired, to take you grocery shopping in his beat up P130. You want him to kiss you like he had, like he was searching for something, but he's changed so much that you don't know if your Spencer is still in there, under everything, or if he'd even want to.

"You live in the same apartment?" you ask. 

"Can you imagine how much it would cost me to move that many books? Paying the rent turns out cheaper," he says, the two of you walking in the grey street. "What about you? You didn't come all the way here to see me." 

"I actually did." You rub up the length of your upper arm, sheepish. "I did, Spencer." 

For a while, all you can hear is the plastic rustling of the bag held in his hand. 

"Thank you for writing to me. I didn't get to read them, but it makes a difference." 

You lift your head to meet his eyes. He holds your gaze, a charge behind his dark brown eyes. You used to think his irises and his pupils were one and the same, but you can see now that there are flecks of light in his irises. His hedging of thick lashes kiss in the corners as he slowly, slowly smiles. 

You glare at him. "Don't." 

"Don't what?" 

"You know what. You're doing that thing. Pretending you're not trying to make me nervous." 

"I'm not doing that. Flustered, but not nervous." Is he smirking?

"Flustered," you repeat, your smile stupidly big now, cheeks aching. "Yeah, right, Reid."

His pinky brushes yours. You don't have any proof that he's doing it purposefully, but he is. 

"Do you want to get something to eat? You can tell me what you were writing in your letters. I'd really, really like to know." His voice is threaded with a familiar timidity for the first time since you reunited. 

There you are, you think happily. "Sure. You buy me a sticky bun from our old place and I'll tell you all my written secrets." 

"Deal." 

[thats-godscomma]

Since rewatching Psych, I've been thinking about how weird and arbitrary Shawn's interests are. Sure, late 2000's writing had something to do with it, and maybe a bit of Henry and Gus's influence, but hearing Shawn be so vocal about how he hates certain popular things or (more importantly) refuses to give them a chance BUT at the same time knowing so many pop culture references, it got me thinking.

What if the reason Shawn has so many pop culture references on hand is because of his eidetic memory, and he doesn't actually have as much of an interest in pop culture? Throughout the show, he actively avoids getting roped into big interests and franchises (see: comic books, soap operas, etc.) despite the fact that he genuinely seems excited once he's part of it. In fact, we don't get to see a lot of Shawn's interests at all unless it's based on an idea.

Take being a bounty hunter, for example. According to him, he's obsessed with the idea, but he doesn't make many references to an actual bounty hunter show or franchise. Instead, he just remembers the one bounty hunter he saw as a child and maybe references a movie or two. Because once he remembers something, he's never going to forget it, or at least not for a very long time.

That's why he thinks in references. Everything is a reference if you have a good enough memory. Everything reminds you of something. If Shawn hears someone make a Spock reference, it's in his repertoire forever. But he wouldn't be caught dead watching the shows or movies because that's just too much information. Why on earth would he endure that?

Of course, it also intertwines with his ADHD. He has bouts of energy and trouble focusing. He can't sit still to save his life, and he hyperfixates...or he would if his memory didn't make him averse to it. So if he doesn't want to hyperfixate on an information-based interest, then what does he hyperfixate on? Physical activities. Instead of learning about his favorite daredevil, he tries to be one himself. When he learns about oil rigs, he doesn't get a book from the library. He tries to find oil in his backyard.

This is also where he and Henry differ regarding Shawn's "potential." Henry is correct when he talks about Shawn's "wasted" potential, but he doesn't understand the toil of having this eidetic memory and ADHD. Here's what I think happened: Henry probably noticed Shawn's stellar memory at a young age, realized he has a gift, spoke with his wife about her eidetic memory, learned that you need to challenge your child's eidetic memory at a young age or it'll go away, started the hat game to make it fun and exciting, but then Shawn's ADHD appeared. Suddenly, it made him much harder to raise (because let's be real, Shawn was not an easy child.) Henry didn't know what he was doing anymore, and since it was the 80's, he didn't have the resources to properly understand his kid's behavior, so he tried to find a common interest, and started training Shawn to be a detective "because kids love cop shows." But Shawn struggled to stay attached to one single interest, and when he grew up, he stopped trying to articulate his problems because his mom (the only person who remotely understood his struggles) left, and he blamed his dad for it.

And academics? Those are a joke because what is the point of studying if he already remembers everything? Until, of course, he needs to apply it to a problem-solving test or writing an essay. Suddenly, he's memorizing a math teacher's answer sheet and copying Gus's report.

Yes, Shawn could have been a great cop. He could be an amazing scientist or anything really. He could have been a national spelling bee champion like Gus wanted to be. Even 15 years later, Shawn remembered exactly what word Gus messed up, how to spell the word, and what letter he made Gus slip up, but he didn't want to be on that stage with Gus because that requires so much learning. And so much time. And so much memorizing. And he refuses to sit still for that long when he knows that overloading his head is going to give him migraines.

Also his "I've heard it both ways" probably comes from the fact that people with eidetic memory can still make lots of mistakes if they don't actively commit something to memory. If Shawn only overhears something, he'll still naturally try to fill in the gaps like everyone else, but because he's so confident in his memory, he just believes what he remembers to be true, leading him to repeat incorrect information with confidence. That could also be why some of his references are incorrect due to mixed-up homophones.

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how Shawn is just a walking movie reference because his memory won't let him forget quotes, but then I fell into a rabbit hole of the negative effects of having an eidetic memory as a child, and I am very passionate about how Henry actually tried his best, and people need to stop calling him a horrible parent. Love y'all. Let me know what you think.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter is Actually Really Clever

So often, I feel like Harry is underrated in his own series and I want to talk about how much I love Harry James Potter. Harry is my favorite character in the books and I want to showcase some moments of Harry proving the Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about when it comes to Harry possibly doing well in Slytherin and even Ravenclaw.

(I have more moments listed in my notes, and I'm in book 6 in my current reread, so I definitely am not covering everything)

Let's start then with the words of the Sorting Hat itself:

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting….So where shall I put you?” Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. “Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that

(Philosopher's Stone, page 88)

The Hat says Harry is brave enough for Gryffindor, clever enough and talented enough for Ravenclaw and has the ambition and thirst to prove himself for Slytherin. And the hat isn't wrong about it's assessment of Harry. Harry is clever and talented and I so often find it underplayed in fics, or ones that do include it, acting like it's fanon characterization when it's really isn't.

Harry Potter is canonically a BAMF.

So, here I'm going to talk about his cleverness and give some moments of Harry being clever from the books.

(I'll have a different post for his magical prowess.)

Harry Has Brilliant Memory

So, Harry James Potter practically has close to an eidetic memory, and no one really seems to mention it.

An eidetic memory is described as an almost perfect recollection of images or events. And Harry actually shows himself as being very capable of it:

Angelina: “…Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 379)

In thus scene its raining during a Quidditch match and Angelina asks Harry about a spell he used a year before. Harry remembered that moment, remembered Hermione was actually the one who cast the spell, a spell he himself never cast before this moment, and he then casts it perfectly from memory.

Harry remembers the incantation and wand movement perfectly enough to succeed on his first try.

Actually, almost every time we see him cast spells he gets the wand movement and incantation right on the first try (even his first attempt at a patronus worked, the happy memory just wasn't strong enough)

In general, they moments we see Harry fail at casting spells on the first try is when he overthinks it and fails himself like that.

Harry stared at the letters in brackets. Nvbl . . . that had to mean “nonverbal.” Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far. Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head. “Aaaaaaaargh!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 239)

Harry tends to fail potions, and nonverbal spells when Snape is breathing down on him expecting him to fail, though, in this example, the moment Harry feels he can succeed the spell and isn't overthinking it, he casts it perfectly and nonverbally on the first attempt.

He is the same with potions:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 660)

When Snape wasn't breathing down his neck and stressing him, even without the Half-Blood Prince's superior instructions, Harry is good at potions. He accomplishes the potion to a level of Exceeding Expectations easily. The problem is never his skill, memory, or talent; usually, it's stress, being stuck in his own head, or carelessness (did anyone diagnose him with ADHD?)

Another example of his eidetic memory in OOP:

“Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,” said Hermione fairly. “I suppose something in that snake’s venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?” “Fifth floor,” said Harry, remembering the sign over the Welcome Witch’s desk.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 508)

When Harry describes St. Mongos for the first time (about a week before the above scene) he reads a sign that describes what is located in each floor of the hospital.

A week later, without reading that sign again, Harry can recall where the tea room is since he has that sign he read once a week ago, memorized.

Harry is Sneaky

Harry is a proper sneaky slythein and actually has more cunning moments than some slytherins in the books. Here are a few examples I have from my notes:

“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.” Harry had a sudden idea. “Peeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.” Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 197)

Harry is a good liar and scared of Peeves like this in his first year.

“…He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .” And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 435)

But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

(Goblet of Fire, page 24)

Again, Harry lying and tricking the Dursleys so they won't hurt him. Leveling Sirius as a threat against them.

“Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess — I let you pass. Answer wrongly — I attack. Remain silent — I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

[the riddle and Harry thinking through it]

“Spy . . . er . . . spy . . . er . . .” said Harry, pacing up and down. “A creature I wouldn’t want to kiss . . . a spider!” The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass. “Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward.

(Goblet of Fire, page 629)

I skipped the sphinx's riddle, now the riddle isn't a hard one, but still, Harry isn't stupid. But he thinks he is. He even tells himself during that scene:

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center.

(Goblet of Fire, 629)

But it's just Harry and his low self-esteem. He solves the riddle quickly thinking aloud near the Sphinx and he does solve it, and is amazed by it because he doesn't think of himself as smart, even though he is.

Most of the riddles to the Ravenclaw common room are probably along this line of difficulty too. It just goes to show he isn't stupid.

“There,” she said, handing it to him. “Drink it before it gets cold, won’t you? Well, now, Mr. Potter . . . I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.” He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, “You’re not drinking up!” He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one, and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy. “What’s the matter?” said Umbridge, who was still watching him. “Do you want sugar?” “No,” said Harry. He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge’s smile widened. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good. Now then . . .” She leaned forward a little. “Where is Albus Dumbledore?” “No idea,” said Harry promptly.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 630)

Harry is clever enough to recognize drinking anything Umbridge gives him is a bad idea, so he doesn't. And he does so without her realizing.

“even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?” “Umbridge’s office,” said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could think of no alternative; Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. “Are — you — insane?” said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “And how are you going to get in there in the first place?” Harry was ready for this question. “Sirius’s knife,” he said. “Excuse me?” “Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that’ll open any lock,” said Harry. “So even if she’s bewitched the door so Alohomora won’t work, which I bet she has —”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 658)

Harry can and does strategies. He planned how to get into Umbeidge's office. He employed his friends and actually led them. Being a leader and a strategist — rules we see him grow more into later.

Harry’s mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, make sure that none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity . . . The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. “You need more persuasion?” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Very well — take the smallest one,” she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. “Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.” Harry felt the others close in around Ginny. He stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest. “You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,” he told Bellatrix. “I don’t think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?” She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth. “So,” said Harry, “what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?” He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 783)

This is a bit of a long quote, but I really like it. Harry gets the Death Eaters at an impasse because they can't destroy the prophecy. Then, when they threatened Ginny, he changed tactics and got them talking to buy time.

And even when he says his mind is blank:

“What?” whispered Hermione more urgently behind him. “Can this be?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, “Smash shelves —”

...

“NOW!” yelled Harry. Five different voices behind him bellowed “REDUCTO!” Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 785-786 and 787)

He's still the one coming up with plans and pulling them out of there.

And if we look at his grades:

(Half-Blood Prince, page 102)

He is very far from failing academically. Actually considering how little studying Harry actually does, he receives very high grades, even for Hogwarts' abysmal education standards. Harry is naturally smart enough and talented enough that with the bare minimum of effort, he can get almost exclusively Es (his failing being in History, an exam he didn't finish, and Divination, which Harry has only been thought bullshit in).

Makes me wish we saw him put in an active effort. I bet it all would've been Os with his memory.

Even Potions, which Harry is supposedly bad at, he got an E...

I just... Harry is just really smart and it kind of frustrates me how I don't see enough fics that treat Harry being clever and with a cunning streak as if it's canon, even though it very much is.

I don't know, maybe I'm just reading the wrong fics...

[reiderwriter]

Hi!!! I really love your writing 🥺 Idk how this works so Idk if my request is alright so If it's ok for you to write it, I got this idea about Spencer turning into a player/manwhore after maeve died so he's not into y/n in the beginning but the others always joke about how she's totally in love with him and he doesn't believe until he starts to notice little things she does for him(like getting him coffee every morning, remembering everything he says) so he start to fall for her. Genre: smut with soft!Dom Spencer, dirty talk, degradation(please no daddy kink) (Sorry if it's to long, I read it's best for you if we give as much detail as possible so that's that) I'm going to identify myself with this emoji 🥺 when I read the fic or in my next requests, hope I gave you something to write with.

A/N: Thank you for the request and omg this plot has given me brain rot since you sent it in 💀 I accidentally made this a little angst-heavy for the first half but there's a very "happy ending" if you catch my drift. I hope you love it! ❤️

Summary: Spencer Reid's heart is broken. But in healing himself in the arms of countless woman, he doesn't realise he's breaking yours.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, angst, oral (F receiving), fingering, P in V penetration, dirty talk, degradation of you squint a little, soft!Dom Spencer is incredibly soft.

My masterlist with all my other works is here, and my requests are open!

It had taken four whole months before someone on the team had confronted Spencer about his grief, his lack of sleep, his overall dreariness, and they were almost shocked that it wasn’t you that did it. When Rossi had walked up to him, offering a story about his Uncle Sal in an attempt to get him to open up, or at least seek help, the others were on the other side of the glass, shooting looks over at you, quietly enquiring with their eyes about why it hadn’’t been you to offer him that out.

But you had, you’d been trying. You’d been following him around, taking him food every couple days to make sure he was eating, sticking around to make sure that he wasn’t lonely. You’d even cleaned up after him on the particularly hard days, where he didn’t want to move from his bed and couldn’t bring himself to go outside if there was no work, no one else to save. But you couldn’t offer him more, because he already had all of you.

You’d first realised that you were in love with Spencer Reid a few months after you’d joined the team. You’d been bought on as a fresh set of eyes on a case that had a lot more to do with you then the rest of the team had been led to believe.

Your high school boyfriend had been the victim of a notorious highway murderer, and you yourself had been kidnapped by the unsub, put in hell for the following three days and escaped with your life only because of an earlier BAU team, including agents Hotchner and Rossi. When bodies had started turning up on the same stretch of highway, you needed to be involved or you’d never prove to yourself that you could do what they did to save you. That you’d be able to put your feelings aside and catch monsters.

You’d found the man responsible of course, and in restraining yourself from putting a bullet in his brain, you’d found yourself a place on the team, and some peace for a time. And then Spencer happened.

You really should have known. You were always fond of the nerdy type, of men who had such deep interests that they forgot to pay attention to social queues, who had too many cute habits (like purposefully mismatching socks) that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d grown close quickly, with the man grateful that there was finally someone to listen to him ramble and not judge him, and you grateful that he also held himself back enough, listened closely and well to remember so many details about your conversations. You knew an eidetic memory helped, but it was the care in the small actions, like buying you the beanie baby you lost as a child but still mourned, that you’d mentioned in conversation a grand total of one time, that really solidly made you realise. You were in love with him and had dug yourself a hole that you weren’t going to be able to climb out of anytime soon.

You’d almost told him once. Convinced that if you just explained your feelings, he’d suddenly feel the same or realise that he felt the same way, too. You’d opened your mouth to let the words run freely, but he beat you to it.

“I’ve met someone, and she’s totally brilliant and I think I might love her, and that must be an insane thing to say considering I’ve never even seen her face.” You’d willed the broken pieces of your heart together as you forced a smile on your face, ready to listen to the man who owned your heart smile for another, live for another, breath for another.

When Maeve had ultimately passed away, you knew that you’d never be able to say those words to him. You weren’t going to be the replacement for a dead woman, and you weren’t going to push those feelings on him when he was grieving. But you loved him and he needed you, so you stayed.

On the nights where he was so angry with the world that his words were biting, on the days where he said almost nothing so trapped inside his brain, in the hours between dusk and dawn where there was no rest for him, wiping away the tears that fell silently and just being as near to him as he needed.

You had some experience in broken hearts, anyways. You might as well put it to good use.

–X–

It had taken five whole months since Maeve’s death for the team to realise that Spencer was changing. He was still the same person intrinsically, ready to spring into a conversation about absolutely anything and everything that interested him at the drop of a hat, still debating with Penelope about which of them was smarter, still being teased in that playful way by Morgan. But there was a confidence to him now that was almost dangerous in the fact that it was uncharted territory for him.

You’d noticed it first on one of your regular coffee runs. The two of your were so serious about your coffee tasting like anything but actual coffee that you’d bonded over the need for a sweet treat, and had been going for coffee before all of your office shifts almost since you’d started. You were glad to have him finally back by your side, making stupid jokes about how many philosophers it would take to change a lightbulb, and actually smiling and laughing with you that you almost didn’t notice anything amiss.

But when the barista who took his order carefully slipped him her number - something she’d been doing for the whole six months you’d been frequenting that cafe - for once, he hadn’t thrown it away. He’d taken a lingering look at the digits inked neatly into the napkin and quietly slipped it into his pocket. You were confused to say the least, but since that night of your almost confession, there had been a boundary between you two in that sense.

It was almost as if, if you didn’t ask questions about Spencer’s love life, it was like he wasn’t out there, being in love. With Maeve it had worked fine because he’d never met her, and honestly, until you’d started trying to save her he hadn’t brought her up a lot. But now, you were too afraid to break your own heart again to check up on him, deciding to let it go for your own well-being.

The others had noticed soon enough. Comments about a pep in his step, his flirtacious manner with some of the female witnesses. He’d gained a few claps on the back from Morgan after closed off conversations that you had decided you were thankful not to have heard.

Because if you never saw or heard what Reid was doing, and apparently doing with multiple women, multiple times a week, then it couldn’t hurt you anymore than you were already hurting now.

–X–

It took seven months from Maeve’s death to realise that you were only fooling yourself this entire time.

Despite his new-found release, the therapy he’d found in the beds of women whose names he never learnt, there was one thing that you could still rely on with Reid, and that was your Friday night Star Trek watch-along.

You’d mentioned once a few weeks into your job that you’d never seen it before, and he’d had this absolutely starry-eyed look on his face in bewilderment, that when he’d half-heartedly suggested you watch it together, you’d leapt at the chance. Since there was so much of it, here you were over a year later, still keeping to that Friday night ritual. You’d watched it together in motels in the middle of nowhere, you’d watched it together over the Christmas holidays, you’d watched it together in the days directly after Maeve’s death, and tonight was supposed to be no different.

You pulled up to his apartment and knocked on the door, and when you couldn’t immediately hear him shout to “come in” from his kitchen as he was preparing the popcorn, you knew that something was wrong. His door was always unlocked, and he laughed at your habit of knocking on the door, insisting that you could just walk in anytime you needed.

Now that you needed to, your hand seemed heavier than ever. You gripped the cold metal of the handle, knowing exactly what you would find on the other side of the door, but still wanting to live in the clear denial of it. You prayed it was something else keeping him distracted.

You let yourself in and were welcomed with the sight that shattered your heart for the final time. There were clothes scattered across the floor, male and female. Shoes discarded in the heat of the moment. You didn’t want your eyes to follow, but your feet weren’t listening as they walked you to the bedroom door, thrust wide open, and you saw him there finally.

“Shit, Y/N, what are you doing here?” he scrambled to pull his clothes back on, to cover whatever woman it was underneath him that day, to make sure you didn’t see anymore of the image that would be burned into the back of your brain for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t say anything. You knew that he had been doing this, doing it to cope, doing it to move on, doing it to feel a sense of intimacy after he didn’t get that with Maeve. But here was the irrefutable proof that he’d never even looked at you with an ounce of the feeling you had for him. You held up the bag of snacks you usually bought to your Trek marathons as a response, the tears filling up your eyes rendering you mute as you finally tore yourself out of the room.

“Oh god, it’s Friday. I didn’t realise…. I’m sorry, can we do a raincheck, Y/N?” He guided you further out of the room, placing a hand to the small of your back to help move you along. Something in you snapped then and you recoiled from his touch, whipping your head up to him and just staring at him with all the defiance you could muster. He had broken your heart, you weren’t going to let him dismiss you that quickly.

“Y/N, why are you crying? What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me and I’ll do everything I can to fix it.” He finished his words, and made to wipe the tears from your face, but you slapped his hands away from you before he could make contact.

“Don’t… just don’t touch me, Spencer.” Those were the only words you could offer in explanation before you turned on your heel and ran straight out of his apartment for the last time.

–X–

It took one month from you storming out of his apartment for Spencer to realise that he hadn’t dreamt of Maeve in the same amount of time. Where his dreams had been full of her asking him to dance, they were now full of you recoiling from his touch, refusing to speak to him outside of your professional work, withdrawing into yourself and crying. The worst ones were the ones where you were crying because he tried desperately to hold you, to wipe the kisses away, but everytime he tried you moved further and further from his reach.

It had been a month of you ignoring him, and he still didn’t know what went wrong. Yes, you’d caught him in bed with a girl, but you knew he was doing that. You’d known from the start, and he’d known that you’d known, so surely it wasn't just that.

Morgan wasn’t helping him on that front either. He’d explained the awkward run-in in his apartment, desperate for some answers and received some pretty curt replies.

“Pretty boy, if you don’t realise what you did wrong, then there’s nothing I’m going to do to help you. You’re on your own until then.” He’d refused to talk about it anymore.

He’d thought a few times about talking to the girls on the team, but you’d been partnered with JJ for the last month on cases to avoid him, and there was a bond there between the two of you that he didn’t want to overstep.

It was in this confusion that Rossi found him again, taking pity on the boy wandering around like a lost puppy in the absence of your friendship.

“Kid, what is up with you again recently?”

“Y/N has been avoiding me, and I don’t know why. Derek said it was my fault because she… well she walked in on something that I’d rather she hadn’t, you know, and I don’t know why she still won’t talk to me because it’s been a month.” He rambled out, thankful that someone was finally hearing him out.

“If I’m understanding your insinuation here, I think I know what the problem is.” Rossi sat back, choosing his words carefully, so as not to startle the younger man. But he was so worked up all over you, missing your voice, your touch, your company, and just wanting you back in whatever way he could get you that he jumped at the very suggestion of answers.

“Then please, tell me, I’m begging you. I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure out what it is and I just miss her so much that it hurts.”

“Spencer, you know I usually don’t get involved in the personal lives of my coworkers, but just listen to me now, nice and calmly - and dont try to interrupt me or say a word. I know what I’m talking about, okay?” He gave a quick nod of his head, waiting with baited breath for Rossi to continue.

“The girl is in love with you. Head over heels, in fact, and has been for quite some time. And she was holding it together real nice until you decided to become this casanova and now she is heartbroken,” Spencer looked like he was about to interrupt, to spew out that that couldn’t possibly be the case, but Rossi silenced him with a look. “If you don’t believe me, you use that memory of yours and you do what you do best. Think about it.”

–X–

For the next three months, that was all Spencer did. He thought about every interaction you’d ever had. The blush on your cheeks when he’d introduced himself for the first time (and refused to shake your hand). The countless nights spent curled up on opposite sides of his couch, laughing and crying together at silly sci-fi shows. The way you’d thrown yourself into his arms after a particularly gruelling case, buried your head in his chest instead of anyone else's. The day you’d finally confessed your past to him, how he’d felt your heart beating as he held a finger to your pulse, hand gently holding yours waiting for you to finish describing the time you’d stared death in the face.

You’d noticed the change, but you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge it fully. Noticed how he’d shoot you lingering glances from across the room, how he’d look like he had something to say when you announced you were leaving for the night. How he’d ask everyone together what their friday night plans were just to hear you admit that you were going home alone in the company of the rest of the team.

You’d noticed, and god had it given you a spark of hope that you wished would die quickly. You’d noticed, and so you weren’t as surprised when he turned up on your doorstep four months after you’d last talked to him, on another friday evening.

“What are you doing here?” you greeted him, the words coming out colder than you wanted them to seem, inwardly cursing yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

“Don’t make me leave, please, I just have something to ask and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Spencer, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go to bed so-”

“Do you still love me?” His words cut you off and your heart all but stopped. Your tongue grew heavy, and the inside of your mouth tasted acidic, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fully stomach whatever conversation was coming.

“Excuse me?” you spluttered out eventually.

“Three months ago, Rossi said that you were in love with me, and I need to know that if that was the case, are you still in love with me now?” You expected some cold curious look to be gracing his face, but you looked up to see his eyes perfectly trained on your own, his mouth set in a line, a look of stony determination set on his face.

“If I say yes, what difference does that make?” you tried not to spit out the words, but you had no control over the venom in your heart.

“If you say yes, then I am going to kiss you, and then I am going to spend every last day I have on the planet making up for being an idiot for the last two years.” Your breath caught in your throat, and, not for the first time in front of Spencer Reid, you were stunned into silence.

“So, what is your answer?” He looked down at you again, and you started to see the cracks in his stony facade, started to see through to the man who desperately wanted you to say yes, to scream it at him.

The word hadn’t even fully formed on your tongue before he was crashing down into you, his mouth pleading for forgiveness and wrapping you up in him. He grabbed you and pulled you back into your apartment, whispering into each of your kisses.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The two of you stumbled into the space, but he never moved his hands from the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks gently as his lips brushed against yours again and again.

Your legs gave way beneath you by the time you’d reached the open space of your living room, but instead of catching you, he fell to his knees with you, content for the two of you to just sit there together in each other's embrace.

“You’ve loved me this entire time, and I was too stupid to realise that you’re everything I need.” He kissed your mouth, your jaw, your neck, moving his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you in deep again as you desperately pulled away in search of breath. That only toppled you further to the ground, and he came down on top of you again as well, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head so you didn’t hurt yourself.

And you kissed him back just as fervently when your breath returned, listening to every apology and forgiving him with every touch. His kisses said “I’m sorry,” and yours said “I know,” and that was all the communication you needed for now.

He pulled your shirt over your head eventually, and your skin met the cold tile of the floor, a shiver running up your spine causing you to buck your hips up into his. He hissed at the contact and pushed his bodyweight down further into yours, his legs slotting perfectly between your splayed ones now.

“It took me too long to realise, and it has taken me too long to act on the knowledge, but I am not going to let you go again, do you understand?” he pushed his lips into yours again before you could respond, and you clawed into his shoulders as he started grinding down into your body. His hand trailed up your waist to your breasts, pulling them free from the constraints of your bra, as he let his tongue slide down from your neck to your chest.

“I need to hear you say it baby, need you to say you understand, can you do that for me?” Your body burned under his attention, back arching desperately for more contact as his tongue swirled your nipple into his mouth, gasping breaths loud enough to fill the empty air of your apartment. His stiff cock was firmly pressing against your core now, barely clothed in the pajamas you’d pulled on before his arrival.

“Spencer, yes, I need you, I need you right now, please,” grabbed at either side of his face and pulled him back up so he was face to face with you. You initiated the kiss this time, and you could feel your heart soar at the tender kiss he met you with, thankful for the reciprocation.

“Not yet, baby, not yet, okay?” he whispered in your ear, trailing his hands down to your centre and slipping his hand under your clothes. “So fucking wet for me, baby. Just for me, right, baby?” His fingers found your clit, and he started rolling it between his fingers. He worked slowly enough to drive you insane, but giving you just enough relief that you couldn’t complain.

“Yes, Spencer, yes, yes it’s all for you. Only for you,” you managed to gasp out. He shifted his hand after a few minutes, still pressing love bites down your chest, claiming you as his in the most animalistic way possible. He spread the wetness that pooled at your core around, making sure that his fingers were coated in you before pushing a single digit into your aching hole, thumb continuing to draw circles around your bundle of nerves.

“That’s my little slut, so desperate for me, so needy for me.” His words shot through you, and you started thrusting your hips up desperate for more friction with his hand. He roughly pushed you back down, pinning you under him with his free hand.

“No, baby, I’m in charge here. You sit back and relax and let me make you feel good,okay?” His words soothed you, the growing heat in the pit of your stomach fizzing in anticipation. His kisses dropped lower and lower, until he was finally pulling off your remaining clothing and replacing his thumb with his lips.

“Fuck Spencer, if you keep doing that, I’m going to-” another sharp intake as he pumped a second finger in and out of you.

“Going to what, baby? Use your words?”

“I’m going to cum, Spencer please, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.,,” you rode out your high with his face stuffed between your legs still, swallowing your loud moans for fear of the entire neighbourhood knowing just how obsessed you were with this man.

“You did so good for me, baby, so good. I love you so much, okay? I’m going to take care of you from now on, okay?” He began pressing kisses to your mouth again, and you could taste yourself against him now.

“I need you so badly, baby, are you going to let me have you?” He started pulling off his own clothing now, removing his shirt and tie, but never once leaving your embrace for too long.

“I love you so much, baby. I’m sorry for not realising before, but I realise now. I was so terrible to you after Maeve, and god, even before she died I was using you as a therapist to talk through my thoughts and fears, but I was too dense to even realise that I was only in love with Maeve because she was safe. I couldn’t meet her, couldn’t touch her, didn’t have the chance to ruin anything I had with her. I couldn't realise that she wasn’t you, that she wasn’t going to feel like you do in my arms. And maybe some part of me loved her, but we were using each other, and I was using her to avoid confronting how I felt about you.”

“And how I feel for you is different. I am obsessed with you, Y/N. I am so madly in love with you that the last four months have felt like hell. I could have emptied myself of all the blood in my body and still my heart would be beating for you. Do you understand?”

You answered in a chaste kiss on his lips, sweet and quick, but as much as you could muster without driving yourself to the brink of insanity getting yourself high on his touch.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want now, okay?” He’d unbuttoned his pants shortly after that and you stared transfixed at the head of his cock poking up and out of them, desperate to see it, touch it, taste it.

“I need you inside of me, Spence, please,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes at the tender contact, the confession. All the emotions you’d been burying for the last four months bubbling to the surface, dancing around your head as he made you dizzy with desire.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” with the last of his clothing removed he was finally free, taking his heavy,aching cock in his hand and lining himself up with you. With a single thrust, and another confession of love, he gave you what you wanted so much.

“You wanted me like this, baby? So desperate to have my cock inside you?” he plagued you with questions as you adjusted to his size, watching your face for any discomfort as you mumbled out yes after yes.

“Me too, baby. I wanted you just like this, wanted you so desperate and dripping for me that I could slide right in, wanted you like this for me and only me.” He began thrusting then, slowly pumping his cock into you, heavy with each return, the sound of skin slapping against skin joining the ensemble of your moans.

“I love you,” he said again, and with each thrust of his hips, and you responded in kind, matching his thrusts with your own and pressing a kiss into the skin of his shoulders. You were so desperate and needy, so starved of touch and starved of one another that neither of you lasted long. Your bodies were so in sync that as soon as he’d pushed you over the edge for a second time, you could feel him spill himself inside you, filling you completely.

He rolled off you, but didn’t leave you there, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He cleaned you up as much as possible, then folded you back into his arms, holding you again so tenderly that you let the tears flow down your cheeks for a final time.

It was Friday night, and he was here, and he loved you. You weren’t going to let him go again.

[aperrywilliams]

Under the Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Spencer fucked up but Reader loves him.

A/N: It's winter on this side of the world, and the rain makes me kind of sad.

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Is there anything worse than your boyfriend standing you up in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary? Yes, being stood up by your boyfriend in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary day while outside it’s raining cats and dogs.

That's worse. And pathetic.

You feel pathetic, sitting in that chair, all dolled up and waiting. You arrived at 19:30, and now your watch reads 20:45. No sight of Spencer.

What the fuck?

He was the one who suggested a romantic dinner in this very restaurant. He was the one who told you to make reservations. How could he forget it? You knew there wasn’t an active case. The very Penelope told you it was paperwork day when you texted her in the afternoon.

In the past hour, you dialed his number several times. You were worried at some point: what if something terrible happened to him? But you know bad news travels fast, so you assumed he didn’t show up just because he forgot. Deep down, you wanted there to be another explanation because if he only forgot, that would strengthen the idea of how little you mean to him.

Sensing the pitiful looks the hostess and the waitress sent you occasionally, you only wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When the clock marked 21:00, you gave up. You asked the hostess for your coat and left the place completely silent.

The rain pouring outside was the perfect scenario for your current mood. You thought about calling a cab in front of the restaurant, but you only wanted to be far from that place as soon as possible, so you started to walk in the rain.

Goodbye to the stylish hairstyle that took you hours to achieve. Goodbye to the makeup you put so much effort into doing.

Striding along the sidewalk, you made sure to step on each water puddle you found along the way as you recalled every moment in the past months you felt Spencer away from you. And not only physically as when he was in a case. It was more than that. It was each morning he didn’t say I love you before leaving your shared apartment. It was each text he didn’t send telling you he was coming home or leaving for a case. It was each coffee you didn't share in the morning. It was each animated chat in the middle of the night you didn't have.

Were you being dramatic? You knew Spencer’s tendency to distract and engage in whatever his job could present him. In any other circumstances, you could have understood. Not tonight, though. Not when it was supposed to be your night together celebrating this milestone. The two years of love you thought were strengthening your relationship. How blind you have been. How naive.

You kept wandering on the streets with no destination. You didn’t want to come back to the apartment. You didn’t know where else to go either. So you kept walking.

-

Spencer Reid is a man with an eidetic memory. Everybody knows that. He can remember every piece of information people usually wouldn’t recall. He knows almost everything about anything. But even with his big brain, he sometimes has trouble keeping track of his own life. Like today.

Engrossed in a pile of manila folders from old cases, he lost time. A task meant to take just an hour or so kept him occupied and entertained for almost four hours. Emily’s voice was the only thing that brought him back from those files to reality.

“You still here?” Emily asked with a frown. Spencer looked at her oddly.

“Yeah. I was looking for patterns in our last cases in the northwest. What Tara said about the mixed murder weapons sounded familiar to me,” he explained before rubbing his eyes. He didn't notice how tired he felt until Emily interrupted him.

“Spencer, it’s almost 10 pm. And there is no active case. You can resume this tomorrow. I even thought you had plans today?”

‘10 pm’ and ‘plans today’ was enough to bring Spencer to realization.

“Fuck!” He yelped, jumping from his seat and freezing immediately, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Emily asked, seeing the panic in Spencer’s eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated over and over as he reached for his phone in his satchel.

“What is it, Reid?”

“Emily. I was supposed to be in a restaurant with (Y/N) tonight! It’s - uh - it’s our second anniversary,” he, visibly embarrassed, finished the sentence.

Emily shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Reid? How on earth do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know! I - I don’t really know. Fuck. I’m an asshole!” He checked the phone: twenty missing calls. Why he left it on mute?

“Stop complaining and do something! Come on! Move your ass out of here if you want a chance of not being precisely kicked in the ass by her,” Emily instructed. She knew Spencer needed directions when he was freaking out.

Spencer rechecked his watch. It read 10:05 pm.

Swearing under his breath, he dialed your number, which went straight to voicemail. Putting his coat on, he tried again while rushing to the elevator. Maybe you were still at the restaurant? Getting in the first cab he found, Spencer headed there.

Once he arrived, he asked the hostess about you. The girl told him you left after 9 pm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He called you again with no success. This time you turned off your phone. Spencer’s stomach was a knot, and his heart hurt imagining you sitting alone, waiting for him.

Were you at home? Spencer guessed you wouldn't want to see him, so it was less probable. Should he go there anyway and wait for you? No. You deserved better than that. He would look for you even if it could take all night. Taking a cab, he decided to check the apartment - just in case - and grab his car keys.

As expected, you weren’t in the apartment. Spencer faced the darkness and coldness of the place, and a chill ran down his spine—the fear of losing you forever.

In the car, he thought, where you could be. It was still raining, and Spencer feared you were getting soaked and frozen, God knows where.

It was at this kind of moment Spencer wanted his eidetic memory, and all the knowledge in his brain could help to compensate for the dose of common sense he lacked.

‘Come on, Spencer. Think. For once in your life, do it for what is really important for you.’

-

Spencer parked and rushed out of the car, hoping his hunch was correct. He was in a park. Not any park, though. It was where he met you three years ago—where his life changed forever and for the better for once.

You were in a swing, moving softly back and forth, your feet touching the ground. Your eyes focused on the rain collecting in the nook you created with your feet in the mud.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer called once he spotted you. The rain muffled the sound of his voice.

Your eyes didn’t leave the ground. At first, you thought you were imagining things. It could have been wishful thinking that your boyfriend really cared about you. He called again, and now your brain obliged your eyes to look toward the voice’s source.

Spencer was in a corner where the park's playground began. He was looking at you and wanted to run to you, but the fear you could run away made him stay there, as the rain dampened him.

The sight of you broke him. You were utterly soaked. Your coat and lovely black dress were ruined, and your face with traces of smeared makeup. He could even spot your bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying.

He caused that. And Spencer hated himself for it.

Seeing you didn't say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, Spencer dared to take some steps forward. Your numb body didn't even flinch.

“(Y/N). I’m sorry,” were his first words. Expectable but useless for you. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I wanted to be there with you,” he apologized, giving a few steps closer to you. Not looking at him, you mumbled.

“But you weren’t. And if you really wanted to have been there, you would have.” Your voice was low and husky. You sounded tired and defeated. It was worse for Spencer. For him, you should be yelling. Telling him how hurting you were. How an asshole he was.

“Baby, there is no excuse for what I did. The last thing I want in my life is to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Spencer’s voice broke with each word.

What had he done? Why? How can he be so stupid? He loves you. You’re the most important person in his life, so why did he do that to you? How can he fix it?

Still not looking at him, you spoke again.

“I can’t understand, Spencer. It was our anniversary. You were the one who suggested doing it,” you remind him. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. It didn’t matter the mud, and it didn’t matter the rain still falling. Spencer needed to look at your eyes to explain himself.

“I’m an idiot. I lost track of time and forgot,” he mumbled. You held up your head and finally looked at him.

“You forgot? So it's true I’m not that important to you,” you concluded sadly. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No! Don’t say that!” he pleaded.

“Am I wrong? I don’t think so.” Your chin wobbled, but you needed to say it. “I know your job is important, Spencer. I do. And I never wanted to compete with that because I thought I didn’t have to. But after these past months, I think I need to get used to the idea I lost you already,” you acknowledged with a pained sob betraying you. It was the pang of the meaning behind your own words.

The memories of the past months flashed before Spencer's eyes. And there he saw it. The kisses he didn't give you, the 'I love you' he didn't tell you. The nights he didn't sleep by your side—all the things he has been missing.

He realized that although he never doubted his love for you, he stopped nurturing it and took it for granted.

Crying, he took your hands, and by divine grace, you didn't push him away.

No words he could say would be enough to convey how sorry he was. But he needed to try because he didn’t want to lose you. You needed to know he loved you and that you owned his heart. You needed to know he just realized he made a mistake, and he wants to fix it.

“The first time I saw you in this very place, you were slowly swaying in this exact spot with your eyes focused on the book in your hands. I was so mesmerized that I never thought I would get the nerve to talk to you, you know? But I did. And when I saw the warm look you gave me when I asked you if you had read the author's biography, I felt my heart warming as never before. And when I heard your laugh after I clumsily tried to flirt with you? I swear it was the sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life,” Spencer confessed, eyes sparkling at the memory. You fondly recalled it too. You never liked to talk with strangers all of a sudden, but with Spencer? It felt natural and right.

“You let me in in your life. You opened your heart to me and taught me how to do that too. You realized I’m not the best student in those matters, though,” he chuckled, seeing your nod.

“Despite that, you believed in me. You gave me a chance to love you, and I swear loving you has been the most natural thing that has ever happened to me. You have made me so happy (Y/N). You have no idea. And that is the problem. I have not known how to love you the way you deserve. I hadn't realized what I was doing. I'm sorry. I spent much of my life fending alone, not walking with anyone by my side. And I know that does not excuse my behavior. Even so, I dare to ask for an opportunity to prove you do not have to compete with my job. Give me a chance to prove to you I can be better. I can be the man who deserves your love. Please let me gain back your love and the privilege to hear you laugh again."

Spencer was almost out of breath when he was done speaking. You mulled in his words as his hands enveloped yours, patiently awaiting your response. Would you give him a chance?

As the rain continued pouring down, your eyes focused on him, still kneeling before you with hopeful eyes.

You know he loves you. Even if he needs to be better at proving it to you. And you love him even if you feel hurt for what he did. You both would have to work to make it work. You both deserved the chance, though.

The answer to his question was clear then.

You hopped off the swing and kneeled, not releasing his hands grasp and pulling him to catch his lips with yours. He kissed you back with everything he had. When both parted, you smiled at him, and Spencer was trying to figure out what that meant. You spoke to make it clear.

“Please, just don't make me regret being in this same place three years ago.”

Spencer earnestly shook his head.

“I won’t. I promise,” he told you before kissing you again under the rain.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​ @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[preciouslandmermaid]

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

[womenloverlmao]

Forgot Something?

(Yes, someone else has probably written this but I decided to write one of my own :)

TW: normal criminal minds shit.

Summary: Reader is set on the fact that Spencer forgot something when he got called into a case late but he cant figure out what that could be.

Imagine season 4 Spence? Possibly? I don't even know man. 

You and Spencer had gotten used to not always being together. You and agent… or, rather, Dr. Spencer Reid, resident genius and pretty boy of the BAU had been together for around a year and a half. It was a lot, but you grew used to it. 

After coming to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t always have your boyfriend around, you learned to value the time you spent with him. Moments like this; you were curled up together, the result of coaxing your germaphobe out of his comfort zone (and into another). Lying on your sides, his head against your chest with your leg over his waist. You would have fallen asleep there if it weren’t for that sound. 

Oh, that God-forsaken sound. 

The sound of Spencer’s phone going off. Sure, you were used to him going away for cases, but that sound honestly caused a trauma response. You removed your leg from him as he went to get his phone from the bedside table. He picked up, and said some stereotypical responses… well, the stereotype when you went to work on profiling rapists, bombers, murderers… you get the gist. 

He got up and changed, before grabbing his bag that he always had ready. You quickly followed behind him. Sure, you were only in a ragged t-shirt and panties, but you weren’t the one leaving. It was around ten at night. You wouldn’t have realized that he had muted himself if you didn’t see him unmuting. “Yes, I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said. “Okay, thank you. Got it.” 

You grabbed your arm as whoever it was on the other end hung up. “I’m sorry…” he tried to start. 

“No, don’t apologize, Spence. It’s your job. I’m not upset, I promise,” you cut him off. 

“I still feel awful.” 

“Don’t. You’re gonna go save some people, or whatever it is that you do,” you smile. 

“Well, technically-” 

“Spence, I’m gonna repeat the ‘don’t’. Go do your job, okay, baby?” 

He sighed. “Okay…” He walked to the door, almost opening it before you stop him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” You asked. 

“I thought- I thought you just told me to do my job?” He responded. 

“I did, but not when you forgot something.” 

You could see the gears in his brain turning as he tried to remember what it was that he could have forgotten. There was nothing, he had every single thing in his bag. He could so clearly picture everything he had put in there. “Forgot something? No, I have an-” 

“Eidetic memory, I know.”

“I didn’t forget anything?” 

“Yes, you did,” you stayed on your point. 

“What did I forget?” He was genuinely confused. 

You rolled your eyes. “Where’s my kiss, Spencer?” 

He had an ‘oh shit’ moment in his head. “That’s… what I forgot?” 

You nodded. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, you had him fully convinced he forgot something for a minute. He walks over again and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Better?” he asks.

“Yep.” You smiled. 

He kissed your forehead. “I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Make sure to check if all the-” “Windows are locked, I know,” you said. 

He reached the door, and he was mildly hesitant to open it. “I’ll be okay,” you assured him. 

“I know, I just…” “I can stay with my parents, too, if that’ll make you feel better.” 

“It’s not about that, I just sometimes wish that I could be here with you,” he admitted. 

You walked over to him, giving him one final kiss. “I know, but they need you out there. I can last a couple of days on my own every week.” He calmed down after the kiss. “Okay.” 

“Now, go, you’re gonna be late.” 

“I love you,” he told you again. 

“I know, I love you too,” you responded. He walked out of the apartment, leaving you alone. Yes, it was upsetting to be alone most of the time. You locked the door and made sure the windows were locked before you laid down again. 

Sure, lonely nights were sucky, but… you knew it was for a reason. And no matter what, you were grateful to have Dr. Spencer Reid as your boyfriend.

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from in-progress Superfam fic (aka the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one):

Match hears a heartbeat in the air, high overhead. He doesn't look towards it. 

He recognizes it. 

He doubts its owner would recognize his, though. 

"Superboy?" Superman asks as he drifts down into Match's peripheral vision. "Are you alright, kid?" 

Match thinks about lying. He sat through the briefing this morning, after all. He knows the Agenda's plan. He knows what he's supposed to do for it. 

"Superboy's in France," he says instead. 

". . . what?" Superman says. Match doesn't look at him. Watches the lab burn down a little more in front of them, but nothing else. 

"Superboy's in France," he repeats. "Outside Lyon, probably. That's where the new lab is." 

"You're–ah," Superman realizes. "Match?" 

"Yes." Match keeps watching the lab burn. He's honestly surprised Superman remembers his name. Or even remembers him at all. 

Well, eidetic memory and all. 

"If Superboy's in Lyon, then what happened here?" Superman asks, glancing towards the flames. Match thinks about lying again, but there's just not really a point. 

"I did it," he says. 

"Why?" Superman asks. 

"They want me to kill Robin," Match says, and Superman . . . pauses. "And Wonder Girl, if I get a shot. But mostly Robin. He's the priority target." 

"Why?" Superman asks again, very carefully. Some burning debris falls down. Match watches it go. 

"To destabilize Batman," he says, because there's still no point in lying. It doesn't matter. When has it ever, really? Lying has never gotten him anything he wanted. "So the Justice League will be weakened." 

"But you're not supposed to kill Superboy?" Superman says. 

"There's no point in killing Superboy," Match says reasonably. "It's not like you'd care if he died." 

"The Agenda thinks I wouldn't care if Superboy died?" Superman asks incredulously, just staring at him. "Why, because he's a clone?" 

"Because I reported back my interactions with you when I was pretending to be him," Match corrects, puzzled by the vehemence of the response. "And also the lack thereof." 

"What?" Superman says, still just staring. 

"Batman loves Robin," Match reminds him, really not understanding the look on the man's face–like he's surprised or something, somehow? Like he somehow doesn't know how he interacts with Thirteen? "You don't even like Superboy. So killing him isn’t currently productive to the Agenda's goals. He's more useful as a live sample." 

"You're telling me that Superboy is only alive right now because the Agenda doesn't think that someone murdering him would bother me," Superman says, his voice very careful again. 

"Yes," Match confirms. More burning debris falls down. 

Match watches it go. 

"Take me to the lab in Lyon," Superman says. Match looks over at him, mostly because his voice sounds very odd all of a sudden, and frowns. Superman's eyes are burning red. 

Heat vision. Okay. 

"No," Match says. Superman's eyes burn visibly hotter, but he doesn't actually activate his heat vision. It's not an attack. 

Then Superman exhales, and it's an icy fog. 

But it's still not an attack. 

"Why not?" Superman asks. 

"Why would I bother?" Match says. "You can destroy it after Superboy escapes." 

Thirteen will escape, Match knows. He can't escape, but Thirteen always does. 

"I'm going to go get him, Match," Superman says, and Match frowns in confusion at the statement. "I don't care about the lab or the Agenda. I just want to get Superboy." 

"That isn't consistent with your previous behavior," Match notes, his frown deepening. He'd be suspicious, maybe, but . . . well, Superman does save people. 

Just not usually Thirteen, in Match's experience of him. 

Or . . . any clone, really. 

In Match's experience of him. 

Not that he ever expected Superman to bother with . . . 

Thirteen called them brothers, the first time they met. Meanwhile, Match is pretty sure that this is at best the second time that Superman's ever even spoken to him without thinking he was Thirteen, and technically he still started off the conversation on that assumption. 

It's just very obvious that he doesn't care about any shared DNA they have or . . . anything like that. 

"Please take me to the lab in Lyon, Match," Superman says. 

"So you can go get Superboy," Match says. 

"Yes," Superman says. 

You never came to get ME, Match doesn't say. 

"Alright," he says instead, and gets to his feet.

[fortheloveofexy]

Can we have some aaron hc 🥺🥺

Absolutely you can!! :D

Aaron Minyard Headcanons

He has an eidetic memory just like Andrew does - it's the only reason he's still able to pass his pre-med classes while being a student athlete, partying every weekend and dealing with mafia bullshit/murder charges (Neil just never notices because he has Andrew Minyard Tunnel Vision)

Half of his anger at Andrew over killing Tilda is because Andrew robbed him of the chance to finally stand up to his mother on his own terms. (The other half is that Aaron still craved her affection and approval, no matter how much she'd hurt him).

He didn't meet Nicky until Tilda relocated them to South Carolina, and only briefly, since Nicky left for Germany shortly after and was disowned by Luther and Maria upon his return.

After he left to study abroad Germany, Aaron didn't get to see Nicky again until after Tilda's funeral. After Nicky was disowned, Aaron was subjugated to endless rants from his mother and uncle about how Nicky had "strayed from God" and had "chosen a sinful lifestyle". Maria never joined in on the rants; she simply acted as if her only son was dead.

Desperate for his mother's approval and love, Aaron agreed without ever really questioning what it was Nicky had done that was so bad.

A large part of his sour attitude towards Nicky's sexuality stems from the fact that by choosing Erik, Nicky had inadvertently left Aaron to fend for himself. At the time, Aaron was too young to understand that Nicky was also drowning - all he could see was that Nicky had left him for some stranger. By the time Nicky came back for the twins, the resentment had already long since grown

He's grey ace, which he didn't realize until he overheard Neil explaining his experiences with attraction to Matt. Neil put into words what Aaron had long felt but could never quite articulate. It drives him crazy that he has this in common with Neil and he refuses to ever mention it to him.

He and Kevin had a drunken make out session one (1) time. They never speak of it - largely because Aaron is too embarrassed and Kevin just doesn't remember.

He's also mildly sex repulsed. Discussions of sex in general make him deeply uncomfortable, and it takes him a long time before he feels okay with going past kissing with Katelyn. Even then, there are days where sex holds zero appeal for him (Katelyn doesn't mind, she's content just to cuddle and talk).

Most of his friends are from outside the Foxes - mainly cheerleaders or people he met in study groups - and he acts very differently around them than he does with his family and team.

To his non-Fox friends, Aaron is relaxed, intelligent and has a wicked dry sense of humor.

His friend group grows even bigger once Andrew agrees to end the deal. Of all the Foxes, his social circle is probably the biggest.

He gets along quite well with Matt. They play games and hang out together, especially once they start sharing a room.

After Randy hugs him and tells him she's proud of him, his friendship with Matt only deepens.

Katelyn's friends didn't approve of him at first, but once she started bringing him around and he started to come out of his shell more, they warmed up to him quickly. It helped that Aaron practically worships the ground Kate walks on.

Katelyn's dad doesn't approve of him at all. He holds a grudge against Aaron for the murder charges and is praying on his downfall, right up until Aaron and Kate get engaged and Katelyn finally puts her foot down.

Her little sister loves Aaron though. She especially loves to pester him. Aaron doesn't quite know what to make of it at first, but Katelyn tells him it's a good thing so he just accepts it and pesters her right back.

He and Katelyn have twin girls. They stick to the tradition of giving both girls "A" names.

Becoming a father terrifies Aaron, right up until the girls are born. Luckily for him, Matt gives great parenting advice (he and Dan were the first to have kids).

[cherriemi]

Trivia Night

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

in: reid has always noticed every tiny detail about you, the slight change in your hair or attitude. so when you throw a birthday party and include a trivia game for your unit to learn more about you, spencer gets every question right.

tw: improper capitalization, fluff, non-consensual kiss (let me know if there is anything else!)

a/n: this is my FIRST ff writing in years, so yes it’s bad and yes i’m rusty. please be nice to me :,(

wc: 2.3k

you walked into the office… and he could instantly tell something was off. it didn’t take long until he remembered that your hair was now shorter. you had gotten a haircut and he would be first to comment.

“did you get a haircut y/n?” he asked as you placed your bag on your desk. you nodded, “is it that short??” messing with your hair and seeing if the ends are shorter than you had remembered. “no, i like it.” a smile formed on his face. “thank you.” you looked away, flustered. 

he always noticed changes first. they were compliments, questions of concern. it never weirded you out as he admitted to having an eidetic memory. it just frustrated you that he always knew what was different. 

“i haven’t seen you in red… it compliments your undertones a lot.” 

“your makeup looks different, did you put on eyeliner? i quite like it.” 

“what happened to your finger? be careful next time okay?” 

“let’s get started for our case review.” hotchner poked his head out from the conference room. you grabbed what you needed and head up the steps with reid just behind you.

it was your birthday! you had invited your co-workers as they were the only people you really knew. joining the team only half a year ago, you moved away from your dream location but moved into a better job. 

you anxiously waited for someone to show up. your apartment was decorated, food cooked and the vinyl record playing smooth jazz. one of your favorite records, it was a compilation of a few popular artists and songs. you had found it selling for $2.99 at an estate sale back from your old job. 

you heard a couple voices from outside the door and then a knock. you rushed to the door, checking the peephole. it was hotchner and prentiss. 

the door door swung open, “happy birthday!!” emily prentiss cheerily pulled you in for a hug. hotchner smiled, repeating back what emily said with a back pat. “gifts can go over there.” your hand gestured towards the kitchen island. 

soon enough derek morgan and penelope garcia showed up, then jennifer and rossi. the party already seemed to be starting but you knew someone was missing. spencer reid appeared, exactly 25 minutes later than you had told the group chat. 

“come on reid!” derek and jennifer teased the boy. he was red on the face, a card in one hand and the other holding onto the strap of his messenger bag. he was dressed as he usually was: dress shoes, trousers, and a button up with a vest over. “sorry, i had to take the subway.” he responded. 

you grabbed the card from his hands, “it’s okay reid, go ahead and help yourself.” you set the card on the island as he walked over towards the pots and pans. he helped himself to some chicken and pasta. 

after the eating and cake cutting, it was gift giving time. you opened all the gifts in the kitchen while everyone watched. most of your co-workers gifted you a card with money but penelope had gifted wrapped a gift for you. you torn it open and found a bow ribbon set. you smiled and hugged her. 

you called everyone to the living room. emily, jennifer, penelope and derek had crushed themselves on the loveseat while rossi claimed the single seater you had. you grabbed your two only other chairs and placed them next to where rossi was. hotchner and reid sat in the new present chairs. 

you grabbed your phone which was connected to the tv and opened a slideshow, “y/n’s trivia night.” read rossi.

penelope sat up, “oh i am so good at these!” 

you reached behind the tv and checked for the gift card. “i thought that since i was the newest addition to the team… i would have a trivia game so you could learn more about me!” you pulled out a $50 visa gift card, “i prepared a prize for the 1st place winner… a $50 visa gift card!” everyone cooed at the possibility for a prize. “free money? now i’m in!” rossi joked. 

the first round was a multiple choice section, and each correct answer was worth 1 point. you explained the rules to your co-workers. the first question appeared on the slide. what is y/n’s favorite color? 

C. B. A. A. D. E. B. “the correct answer is B, one point to penelope and reid!” penelope nudged derek as he groaned. you assumed they had argued about your favorite color. 

another question, when is y/n’s birthday?

A. A. A. A. B. D. C. “the correct answer is… C! point to reid!” everyone groaned, especially those at the loveseat. they all answered your trick question, which had the incorrect year. 

you finished out the round 1 questions until everyone noticed a pattern. reid had gotten every single question correct. penelope would be a close second if 6 and 4 were neighbors. then emily and jennifer were tied, hotchner at 5th, rossi at 6th and derek dead last. penelope teased derek after the rankings were called out. 

you introduced round two, a free response round where each question was worth two. you admitted this round had more leeway as you could get 1 point for getting part of the answer but it had to be specific enough to warrant the 2 points. 

this round went by slower. without the help of given answers they had to use their brain power to create an answer. the first question was rough for many. hotchner got the single point for guessing your favorite childhood tv show but reid ultimately got the 2 points for getting the entire title. 

round two was so horrible, you ended up having to provide one hint per person to get points. you would have regretted making it a free response section if reid hadn’t gotten all the questions right again. 

you read the rankings, reid, penelope, hotchner, jennifer, emily, rossi and derek. 

you announced the third and final round. “it’s a single question.” everyone relaxed. “this question is worth double all your points.” everyone sat up. everyone but derek, rossi and emily had a chance to overcome reid, but it all came down to if reid missed the question. 

you read the question. gave them a few minutes as you served more champagne. after the minutes were up you counted down from 3 and had everyone revealed their answers. to everyone’s surprise reid had gotten the answer correct. almost exact to how you worded it on the tv. 

you read the final results. “last place is tied with derek and rossi at 5 points… emily with 8, hotchner with 10, jennifer with 11, penelope with 14 and reid with… 36.” 

derek stood up, “cheaters don’t win!” reid was red at the attention. you pulled the visa gift card and handed it to reid with a smile. penelope clapped for reid and joined jennifer, hotchner and rossi. derek was pouting. “excuse derek, he’s being a jerk.” peneople elbowed derek. 

the party went on for another hour until derek and peneople noted the time. “we have to go y/n, sorryyy.” peneople apologized. you bid them farewell. soon enough emily and jennifer wanted to leave as well. with emily and jennifer leaving, rossi and hotchner left after wishing you happy birthday for the third time. 

you were wrapping the food when reid entered after his bathroom break. “did everyone leave?” he asked. 

“yup, you can leave too… it won’t bug me.” you reassured reid in case he was waiting to leave. 

he approached you in the kitchen. “do you need help?” you looked at him, “if you could wrap the left over pasta, i would appreciate that.” 

he grabbed a sheet a tinfoil and sealed the ends. “could i actually take some of the pasta home?” he asked. you nodded, “of course! take however much you’d like.” you handed him a container. 

he spooned the pasta into the container. “you’re a wonderful cook y/n.” another compliment. 

“thank you,” escaped a smile while you felt your cheeks get warm. you pushed your lower back against the island. reid was taking more pasta. “are you a cheater?” you asked. 

he shut the container before turning around. “i’ve never dated so-“ 

“no i mean the game.” you cut through. he turned red. “how would i cheat?” it was a question of interest. he didn’t know the answer which was out of the norm for him. “i’m just surprised you got a perfect 100 on my trivia game.” 

reid’s mouth turned upwards, “eidetic memory y/n.” the eye contact was too much. “you say that, but can’t tell hotchner when his birthday is.” you rebutted. it was a question that hotchner blurted out during the game. emily prentiss, rossi and even derek knew his birthday but spencer had failed to come up with the correct answer. 

reid was chewing the inside of his mouth. “hotchner is old and uninteresting.” he jabbed at his boss. “and i am?” he nodded. “new people are always more interesting.” 

you had looked away. reid’s eye contact was too much for you. it was odd, he almost never could hold eye contact with anyone on the team but you? come to think of it, this was the first time since being transferred to the BAU that you and reid were alone. whenever the team split, reid was somehow in your group by chance but when it was one on one, you were paired with jennifer or hotchner.

in the beginning hotchner just wanted to get to see your working style and see how you handled people. after the first months, you had built a relationship with jennifer and she always pulled you away. she loved to hear what you thought about the other members, but you never told her the truth about reid. as a new member, it would leave a sour taste in their mouths if you immediately had issues with one member.

it wasn’t an issue though, it was more of an observation. 

he knew when you were born, he knew where you had transferred from, he knew your favorite genre of music and books, and now he knew where you lived. “is everything okay y/n?” reid cut through the silence. 

you realized it had been a couple minutes of silence. you avoided his eye contact and were zoning out. “yes…” you replied. reid stepped closer. “are you sure?” here he was asking you questions. he can sense the change in you. “yes, reid.” you replied. 

reid paused. “i got you a gift,” he dug into his bag, “but i was worried you wouldn’t like it.” he pulled out a small box. one that looked like it would house a necklace. he moved closer to you and reached his arm out. 

you took the box and opened it. inside was a necklace. gold, heart shaped with a beautiful gem in the middle that shined with the kitchen lights. “oh, it’s so pretty reid.” you lifted the necklace out of the box, unclasped it and slipped it on. 

reid analyzed. you could hear his breathing. in and out. in and out. once the necklace was on, reid asked, “does it fit well?” you knew it took a lot of effort, “perfectly.” you mumbled in response. 

reid hadn’t stepped back. you two were closer than ever. his hand brushed against clothing and reached for your chin. he lifted your face to look him in the eye. your cheeks were warming up faster than ever.

you both stayed silent. his hand wrapped around, sitting politely on your cheek. then before you could react, he leaned forward, his lips touching yours. 

at first, you were surprised at the sudden gestures of reid. he was quite germaphobic, refusing to even shake hands. that was your first lesson in the fbi, reid didn’t like being touched. he took the largest step back when you went in for a hand shake and hotchner behind you, “he doesn’t like hand shakes, i should’ve told you that.”

you could not resist. his lips were soft, his hand warmed your cheek and his free arm found it’s way around your waist. your body spoke that he wasn’t being rejected, and he pulled you in closer. 

it felt like the kiss had lasted minutes when he finally pulled back. “sorry,” he apologized, stepping back.

before he could go any further, you grabbed his collar and pulled him into another kiss. now he was surprised but that didn’t last longer than a split second. he cupped your face and kissed you. you opened your mouth slightly and he slipped his tongue inside, feeling around you. he pulled back taking the messenger bag he had donned all night off. returning, he held onto your waist while you reached for the back of his neck. 

everything clicked for you. he remembered all the small and obscure details about you because he was interested in you. when you told reid your favorite color because he noticed the different tops you had of that one color, when you told reid that your birthday was the reason for your favorite season. everytime reid asked you if you had changed your hair or makeup, it was because he had remembered that you keep your hair down and your makeup minimal. 

you pulled back, “you remembered everything about me because you were interested didn’t you.” reid was blushed, you weren’t sure if it was due to the kissing or the comment or maybe he was just hot. “i’m guilty…” he nodded, avoiding eye contact.

you begged reid to tell you the when and why. he was so embarrassed. admitting that he had never had a crush, and he asked hotchner what it meant to have an anxious feeling around a woman. “hotchner laughed at me and said that i was too smart to not know what attraction was.” reid told you. it was safe to say, that reid did not leave your apartment that night– in fact… he stayed the night at your apartment quite often. 

[cupcakeslushie]

Hi! Big fan of your work!

For your Empyrean Weeping AU, I was wondering if—despite everything that's been done to his memory—Leo remembers all the people he's killed for the Shredder?

Because if he does, there's this one scene in the show "Leverage" that really haunts me, where the muscle of the heist crew (a former hitman) is being interrogated:

(The transcript doesn't quite do the scene justice, so you can watch it here)

I wonder whether Kappa/Leo might have the same philosophy regarding his body count, or if it would be something completely different?

Have a great day!

You know, I missed out on Leverage when it aired, but I’ve only ever heard good things, so I’m gonna say this does sound like a view Leo could have.

While Leo did have his mind and memories messed with, making it easier for the Shredder to manipulate him. He still made a conscious decision, at one point, to stop fighting, and start obeying everything that was asked of him. So Leo definitely views all of that blood on his hands alone. Even when he grows to a healthier place, he refuses to shift the blame onto the Shredder.

I also have a small head canon that Leo has an eidetic memory—which (aside from Gram-Gram Karai protecting him) is a huge part of the reason Kitsune had such a difficult time altering his memories, and eventually focused more on suppressing his emotions). It would not be a stretch for him, to have all these same specifics of each kill memorized and burned into his brain.

[cumulo-stratus]

Flashback

Pairing: dad!Spencer Reid x gn!Reader

Summary: spencer discusses his thoughts around having kids with his spouse after putting their daughter Diana to bed.

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of cannon typical violence, discussions of having kids(obviously), poor insecure Spencer 🥺🥺

A/N : this was written for the @cmgiftexchange!! I wrote this for @omgbigfluffwriting, I hope you enjoy it and that I did your prompt well!! Merry Christmas <33

wc: 1.7k

The sound of giggling filled the Reid household as you chased the mini-Reid through the kitchen and into the living area. When you finally caught Diana you slipped your hands under her arms and swung her up onto your hip with a cheer. When you both finally caught your breaths you made eye contact with your husband who had a scolding look on his face, but there was still a smile twitching at lips at the scene he had just witnessed. “You know she has to be in bed in- 15 minutes!” Spencer paused and looked down at his watch to emphasize his point about how close it was to Diana's bed time. You just sighed dramatically and addressed your daughter “Well, I think your dads right- we gotta get you to bed- it's a school night!”.

After much kid wrangling and only one bedtime story bribe, Diana was sound asleep and safe- leaving you and your husband for some alone time together. After so many years of being together, you and Spencer dont find there's a need to fill the silence you're often draped in. 

But that night the silence got Spencer thinking. Thinking about you, thinking about Diana, thinking about the life he's built for himself. If he was being honest with himself he never thought he would be here. A spouse and a child, a house. It was more than 23 years old Dr. Spencer Reid, new BAU agent could have possibly imagined. A spouse, let alone a child. 

Those thoughts were even more discouraged when he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankle. Spencer considered that one of his lowest points, he had been tortured and drugged- how could it not be. That's not even to mention the addiction that followed. He was in pieces, mentally and physically. Even after he got clean, Spencer often told himself that he wasn't worthy of children. That he would be worse than his own dad. And without you there to reassure him as you often did after you met, these beliefs solidified in his mind. 

“Y/n?” You looked over at Spencer from where you were lying across from him on the couch. Your questioning look was enough of an answer for Spencer so he continued, “did you always want kids? I used to think I didn't deserve kids”. You gave Spencer a look of pity, you hated when he had thoughts at his own expense. And he knew that. But Spencer couldn't help himself. 

“First of all, Diana loves you and you're the best father for her- full stop. Second of all, I always wanted kids, I think you did too”. Spencer nodded, he had always wanted kids- it was his mind that told him not to. 

“I didn't really start believing that kids were a possibility when I met you”. Spencer smiled warmly when he spoke, his eidetic memory not failing to remember any details from when you first met.

——

Spencer was sat his car that he rarely drove, going to the supermarket, which he rarely did. But it wasn't often that he spiraled into a depressive episode after seeing his girlfriend murdered in front of him, so he thought a change of pace might do him some good. Or more like penelope garcia thought it would do him some goo

That’s how he ended up strolling through the public park on a Tuesday afternoon in april. It was sunny and warm, a stark contrast to the sunken purple bags under Spencer's eyes and the wrinkly shirt that probably should’ve been washed before leaving the house. 

But you- in spencers eyes you were a beauty unto yourself, regardless of what you were wearing. That was one thing that hadn’t changed since he met you, and he swore never would.

To be honest, it was by luck that Spencer had run into you; you were with your nephew as babysitter for the day when he started bothering spencer. Needless to say you were very apologetic.

“Tom, no! leave that man alone! i'm so sorry sir, he doesn't mean it”

You were extremely apologetic, ushering your nephew away from the stranger. Spencer was flustered but understanding, red evident on his cheeks.

Skip to a few hours later and Spencer had spent the entire time with you. It was the best Spencer had felt in weeks, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

That night he couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened; walking around with you, talking with you, meeting your nephew and sister. Spending time with your nephew, it got him thinking. Spencer had tucked away the idea of having kids far into a little nook into his mind, and spending time with Tom dredged it up from the depths of his brain. 

Despite still reeling with the death of his girlfriend, Spencer still couldn't get the thought of having kids and being a dad out of his head. It nagged at him all the time, and the thoughts got loud when he was with you. Picturing you as a parent during your coffee dates. 

Although Spencer Reid has an IQ of 187, and an eidetic memory, it still took him weeks to realize why he couldn’t get the thought of children out of his head; because he wanted to be a dad. He wanted to care for someone, knowing that they rely on him. 

——

“Spencer? Spence?” 

Spencer is pulled from his thoughts of when the couple first met by your soft voice. You had a small look of concern on your face at your husband's lack of awareness of the current reality. Spencer hummed in response to ease your worries. “What's got you with that Spencer Reid Far Off Look ™ in your eyes huh?” you asked. Spencer chuckles, and responds, “Just thinking about when we first met… after Maeve died- it's what got me thinking about having kids you know-”. it's your turn to chuckle now, remembering the embarrassment of having to usher away your nephew. Though your eyes held a sympathetic look at the mention of maeve, it would always be a bit of a sensitive subject. 

“Ya, we have tom to thank for that. But I didn't know that's when you started thinking of kids- I thought it was later, when you first talked to me about it”.

——

It was 1:03 am, and Spencer was still awake, to be fair he had just gotten back from a bad case. It was always bad when it involved kids, Spencer couldn't get the face of the little girl they couldn't save in time out of his head. Thoughts raced through his head, but he would never tell you about them- after all you had only been together for a couple months. Spencer couldn't risk being that vulnerable with you.

So here he was, tossing and turning at one am over a case he couldn't get out of his head- trying not to wake up the sleeping figure beside him. He couldn't stop thinking about if that little girl had been his little girl. What would he do then? Spencer didn’t know if he could handle having another human rely on him so heavily- what if he let them down. What if he became like his own father, something he swore he would never do. 

In all of Spencer's spiraling thoughts he hadn’t noticed that you had woken up from the constant shifting of the bed, which was caused by his  incessant tossing and turning in bed. You noticed the look in Spencer's eyes was one you knew well, it was a look that said the gears were turning a little too fast in that big beautiful brain of his. 

But before you could say anything, Spencer got to it first. “Would I- would I be a good dad?” You were caught off guard by Spencer's question, not expecting him to bring that up. But you could tell Spencer had been thinking about it for a while, if the worry crease between his eyebrows was anything to go by.

“I think you’d be a great dad spence- your kind, your caring, you have an amazing compacité to be there for other people, i think especially if it was your kid..”

You speak in a quiet, comforting tone in order to release at least some of the anxiety your boyfriend is harboring. In an effort to punctuate your point you give Spencer a small squeeze on the arm, hoping it would provide at least a little bit of comfort.

Spencer offered a nod in response not quite knowing what to say to his partner's kindness. Instead of speaking Spencer just rolled from the other side of the bed into your warm embrace, which contrasted the cool breeze from the open window.

——

Spencer comes back from his thoughts by the sound of small feet pitter pattering on the hardwood floors. you don't comment on your husband's spacey-ness that evening, instead opting to sit up and find the source of the sound. 

Which you find out to be the small feet of Diana Reid, who had woken up from a bad dream and sought out the comfort of her parents. Her small frame struggled to climb onto the large bed, so Spencer lifted her up by her armpits and placed her between him and you.

“Cant sleep?”

You ask though the dark, soothingly running your fingers through her curly hair.

“ya.. i had a bad dream and couldn’t fall back asleep”

Her voice is small, the six year old still a bit embarrassed at needing to sleep in her parents bedroom, but Spencer's calming hand running up and down her back helped ease some of the embarrassment and helped her sink into her loving parents arms.

“That’s okay, you can always sleep in here with us if you want”

Spencer says as he kisses Diana's head, and the little girl is already falling asleep in the couple's arms. Both Spencer and you look down at your daughter, now fast asleep in between you, and it puts a smile on your faces. And you can't help but lean over and place a haste kiss on spencers lips and say;

“You know I told you you’d be a good dad”

you had a bit of a sly smirk on your face as Spencer chuckled, and he responded “I guess you were right huh”. And that's how the Reid family fell asleep, contented in each other's arms.

The End

[television-overload]

The Most Popular Man in D.C.

(X-Files Fanfic)

[read on AO3]

-.-.-

In the months after Scully is returned from her abduction, Mulder starts getting catcalled on the street on an almost daily basis. At first, he doesn't think much of it, but after a few weeks, he finds it odd enough to mention to her.

She walks into the basement to find him putting pins in a map of D.C., hunched over his desk in concentration.

"Mulder?" she asks with an amused look on her face, paused in the doorway with her eyebrow arched.

With a brief glance up at her, he asks, "Scully, do you think I'm attractive?" Her hand almost slips off the door handle.

Her mouth falls open to answer, but she has no clue what words might come out. What is it he's wanting her to say? He doesn't look like he's joking. In fact, he looks deadly serious.

"I–"

"I just mean, if you saw me on the street, would you—you know—whistle at me?"

His question startles a chuckle from her throat, loosening her tongue. "Whistle?" She stares at him incredulously. Where is this coming from?

"Yeah," he says. "Whistle, wave, shower me with unsolicited compliments?"

Normally, she might laugh, assuming this to be one of the goofy bits he does when he's in a good mood, but something genuinely seems to be concerning him.

"Why do you ask?" she says, brows furrowing as she enters the room fully, shutting the door behind her.

He puts another pin on the map, near the grocery store she knows he goes to near his apartment in Alexandria.

"Scully, in the last month or so, I've been catcalled by random women nearly every day, all over D.C." he begins. "On my run, at the gym, even once when I went to pick up more fish food at the pet store. All over."

"Catcalled, Mulder?" she asks.

"Yes!"

"Is that so unusual?"

His brows slant in clear concern. He needs her reassurance.

"Look, you're a... not wholly unattractive guy," she starts cautiously. "And these places—the gym, the park where you run... You'd be covered in sweat, wearing that— that sleeveless Knicks shirt you have..." She trails off, blushing profusely and hoping her hair conceals it.

"But, the PET store, Scully," he insists, thankfully too worked up to notice her pink cheeks. He gestures wildly at the map before him. "All of these pins are places where I remember it happening. All in the last month."

Oh boy. "Putting that eidetic memory to good use, I see," she says. She surveys his slightly manic appearance, gauging how worried she needs to be about his state of mind.

"There's a clear concentration in certain areas," he says, ignoring her comment. "Look: about four blocks from my apartment, see? There's a cluster of them, all near this corner."

She looks where he is pointing, and indeed, there are six pins huddled close to each other while others are more spread out.

"Do you have a theory?" she can't believe she asks.

"I was hoping you would," he says, a little defeated.

Well, if she's not about to be dragged into a wild goose chase investigation based on some theory he's concocted, then she's back to finding this entire situation hilarious again. "Why should I have a theory?" she asks, suppressing a smile as she crosses her arms and looks up at him.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging awkwardly. "You're a... a woman."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank you for noticing."

"No, but maybe you have some insight. A different perspective."

"Some kind of womanly intuition?" she asks doubtfully, challengingly.

"Well, yeah."

She purses her lips. She has no immediate answer for him, so the office falls silent. He slumps back into his chair, looking far more bedraggled than he ought to at just past 8:00 am.

No, Mulder, she doesn't have some insider secret about the female mind to explain this so-called phenomenon away, but... Man, that is a lot of pins on the map. All in the last month, he says?

Why are her toes tapping incessantly on the floor beneath the desk?

"Mulder," she starts, hardly believing the words that are about to come out of her mouth. "If you're that worried about it, maybe we should go check out some of these areas of concentration."

He looks up at her, just as surprised to hear the suggestion come from her lips.

"Really?"

She wants to roll her eyes again, but there's a knot of something she refuses to acknowledge as jealousy in her chest that prevents her from doing so.

"Only if you're that concerned," she says, hoping she sounds firm and not at all interested in why her partner is getting hit on by women left and right.

He fumbles his way to his feet, stabbing himself in the palm with a pin accidentally in the process. He curses under his breath and shakes his hand out while eagerly shoving his arm in his jacket sleeve. "Okay," he says. "I think we should start by my gym, that's where it happens the most."

"Fine," she agrees stiffly, trying not to picture him breathless after a workout and surrounded by his loving admirers.

She drives, because she needs something to do with her hands. He navigates. It's his steps they're retracing, after all. He knows best what direction they need to head in.

They park on the street, exiting the car and getting a feel of their surroundings.

"There's my gym," he points out. She's not exactly sure what they're looking for, but she keeps her eyes peeled all the same.

After a few minutes spent wandering near the entrance, she's about to call it quits, but then a muscular little brunette calls out from across the street, grinning from ear to ear as she shouts, "Woo! I'd pay your dry cleaning bill just to watch you work out in that suit, handsome!"

Before either of them has time to respond, or even come to terms with what just happened, the woman disappears into a storefront. A yoga studio, Scully deduces from the sign out front.

"See?" Mulder says, swinging his hand out toward the other side of the street. The suddenness of his speech startles her out of her tense posture, and she forces her shoulders to relax.

"I give her points for creativity," she says, marching primly back to the car and throwing the driver's side door open.

The next place they drive is the grocery store, just a stone's throw away from his apartment building. Once again, she parks, and they wander about, but this time, their fellow pedestrians are blissfully silent. She looks around. There's the grocery store. Beside it, a pawn shop. On the other side, a place selling herbal supplements... and possibly also other "herbal" remedies. RadioShack across the street. Not much going on at—she checks her watch—8:47 am.

"Notice anything unusual?" she asks, watching as an older couple hobbles into the grocery store arm-in-arm.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's quieter than usual," he says. "I'm not usually here this early on a week day."

She nods. This stop might have been a bust, but at least she didn't have to hear another cheesy one-liner directed at Mulder.

They're not so lucky at the next, and—she decides—final stop.

About a block down from the coffee shop in Georgetown that he frequents when he has to wake her at an ungodly hour, two women loiter outside a shop advertising high-quality tattoos and piercings. One takes a drag from her cigarette, then calls out, "Let's see a smile on those pouty lips!" The other woman chuckles, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Mulder gives an awkward smile and nod in their direction, and Scully promptly grabs him by the arm, ushering him hurriedly back to the car.

She stews in silence on the drive back to the Hoover building. She knows she has no right to do so, and yet...

"You see what I mean, Scully?" he asks. "You gotta agree that something's unusual."

Does she? He's an attractive man. YES, okay, she's attracted to him. Can she fault other women for noticing? Maybe they could do to keep their mouths shut and leave him alone, sure, but wouldn't most men kill to have that kind of attention given to them?

"I don't know," she answers, her hands gripping the wheel.

"I'm serious. I've lived here for years, and this has never happened before. Then all of a sudden..."

"You're reading too much into it," she snaps. Then, softening her tone, "I mean, if they won't leave you alone, tell them to back off. Tell them you're an FBI agent and can arrest them for harrassment."

"Scully..."

"It's not an X-File, Mulder," she says decisively. "We've missed enough work as it is. Just forget about it."

His jaw shifts like he's about to argue her point, but instead he says the words she's always longed to hear from him.

"You're probably right."

-.-.-

She tries to forget about it.

On Thursday, he cheekily informs her that he had been called a "handsome devil" that morning while stopping by the bank. Friday, the descriptive term is decidedly less work-friendly, but he saunters in looking quite pleased with himself.

Gee, she sure is glad she told him not to worry about all the attention he's getting. Now, he actually seems to be enjoying it.

The weekend can't come soon enough. At 5:00 on the dot, she bids goodbye to his boyish smile and wishes him a good weekend. At home, she finishes off half a bottle of wine and watches some trashy reality TV until it's bedtime, and she promptly passes out.

-.-.-

Saturday, she wakes up feeling stupid. After popping a few advil, she deep cleans her kitchen, tossing out the now empty bottle of wine and even dusting on top of her cabinets, a task that requires standing precariously on the countertop with a featherduster in hand.

As the clock ticks closer to noon, though, she begrudgingly pulls herself away from her work and readies herself for her afternoon commitment with her sister. On the way to Melissa's dumpy—temporary—apartment, she picks up lunch from her favorite Chinese place. It's been months since Melissa came to town. She's not the kind to stay put in one place for long. If Scully hadn't been abducted, or whatever it was that happened to her, Missy wouldn't have been there in the first place.

The apartment is one she'd found on short notice when she heard what had happened, and came to support their mother throughout the ordeal. It pays by the month, and has a serious ant problem in the kitchen, but otherwise isn't the absolute worst living situation Scully could fathom. She liked having her sister nearby, even if it was only for a while.

Now, the ceaseless call of adventure summons Melissa once more, and it is time to go. Scully had promised to help her pack her things this weekend, and now the day is here.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" she asks, loathing how the sentence makes her sound like her 15 year old self when Missy had first left home for her first (and only) year of college.

"You don't need me, Dana," her sister says. "Besides, you know I can only handle so much of Mom telling me what I should be doing with my life."

"She means well," Scully assures her.

"I know she does," Missy says with a smile. "And I know you're no stranger to doing the complete opposite of what she tells you, too."

Scully breathes out a laugh.

"Come on, help me take these boxes down to the moving truck." Melissa shucks her jacket off, tying it around her waist in preparation for the physical labor it would take to carry multiple loads of boxes down four flights of stairs. One of the worst features of this apartment building is it's permanently broken elevator. Moving in must have been a nightmare.

Bending to pick up her first box, Scully catches a glimpse of something on Missy's right wrist, visible now that her jacket has come off.

"What's that?" she asks, brows furrowing.

"Hmm?" her sister asks. Her eyes follow Dana's to the marking on her skin on the underside of her arm. "Oh, I got that while you were in the hospital. You're like 90% of my impulse control, Dana."

Her teasing tone does not negate the heaviness that comes from mentioning that horrific time for her family. That time when she was all but lost to all those who knew her.

"What is it?" she asks.

Missy sets her box back down, and Scully does the same. "Check it out," she says, drawing closer so Scully can see.

On her wrist is a small cross tattoo, remarkably similar in shape and size to the cross Scully wears around her neck.

Strange. She's fairly certain Melissa hasn't been to mass in years, much to their mother's chagrin.

"Why?" she asks, genuine confusion lacing her voice.

"Don't go all 'Mom' on me, Dane," Missy jokes, smacking her in the shoulder. "It's just a tattoo."

Scully shakes her head. "No, I mean, why that? Why a cross?"

"Oh." Melissa looks down at her wrist in thought, then back up at Dana. "It just... seemed to be the thing to do."

"Something to remember me by?" Scully tries to joke, though she's aware of how morbid that sounds, to live to see the way her sister planned to memorialize her.

"Actually, no," Melissa corrects. "It was your partner."

Huh?

"Mulder?" Scully asks, wondering how on earth her necklace—the symbol of Christianity—relates to her unbelieving partner.

"Yeah, it was— Look, it's not really my place to tell, but I saw the way he relied on that necklace of yours for strength while you were gone. Not once did I see him take it off. It was like, if he didn't let go of it, then he wasn't letting go of you. I admire that."

Scully still doesn't understand. "So, the tattoo..."

"Is a reminder to have hope," Melissa finishes. "To have that same belief in others that Fox had for you, even when things looked hopeless and we almost gave up."

Scully's heart twists painfully.

This marking on her sister's body is tangible proof of what Scully has known all along:

That her partner is something special. That his uncommon belief in the unbelievable leaves an impact, not just on her, but on others whom he interacts with.

She still finds it hard to fathom that there had been weeks and months where Mulder was out there, spending time with her mother and sister while she was missing, or lying comatose on a hospital bed.

"When you came back, and when you got better, I knew it was him that saved you," Missy says softly, as if she can hear her thoughts and doesn't want to disrupt them. "I know it's him."

Her sister's piercing eyes meet hers seriously, and she turns away, lifting the box back into her arms to serve as a distraction.

"We don't want to keep the movers waiting," she says, forcing her thoughts away from Mulder. Away from the dangerous thoughts that had filled her head all week.

Missy's eyes brighten, and she grins.

"Don't keep him waiting," she warns.

-.-.-

Scully hands her sister the last of the boxes, and Missy stands up in the back of the truck, brushing the dust off her hands with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the last of it," she says proudly. "Oh, wait—"

She turns quickly, rummaging through a few boxes before triumphantly extracting a small piece of paper.

"Here, give that back to Fox, will you?" she says, handing it to Scully.

"What's this?" she asks, turning the glossy paper in hand to look at it properly.

In her hand, she holds a photo of Mulder from one of the times he'd been locked up on trespassing charges that ultimately wouldn't hold. He'd gotten a kick out of getting his mugshot taken, and so had requested a copy of it upon his release, and the small sheriff's department in Idaho had granted his wish.

But why did Melissa have it?

"I stole it from his apartment," she says, answering her unspoken question. "Made some copies, spread them around."

"You— you did what with them?"

"Just gave them to some friends," she says, smirking as she plops down on the edge of the truck bed. "You know I make friends wherever I go."

"Yeah, but why?"

The conspiratorial smile on her sister's face comes straight out of their childhood.

"Has Fox been getting an unusual amount of attention when walking around D.C. lately?" she asks nonchalantly, concealing a wider grin.

"Missy, you didn't!" Scully says, her jaw dropping.

"You didn't see him, Dane! He needed a pick-me-up!" Melissa raises her hands in defense, smiling at her sister's reaction.

Scully scoffs, but only to prevent a burst of astonished laughter from escaping. "A pick-me-up, not someone to pick him up," she says in as chastising a voice as she can manage.

Only Melissa would do something like this. She should have known.

"So it did work after all," Missy surmises. "Good. He needed a confidence boost. Has his ego inflated terribly?"

This time, Scully does laugh. "Sure, maybe after he got over the paranoia of suddenly being the most popular man in Washington, D.C."

"I guess it would come as a shock," Missy says, eyes bright with mirth.

Scully smacks her sister in the arm. "He was convinced it was some kind of conspiracy!"

"Oh, well," Missy says. "The real conspiracy is how you won't hit on that man yourself."

She's going to miss her sister, she reminds herself. Just be glad she's been in town this long.

Nope. She still wants to throttle her.

She shakes her head.

"Melissa..."

-.-.-

The compliments—because Scully refuses to call them catcalls—continue for the next few months, though with decreasing frequency.

After thinking it over for the weekend, she decides not to tell him. Maybe some day, years from now, when they can laugh about it.

For now, she lets other women say her thoughts aloud, and delights in the way his cheeks turn rosy when she's with him to hear their cheesy pick-up lines.

She wonders how she didn't notice before, the way these women look just like people Melissa would hang around with. Choker necklaces around their necks, Doc Martin shoes... Mulder was onto something with his map. The gym: across the street from a yoga studio that Missy had gone to a few times. The herbal supplement place, one that Missy had definitely stopped by on occasion. The tattoo parlor. Self-explanatory.

Now that she's in on the secret, whenever it happens, it's like Missy is there for a second. It makes her feel less far away. She thinks of these women being handed a photocopied flyer with Mulder's face on it, and wonders what on earth Missy had specifically told them to do.

Whatever it was, it had been effective.

Funny. She never really pictured introducing her sister to her partner, but now she wonders how she didn't see it before. She's glad Missy stepped in to look after him while she was gone, even if it involved a prank of questionable taste. She wouldn't have expected any less from her sister. And maybe that was just what Mulder needed.

She tells him at the funeral.

It's too early to find the humor in it, like she'd hoped they would someday. But his lips do curl into a small smile. Remembering.

It still happens on occasion after that. And when it does, Mulder takes Scully's hand and whispers, "See? She's never really gone."

Melissa Scully had left her mark on Washington, D.C., even in the short time she'd been there. She left her mark on Mulder in the same way.

Years down the line, when the number of Mulder's admirers has dwindled to one, Scully lies awake, picturing his face as he whispered sweet words to her. His constant. His touchstone.

"You were right, Missy," she breathes into the still air of her lonely apartment. Sometimes it feels haunted by her ghost. Tonight, that brings her comfort. "You were right."

She thinks she hears the echo of a sultry whistle.

-.-.-

Tagging: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf