#millburn x reader

[midala-of-the-valley]

Darling, that was Lily of the Valley.

Rafe Millburn x Reader ( x Sean Fifield) Words: 418 Crossposted on Ao3 Warnings: Smut a/n: I love them your honour, and after killing them off in my fanfic I had to do this for myself, and you guys.

Straddling your tall, sweet and utterly clueless boyfriend, you grind your hips against his with enthusiasm before suddenly stopping. Rafe had a tendency to dabble in subjects he knew nothing about. Don't get me wrong, he was an accomplished biologist in his field, but he often took risks when it came to exploring new things.

"Please (Y/N), move!" He begs.

With arms crossed, you look down at him and squeeze tightly around him, watching as he closes his eyes and throws his head back in pleasure.

"Mmm, but do you really deserve it?" You ask with a sly grin, clenching again and eliciting another whimper from him. "How many times do I have to remind you to ask me first when it comes to plants? I can't believe you mistook Lily of the Valley for Wild Garlic. One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed or worse, kill Sean and myself."

You thrust down hard, causing him to sink even deeper and both of you moan up. But then you stop, keeping him on the edge.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- Please- I'll be good, I'll ask- hah~"

He's so adorable! How he grips onto the sheets tightly, despite being the tallest and strongest of all three of you. But as soon as he's pressed against a wall, he becomes putty in your hands.

"I'll be a good boy, I promise! Please!"

You give him a sweet smile at that and uncross your arms, giving him the signal that he can take control and let his desires run free. His eyes widen with adoration before he bites his lip, gripping your hips and sitting up to bend you forward. He leaves hot open-mouthed kisses along your cheek, throat, and collarbone before pistoning into you.

It doesn't take long before both of you reach climax, moaning into each other's mouths before he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Your fingers gently run through his blonde curls as you press a kiss to his temple, but suddenly the door opens.

Standing in the doorway is Sean, leaning against the frame with a raised eyebrow.

"Let me guess, he confused plants again?" He asks with a tired smile.

You nod sleepily and mumble, "At least it wasn't straight up Rowanberries again..." A snort escapes your darling redhead as he shrugs off his jacket. Rafe grunts in response from atop you.

"I'm going to change out of my work clothes, interested in round two?"

[pathologicalreid]

come home with me | s.r.

in which you are chosen as the member of the BAU who gets to retrieve Spencer from prison

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: post prison spencer, the events of green light apply, jareau!reader, kiss word count: 1.45k a/n: ohhhh she's listening to too much hadestown again. oh noooo.

The foreboding gray structure that stood before you was much more intimidating than you’d remembered Millburn Correctional Facility was written next to the door in a sans-serif font, still, boring, intimidating.

You hated it here. You despised everything that this building stood for in your life. Above all else, you hated that Spencer had been trapped inside for three months. There was little to no communication between you and Spencer during his incarceration, which wasn���t for a lack of trying. The one and only time you’d gone to visit him in Millburn, your appearance elicited a wolf whistle from one of the guards—Spencer’s discomfort was enough to keep you away.

Waiting outside with Penelope, Luke, and your sister, the four of you were lined up shoulder to shoulder, everyone too nervous to move forward. “I can’t go in,” Garcia said, looking between you and Luke while she shook her head. She hated going to visit Spencer, every time she came back from the prison, her mood had been negatively impacted.

Nodding assuredly, you quickly leaned your head on her shoulder, “We’ll go get him.” In your hand, you gripped a small canvas bag, you’d shoved everything you could think Spencer might need upon release—including some toiletries that had been completely untouched in the apartment, you weren’t sure if he’d been able to keep up with his usual hygiene routine in prison.

You assumed he hadn’t been.

Luke had some kind of ulterior motive in mind while entering the prison, so you and JJ linked pinkies at the same time he gave Penelope’s shoulder a squeeze and started making his way toward the steel doors of the prison. The three of you needed to shed your weapons, locking them up with the guards before Luke jutted his chin down the hallway and promised to meet up with you later.

Your head spun as you and JJ worked through clerical issues with the prison. Spencer was in solitary right now, finally receiving the protection that he should have gotten months ago, but he had to stab himself in the thigh to get there. No one else had been told, but Penelope handed Emily her resignation when she found out. The concrete building was freezing, and you hoped that Spencer had been staying warm enough during his time here.

Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.

Every waking moment for the last three months had been spent trying to figure out how to get him out of this, and the team had finally done it. You resisted the urge to pinch yourself. This was real, you were here.

“Only one of you,” one of the guards said, entirely disinterested in the emotional turmoil you were currently going through.

Your eyes met JJ’s briefly, and her blue eyes widened before she shook her head, “You should go,” she insisted, holding out a hand in the direction of the door.

Tightening your grip on the canvas bag, you nodded nervously and stepped through the metal detector, following the armed guard down the hallway until you reached yet another door. He swiped his badge through the stripe reader and opened the door, holding it open for you.

Against your better judgment, you faltered, scared of what you might see on the other side of the door. The guard cleared his throat impatiently and your feet thoughtlessly brought you forward.

Spencer was on the other side of the door, and you felt ridiculous for thinking you’d be met with anyone else except for him. Hauntingly familiar brown eyes were boring into yours expectantly, and even though you had promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, your throat was sealing itself with proof of a lie. Your eyes burned and you opened your mouth to speak before tears had a chance to fall, “Come home,” you beckoned.

You broke when he did, lips wavering between a smile and a frown as he broke free of the regulations he’d faced in Millburn, and the two of you snapped together like there was a magnetic pull between the two of you. The bag in your hands dropped to the ground as your arms went around each other. He smelled like antiseptic and generic laundry soap, you couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t seen the bandage around his arm from where they’d drawn blood, but you pushed it from your mind in the interim, focusing on repairing your memory. Reminding yourself of the edges of his body. There were more ridges than you remembered, and your chest clenched at the recognition that Spencer was inherently changed. It would’ve been foolish of you to cling to the idea that he could go to prison and come back as the Spencer that had been keeping your mind company—the memory of him that couldn’t match reality.

He sniffled and buried his face in your neck, his hot breath on your skin as neither of you faltered in your grip of each other. Spencer once told you that hugs were inherently healing because of the boost in oxytocin levels, and you’d taken that to heart just in case you ever faced this very moment. You tightened your grip around his shoulders, and he was holding you so tightly around your waist that your feet lifted slightly off of the ground. If it were up to you, you’d stay like this for hours intertwining your fingers between his shoulder blades and holding him together. You’d maintain your embrace until your body heat welded the broken pieces of him back together and his sharp edges were sanded down with time. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder and sighed three months’ worth of worry away, and as that worry ebbed, a new name echoed in your head.

Diana, Diana, Diana.

Spencer’s mother was missing, and he released his hold on you as you drew in a deep breath. Your feet were planted firmly on the ground as the two of you looked at each other, exchanging hundreds of thousands of words between your irises. “Spence,” you whispered, “I brought your things.”

You crouched down and grabbed the bag from the floor, holding it open for him to inspect its contents, his smile made you feel like you were floating. You were sure they were few and far between recently. More than that, you knew exactly what he was smiling at. Instead of picking out two socks for him, you’d grabbed a handful of them and put them in the bag, giving him the ability to choose a mismatched pair to wear out.

He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, “Thank you,” he breathed, his eyes flickering over to the guard that was still standing behind you.

Nodding, you carefully took his hand and let the guard lead you somewhere he could get changed, you planted your feet on the side of the hallway opposite of the guard. You narrowed your gaze at the guard, keeping your eyes open until they dried, and you had no choice but to blink. Other than that, your glare was unwavering.

“Y/N?” Spencer said, opening the door slightly, “Can you help me?”

You slipped through the door, alone in the bathroom with him as he gestured to his tie. You frowned for a moment before you noticed what the problem was, his hands were shaking. Each of them trembling uncontrollably with what was likely a melting pot of different emotions, and without giving it a second thought, you reached out and took both ends of the tie in your hands, deftly tying the double Windsor knot around his neck. You were careful when you tightened the knot, refraining from bringing it right up to the hollow of his throat in case he needed room to breathe. You looked up at him, studying the unreadable expression on his face before you whispered, “I’ve got you.”

Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as his lips parted, and to your surprise, he craned his neck to press his lips to yours, kissing you with three months of pent-up emotions—good and bad. You gasped against his lips before kissing him back, matching his ferocity as your lips moved gently against his, a knock at the door was the only thing to pry the two of you apart.

You tried to get a read on him. You tried to understand the thoughts that were flashing behind his eyes at the speed of light, but you couldn’t get it. You wanted to ask, you wanted to check in on him, but he spoke first, “Let’s go get my mom.”

[floraisunwell]

Promise | s.r

who? post-prison!reid x ex gf reader (

category: angst

summary: Spencer left you 5 months ago without a word for undisclosed reasons but he comes teary eyed to your door after seeing a girl that looks a little too much like you.

based on (very loosely lol): promise by laufey. the fic does not follow the events of the song at all but i love the "if it weren't for the sight of a boy who looked just like you standing out on Melrose avenue" part right at the end so it's all on that line.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: my first fic ahhhhhhh, i'm so nervous and happy rn, this is my baby and ik there's a lot of space for improvement but i'm proud of my writing, this comunnity is full of amazing people and if it wasn't such a lovely space i would have never posted this. shoutout to @lilacsandlavenderhaze for being the first to hear my idea and telling me i should go ahead and write it; @spencersbabymama for telling me to cut the bullshit and self deprecation and post this; and to @esote-rika for being my first readerrrr. love y'all <3

dividers by @aquazero

English is not my first language pls tell me about any spelling and grammatical mistakes. enjoyy!

The air was cold and crisp, a light drizzle could be felt dampening the streets – a scene typical for this time of the year in Washington. Spencer had gone out with the team to get some drinks after a hard but successful case, he was happy, of course, the fact that they had caught the killer pleased him but everything inside the building felt overwhelming: the voices, and the drunk conversations, all the limbs touching a little too much, the overly loud music. He was out of it and to be honest he had been out of it for quite some time now, actually some months, everyone noticed how the breakup made him feel.

Funny, because he was the one to leave.

After you came back from a long shift at the hospital excited to cuddle with the love of your life (or so you thought) but the only remnant of him you found was a sticky note placed on the cover of a book you were reading at the time:

"I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore"

That was all he said before destroying everything you two had built over 3 years, 3 years of love, pain, and learning, 3 years of giving everything for each other, destroyed in less than 24 hours like nothing.

He hadn't been the same for a long time, though—not since prison. You didn't blame him; you tried to understand him, give him space, time, and everything one could need to heal. He was not the same, of course. You weren't expecting the same Spencer to come back, sure, but you also were not expecting whoever he had become: some cold and distant version of the person you used to know.

Your relationship with Spencer is divided into two eras: Before Millburn and After Millburn.

Before Millburn, you guys were somewhat happy. Both of you were overworked and stressed but happy. You would tell him about your work, and he would tell you about his. In the rare times, he got a day off work, he would hug you whenever he could, like he was making sure you wouldn't slip away.

After Millburn, you didn't talk much, not unless it was necessary, he didn't hug you a lot anymore, in fact, the last time he hugged you was when you went to pick him up at the correctional facility, all the emotions running high, you remember thinking he looked and smelled different, you didn't know he would be so different when you wrapped him in your arms, placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered that everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. It was all so not fine and everyone around you two could tell. Yet you could have never imagined that Spencer, the man who made the hopeless romantic in you thrive would leave in such a disheartening way.

Back at O’Keeffe’s, the team was still at it. The count of how many rounds of drinks Rossi had paid long lost, Emily and JJ leaning suspiciously close to each other, Rossi nursing some unnecessarily extravagant drink, Garcia and Morgan somewhere on the dance floor and Hotch nowhere to be seen. Spencer had gone outside, hoping the sensory overload would ease with the fresh air, it did slightly but the agglomerate of people was no better than the one inside, so many people, reeking of alcohol, walking like zombies, and saying nonsensical things. As he was standing near the entrance, hands stuffed into his pockets, the soft rain dampening his hair, Spencer let his mind wander and it ended up where it always does: him contemplating if leaving was the right decision.

He was so deep in this thought that didn't even notice the man approaching until it happened- a hard shoulder bump that took him away from his thoughts.

"Sorry dude" the man muttered not even caring to glance back as he moved past. Spencer blinked, shocked as he watched the man move swiftly toward a small group of people nearby. A group that included you.

His heart jumped to his mouth. No - not you. But she looked like you, uncannily so. She even acted like you, the way she threw her back when she laughed or how she scrunched her nose in an attempt to put her sliding glasses in place - he could've sworn it was you.

For a fraction of a minute, he actually thought it was you. His breath caught in his throat and he took a step forward before reality sank in and he retreated. It wasn't you; it was never you.

But as he watched her wrapping her arms around the man's neck, as his hands almost automatically moved to her waist, and they both smiled like idiots in love. He couldn't help but feel like he had been stabbed and the knife was being twisted inside him. Was this some type of fucked up joke by the universe? "This could be you, bad thing you lost her" The thing is, he didn't lose you- he gave up on you which was worse because maybe if he had stayed, and tried a little harder, you would still be together.

He staggered back a few steps, and if he hadn't reached the wall, he would've fallen considering he already felt his knees buckle as all the bottled-up emotions from the past five months came crashing onto him; he was overwhelmed by his own feelings, eyes blurry with tears as a lump formed in his throat and the weight on his chest got heavier.

Blindly, almost unconsciously, he reached for his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. His thumb hovered above your name in the contacts list. The message he typed was brief:

"Are you home?"

He didn't get a reply, he wasn't waiting for one. The moment he hit send his legs were already moving, practically running towards the street to hail a cab. He gave the driver your address, and it came out of his mouth easily, as if he had never stopped saying it.

You were in the shower when his message came through, you didn't pay the loud notification much attention, not even caring to glance at the device when you heard the familiar ding. You prioritized the small occasions you got to take care of yourself when your job is to take care of others.

Now freshly showered and in the kitchen making tea- the next step on your little routine- you hear a knock on the door, a distinct knock, a knock you could never forget, not even a billion years from now. Your heart stopped for a moment, heartbeat pounding in your ears, you didn't quite register you were moving towards the door until it was open and he was standing there, his brown eyes open wide once he registered your presence, reacting as though you opening the door was the last thing he expected. You just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other until Spencer wrapped you in his arms like he used to, his nostrils flooding with the smell of your shampoo and body wash, smells he recognized all too well, smells that felt like home.

You pushed him away, shattering the brief feeling of happiness he had started to feel.

"What are you doing here?" You asked almost a little too loud in an attempt to hide the hurt in your voice

"I miss you" he replied eyes searching for yours.

You stood there, arms folded, trying to hide how weak those words made you feel. He had no right to miss you, not after leaving the way he did.

Why should I care? You thought to yourself. He made it clear that he didn’t care about you, but you cared, you cared so deeply that it made your heart ache.

You were not going to let him in.

"You can't just stop talking to me and then come here like nothing happened, Spence." You couldn't help using the nickname, your voice falsely steady, trying to hide the pain.

"I know, I just-can I come in?" No reply "Please"

You hesitated, gripping the door handle tighter as a tornado of emotions swirled on your chest. Anger. Hurt. Loneliness. You wanted to slam the door in his face, make him feel a small fraction of what you felt over the past 5 months. But buried beneath all these harsh feelings, there was something softer, something you felt ashamed to acknowledge: the echo of all the nights you stayed up worrying about him and what could happen in his work, all the mornings you woke up without the smell of coffee lingering through the apartment.

You let him in.

You tried to convince yourself that letting him in was about answers- you deserved an explanation, some sort of closure at least. But as you stepped aside and watched him walk past you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Because no matter how much he’d hurt you, part of you still longed for the man he used to be.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You muttered, as much to yourself as to him. He gave a slight nod in reply, eyes watering. Damn him and his big brown eyes.

 As you were turning around after closing the door behind you, he captured you in a hug again and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him too.

★

Somehow, he ended up asleep in your bed and as you gaze at his peaceful resting face, your mind tells you to wake him up, tell him to go home and never come back, tell him that he doesn't get to leave and reappear whenever it suits him, tell him that he can fuck off for breaking your heart like that. Yet, you don't do any of that, because your heart tells you not to.

tysm for reading, likes and reblogs are always deeply appreciated

@angellic4l it's finally here bestieee!

[whisperedmeg]

SOFT ANIMAL ―.✦ SERIES MASTERLIST

spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

you do not have to be good.

you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

meanwhile the world goes on.

- mary oliver, wild geese (1986)

spencer reid never expected to end up in prison. even more unexpected than that was finding her there. in the shadow of his darkest days incarcerated at millburn correctional facility, a nurse in the infirmary became his lifeline — a steady presence in a world unraveling around him. after his release, what began as survival turned into something deeper — a life built slowly, unevenly, through grief and grace and the kind of love that learns to stay.

a 13-part story about trauma, love, and all the quiet spaces in between.

꩜ = smut | ❀ = fluff | ⚡︎ = angst | ᢉ𐭩 = hurt/comfort

☘︎ = can be read as a stand-alone one shot

i. fluorescent mercy ᢉ𐭩 ❀ | ☘︎

ii. strange grace (18+) ᢉ𐭩 ❀

iii. fragile gravity (18+) ❀

iv. synodic curve (18+) ꩜ ❀

v. quiet proof ᢉ𐭩 ❀

vi. re-entry burn ᢉ𐭩

vii. verbal impulse (18+) ꩜ ❀ | ☘︎

viii. terminal velocity (18+) ⚡︎ ꩜ ᢉ𐭩

ix. convergence zone ᢉ𐭩 ⚡︎ ❀ | ☘︎

x. blind contour (18+) ꩜ ᢉ𐭩

xi. dark matter (18+) ᢉ𐭩 ❀

xii. long division ⚡︎ | coming soon

xiii. soft animal | coming soon

bonus: soft animal head canons

main masterlist

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that���is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[specialagentsergio]

almost me again

summary: While visiting Spencer at Millburn Correctional Facility, the prison goes into lockdown, temporarily leaving you alone together. You don’t let the opportunity go to waste.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: smut w/ a lil angst because it’s prison spencer, 18+ (minors DNI)

content warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, making out, fingering, hand job, semi-public sex

a/n: [arises from the grave carrying smut]

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins stuck together challenge! this return to posting writing after three years is brought to you by her, all my other awesome friends on her server for helping keep my interest in this show alive, and my successful carpal tunnel surgery last year. enjoy!

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Visiting Spencer in prison is a mixed bag of emotions. First is the anger that he’s been framed and abandoned by the bureau, leading to him being in prison in the first place. Then relief when he walks in and you see him alive and… well, not well, but at least alive. It’s followed by stress and worry upon seeing how tense and sleepless he is.

Last but certainly not least, there’s the frustration that comes from sitting across from him and not being allowed to touch him. Years of casual touch, affection, and intimacy, all completely ground to a halt. It’s a special kind of torture.

You can tell he feels the same. His fingers twitch when they’re inches away from your hands on the table, itching to take them. His gaze will catch on your lips, and yours does the same to him. The line in between love and lust feels blurry. At least his lawyer had been able to pull some strings so you could visit in a private room instead of in general population, being heckled by the other inmates.

Today you’ve been visiting for around ten minutes, and having finished giving him the (depressingly small) update on the progress the team has made on his case, you’ve fallen into silence. Most of your visits end this way, staring at each other, words unspoken but understood.

And pretty much undressing each other with your eyes.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the sound of a buzzer. You both jump.

“What is that?” you ask when it repeats.

“I’m not sure.” He gets up and knocks on the door for the guard. “What’s going on?” he asks when it opens.

“Lockdown. Stay put,” the guard answers, in a voice you think he wants to invite no questions or conversation, but that kind of thing never works on Spencer. Or you, for that matter.

“Lockdown?” you repeat. “Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to take me back to my cell when the prison goes into lockdown?” Spencer adds.

“I said, stay put,” the guard says harshly. “We’ll move you later.”

“Well, how long from now is ‘later’?” you ask, standing from your chair.

The guard doesn’t entertain any more chatter, though. He only gives another instruction to stay where you are, then the door closes and makes its own little buzz, locking you both into the visitation room.

Spencer looks through the small window in the door. “He’s leaving,” he says, disbelief covering his face.

“Leaving?” you confirm. “A guard, leaving us alone in a federal prison. What could even cause that?”

“I’m not sure. A riot, maybe?” he guesses. “Maybe they need more guards to shut it down or something.”

You move to stand next to him. “How long do prison riots last?”

“Well, historically, some have lasted months, but don’t worry; I’m sure they won’t leave us in here for more than an hour.”

“I’m not worried.” You place a hand on his shoulder and watch a shudder run through his body, eyes closing at the first touch of someone he loves in weeks. “It’d be a shame if we didn’t seize this opportunity.”

He turns to face you and you place your hands on his cheeks. And you mean to wait for him to respond to your suggestion before doing anything further, but you can’t help yourself—you pull him into a hug.

He hugs back immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply and you feel his body relax. The undercurrent of stress and tension he’s been carrying with him since Mexico shrinks. Not completely gone, but no longer overwhelming.

“Oh, I don’t care if they suddenly come back and I get in trouble for this,” he sighs. “It’s worth it.”

You open your eyes, looking out the window over his shoulder. “Well, there’s a guard at the end of the hallway, guarding the door to this wing, I guess, but he’s not looking this way. The other guy’s still gone. How long do you think we have?”

“I’ve no idea.” His hands wander lower, settling on your hips, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your skirt.

“Well, then I guess the question is…” You pull back from the hug so you can watch his expressions and make sure you’re not crossing any lines he doesn’t want you to. “How long do you need?”

“Depends on what you’re referring to.” He tilts his head to kiss one of your cheeks, then the other. “If you mean how much time I need to be with you…” He kisses your forehead. “I’m not sure forever itself would be enough.”

It’s far from the first time he’s expressed such a sickeningly romantic sentiment, yet like every time before, it makes your cheeks prickle with warmth. You take one of his hands off your hips and lift it to your mouth, kissing the palm of it.

“However, I’m ninety-five percent sure you’re referring to how long it would take to get me off,” he continues. You see a little smile grace his lips before he dips his head to kiss your neck. “In which case, it’s probably ten minutes at the maximum.”

You put a hand in his hair, toy with it for a moment, then tug it lightly, just the way he likes. He inhales sharply. “Oh yeah?” you question.

“Maybe less,” he admits. “Probably less. It’s been over a month, and unlike you, I don’t have any privacy to take matters into my own hands, pun intended.”

You laugh. “Well, should we see what we can do about that?”

Spencer’s answer is a sweet, chaste kiss, almost as if he’s saying thank you. It’s immediately followed by a crushing, downright greedy one that makes you take a step backward to avoid falling. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other wanders. He can’t seem to decide where to put it, wanting to feel everything at once. Eventually he settles on untucking your shirt.

His hand grazes the skin underneath for just a moment. Before he can get any further, you grab the front of his prison-issued jacket and turn him, then push him against the wall. He makes a surprised noise.

“One of us needs to watch the door,” you explain. “And it’s easier for you to see over my shoulder than the opposite.”

“Right,” he says. “Got it. Watching the door. Can I feel you up now?”

You make a half-snort, half-giggle sound. “Yes, you may.”

He doesn’t possess an iota of hesitation as he slides his hand back under your shirt and up to your chest. He makes a grumbling noise, as if he’d forgotten there would be a bra in the way, but manages to get his hand beneath it all the same. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses.

You press closer to him, your hands doing their own wandering. “I can tell,” you say. “I’ve never seen���or felt, rather—you get completely hard so quickly.”

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I told you, it’s been a while. Paired with the way you were looking at me earlier…”

He tugs down the collar of your shirt to bite and suck a hickey into the skin under your collarbone, making you gasp. “Spencer.”

“Mm.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy foreplay, but...” you start, and he finishes the sentence like you figured he would.

“We need to be quick. I know.” He sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the mark he’s just made on your skin.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask as you unbutton his pants. “Mouth, hands?”

“I’d never make you kneel on a concrete floor like this,” he replies. “And I want as much of your body touching mine as possible.”

You feign being put upon, as if you hadn’t been worried about the concrete floor as well. “Oh, if you insist.”

He doesn’t pay your tease much mind, instead adjusting one of your legs to hook around the back of his calf to keep your legs parted just enough for him to get his hands on you the way he wants, but without making what you’re doing immediately obvious to anyone who’d walk by or glance in.

You unzip his pants and push his underwear down just enough to free his cock, the tip already damp with pre-cum. You give it a few light strokes, coaxing more of the clear liquid out of it to spread down his length so you’re not jerking him off dry.

He sighs in a way that sounds like relief, and for a few moments, his hands still and he tips his head backward against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him. You allow him his moment of calm, before gently reminding him, “Watch the door.”

He straightens back out and his eyes immediately fix on the small window in the door. “We’re still good,” he confirms. Despite your reminder on where to keep his eyes, they flicker back down to you, but you can’t really blame him. You’d find it hard to watch the door, too.

Spencer goes back to kissing you, sliding his hands fully up under your skirt to grip your ass and pull you even closer to him. He encourages the way you naturally rock against him, but when he moves a hand to rub between your legs, you feel a frown on his lips.

“Why did you have to wear tights?” he downright whines.

“What?” you ask with a surprised laugh.

“You wear this skirt—that I know you know I love, by the way—and that’s great, because skirts are easier to get into than pants, but then you paired it with tights, so it’s like you’ve canceled out the benefits,” he protests. “Why?”

The little pout he’s giving you, even as you continue to stroke his dick, is adorable. “Because it gets cold in this place,” you answer, which is the truth. “I can slide them down a little—“

“No need.” And before you can fully process what’s happening, he’s moved both of his hands to the junction of your tights and tugs on it until it rips.

“Spencer Reid!” you hiss.

“Tights aren’t that expensive,” he says dismissively, pushing on the inside of your thigh to open your legs to him further. “You have my wallet at home. Just take my card and get a new pair.”

“I’m less concerned about the cost of a new pair of tights and more so about the fact that I planned to wear these all day,” you say. It’s the truth, but you also can’t deny that what he’s done was unbelievably hot.

Spencer doesn’t address these worries, but rather gets right on with what he ripped the tights to do. He runs his hand once across the fabric of your underwear, and you can tell when he feels the slight damp spot because he lets out a little growl in your ear that makes you shiver.

“Sweetheart, if you wouldn’t mind…” he murmurs as he pushes your panties to the side. He gives a little rock of his hips.

“Oh!” You realize that you’d stopped stroking him when he tore your tights, and start up again, pushing his own underwear a bit farther down to be able to run your hand across his full length.

“Thank you, my love,” he replies in a soft and gentle voice that contradicts the greedy way he’s sliding his fingers into your folds and coating them with your wetness. He doesn’t waste any time in pushing one finger inside you, quickly followed by a second when the first glides in so easily.

You sigh in the same way he did earlier, a sound that’s tinged with relief.

“Your own fingers and toys just aren’t the same, are they?” he coos, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

You twist your hand as you run it down his cock, then thumb the tip, drawing a barely suppressed moan out of him. “No, they aren’t,” you reply simply. “You know there’s only one thing that I like inside of me more than your fingers.”

He hums. “I do. And as much as I’d love to provide that, we’re already pushing it with what we’re doing now.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “We keep slowing down; we need to pick up the pace here.”

He nods, glancing up at the door again to check for any changes. “Then let’s get to it.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you. As your lips meet, you change your hold on his dick from soft and casual to firm and purposeful. At the same time, he adjusts his hand so his thumb can rub your clit.

Both of you are well versed in how to get each other off. You know what each other likes the best, and how exactly to do it. You just don’t normally do it this fast and aggressively.

It’s working, though. It’s not long before you’re both panting into each other’s mouths more than you’re kissing. It helps that neither of you have been satisfied for over a month. He may think you’ve done just fine getting yourself off over that time, but in truth, laying alone in your shared bed always makes you too sad to get in the mood.

He doesn’t need to know that, though. Doesn’t need anything else to worry about, to feel guilty about.

You tip your head forward onto his shoulder as you feel the tension that’s been steadily coiling in your core start to close in on the breaking point. “Spencer,” you sigh out in the way you know he likes best.

His answer is a groan and a buck of his hips into your hand. “Don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last here,” he says, voice strained.

“I know I’m not making it another minute,” you say bluntly. The hand you’re not using to get him off has been gripping his arm hard enough to leave little crescent shapes through his clothing, but you move it now to push up your sleeve so it won’t get dirty when he cums.

He’s been remarkably quiet this whole time—his inclination to ramble carries over into the bedroom—and you imagine it’s been no small effort on his part. But when he feels one of the involuntary clenches of your walls that signals that you’re close, his resolve breaks.

“Honey, look at me, please, I wanna watch you cum,” he says, speaking as fast as he can while keeping the words clear enough to be distinguished.

You lift your head as he asks, similarly looking forward to watching him. The expressions he makes always enchant you, and unlike him, you don’t have an eidetic memory to draw on when you want to see it.

“Thank you, thank you. You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “Brightening up these dreary walls.”

You adjust your hands, wrapping one of them around the base of his cock and keeping it there so you can focus more on the head with the other. You watch him bite his lip to hold back what would usually be an unabashed moan.

“Best days are when you visit,” he continues on. “I just wish we could do more together. I wish I could touch you every time. Mm, so close.”

“You or me?” you ask, despite knowing the answer.

“Both.”

He crooks his fingers inside of you, hitting just the right spot, and you can’t help but gasp and momentarily throw your head back. Your body has its eyes on the finish line, and it’s racing towards it. You clench down on his fingers hard.

“That’s it, just like that,” he breathes out, and you can tell from the way his own muscles are tensing that he’s trying to hold back his release to see yours first. “Can you come for me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

As always, your body responds to his words with enthusiasm. Seconds after his request, you reach your peak, moaning out his name as quietly as you can. He shudders as he climaxes right after you. His release coats your hand and inner arm, warm and wet, as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers.

“Oh, my god,” he sighs out, an expression of the pleasure and relief he’s feeling. You both rather clumsily work each other through your orgasms, unable to keep up the same steady pace while you’re distracted by the flood of feel-good hormones washing over you.

You stand catching your respective breaths for a few moments, then with the casual, practiced synchrony of lovers, he slips his fingers out of you, you let go of his cock, and you both wrap your arms around each other, mindful of which hands are sticky and wet.

When his lips find yours again, they’re gentle, almost reverent. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“My pleasure. Literally.” After hearing his quiet huff of laughter, you turn your head to rest your cheek against his shoulder. You can’t settle into each other’s arms in your regular way, but make do the best you can. In the quiet, familiar post-climax calm, things almost feel normal.

Almost.

You both look up at the ceiling as the buzzer that had quickly faded into the background of your mutual haze of lust suddenly stops.

“Think that’s our cue,” Spencer says softly, voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah,” you agree just as quietly. You both straighten out, reluctantly letting space between your bodies. With your clean hand, you reach into your pocket and pull out a travel-sized pack of tissues

He pauses in tucking himself back into his pants. “You just have those with you?”

“Yeah. I, um…” You take a moment to think on how to respond as you use a tissue to wipe his spend off your hand and inner forearm. You decide on the partial truth. “I cry in the car after visiting you sometimes, so…”

More like every time.

You have to look away from him, then, or else the little heartbroken look on his face will make you start crying now. You take the few tissues he’s used from his hand and look around for some sort of bin or trash can, but there isn’t one, so you stuff the soiled tissues into your empty pocket. Apparently you’ll be doing laundry when you get home.

Spencer puts his hands on your cheeks, a silent ask for you to look back at him. “I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this,” he whispers when you meet his eyes.

“It’s not your fault you’re being framed, love,” you reply.

He shakes his head. “I should’ve—“

“Shh.” You press a finger to his lips. “We could talk all day about shoulds, woulds, and coulds. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. That’s all we can do.”

He’s still cradling your face, and you lift your hands to loop around his wrists. You kiss him softly. He keeps his eyes shut when you pull back. “Try not to worry too much about me. Just focus on yourself and getting through this.”

The sigh he lets out is shaky, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “I’ll try.”

You wipe away the tear with your thumb and you’re about to try and comfort him further when the moment is cut short by the sound of a door opening down the hallway. “The guard’s back and heading down here,” Spencer confirms when he looks out the window.

You look over each other—you fix his collar, he straightens out your off-center skirt—then quickly move to your chairs.

“You know, I can hardly believe we got away with that,” you remark, lightening the mood and reaching across the table to hold his hand until the last possible second.

“Me either,” he chuckles, looking at you fondly.

The buzzing of the door signals you to pull your hands back and you fold them in front of you, trying to project a perfect image of innocence. You have to stifle a laugh when the two of you make eye contact out of the corners of your eyes.

The door swings open, and the guard doesn’t look much different than before, just red-faced and slightly sweaty from whatever he had left to do. “Visit’s over. All inmates are to go back to their cells,” he says, and you notice another guard is hovering behind him. He’s not as out of breath as the first, but definitely winded. You hope Spencer can get the scoop on what went down, because you really want to know.

“Okay,” you say simply, and stand. “I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replies, staying seated for the moment.

When you get to the door, the guard steps aside to let you through, but not before studying you with narrowed eyes. You assume he was anticipating one or both of you to protest the abrupt ending of your visit.

You turn to look at Spencer one last time before letting the second guard escort you out. You put on the adoring smile you know is one of his favorites, then press your fingertips to your lips and blow him a kiss.

Smiling back just as sweetly—god, you’ve missed that smile—he pretends to catch it and touches his own lips. For just one moment, with eyes only for each other, he seems completely relaxed.

“Come on,” the second guard says, grabbing your upper arm and tugging you away. You hate being manhandled by the guards, and normally you’d give them a piece of your mind, but today you don’t care. It’s worth it. Because for the first time in months, Spencer looks like himself.

—————

tell me what you thought here!

[dronningreid]

The shadow that haunts our hallways

↳ After the traumatic experience in prison, Spencer and Reader try to return to their lives, but the consequences torment both causing a disagreement between them; staying or leaving the BAU, something that could destroy their relationship.

main masterlist | my previous fanfic

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader category: angst, fluff and hurt comfort. warnings/tags: Arguments, disagreements, post-prison reid, mention of dilaudid, mention of Cat Adams and Peter Lewis, multiple mentions of Reid's prison arc, special appearance by Emily Prentiss, mention of kidnapping and death. English isn't my first language. word count: 5.9K a/n: Hey! I hope you like this, I didn't realize I hadn't posted anything in so long and I'm truly sorry. I wanted to write something fluffy but it seems angst is my specialty and well this was my most advanced draft because when I finished this I was sick and I really wanted to post something in honor of Spencer's return (I AM SO HAPPY). Oh to write this I was inspired by 2x5 when Spencer goes to Elle's hotel room (I miss her) Finally I think this is the first time I've written post-prison Reid.

Three months.

You'd dare say those had been the worst three months of your life. The angst, the uncertainty, the fear... it was the worst cocktail of emotions you'd ever had to drink.

Especially waking up in a huge bed with imaginary discomforts, the ones that weren't there when Spencer placed a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, "Goodnight, darling.”

But for three months, all you got in return were cold sheets and sleepless nights, wrapped in stormy unknowns like, would Spencer ever get the chance to see another sunrise? Or if, when you and the team managed to break the chains, would he be the same Spencer? who looked at you with that heartbreaking panic in those beautiful, innocent brown eyes before the police took him away to a federal prison. Of both unknowns, you were only sure of one. The Spencer Reid who entered Millburn wouldn't be the same one who left.

You and Penelope stood outside the correctional center, waiting for JJ, Luke, and Spencer to come out. It was the longest few minutes of your life, but it all ended when he walked out of that horrible place. He looked different, you didn't know exactly why, besides noticing the new length of his hair and his stubble. The only thing that anchored you to the comfortable past was the suit he was wearing, the same one he wore the last time you saw him.

Before greeting you, he approached Penelope. They hugged immediately, and when they finally separated, he approached slowly, stopping right in front of you. For a moment, you wanted to yell at him. You hated when Emily told you that Spencer didn't want you to visit him, you, the most important person in his life, maybe second only to Diana, but at least he wanted to see her.

But when you saw that lack of something you couldn't name in his eyes, you knew you couldn't stay angry with him, at least not forever, and much less now that you knew you could lose him at any moment.

You tentatively approached him, intending to hug him, though he took your action as consent that he could touch you. He placed his calloused hands on your cheeks, his thumbs caressing your soft skin as he gazed into your eyes for a few slow seconds before finally breaking down the barriers he'd built up and pressing his lips against yours. You sighed at the sweetness of his lips, your body relaxing almost immediately, and your eyes drifting closed at the familiarity you'd been missing.

Spencer was never the type to show affection in public, but after having absolutely nothing from you for three months, all he longed for was to have you as close as possible, and honestly, you too, so that you could protect him from anything that might hurt him.

Spencer finally broke the kiss to take a breath, which didn't bother you too much, since you had needed him so much that you would’ve been happy to drown in his kisses.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered meaninglessly, because you had truly forgiven him the moment you saw him in front of you, that’s how weak you were in Spencer Reid’s presence.

In response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I missed you.” You whispered against his neck.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around your waist and even pulled you closer, needing your closeness like he needed air. “And I missed you too…”

You would’ve liked to say that after the whole prison thing, Spencer got a decent meal and rest, but Mr. Scratch had other plans for the entire team.

At least the FBI gave them a break, but in your opinion you needed at least a year to recover from the recent events that had hit you like a tsunami (for lack of a better metaphor)

Spencer held the apartment door open for you to enter. “I didn't know Stephen very well, but he seemed like a good man.” Silence reigned; there wasn't much one could say in these situations anyway. “He visited me in prison. He probably had more important things to do, and yet he still took the time to be there for me even though he barely knew me.” He added after closing the door behind him. “How are you?”

You quickly wiped your tears away. At the slightest mention of Stephen, you could remember his wife; Monica, weeping inconsolably over his loss. You could've been her... "I only think about his family." You whispered weakly. "He didn't deserve that. He was a good person, a great profiler who ended up losing everything, even his life, for getting involved in the chaotic affairs of the BAU." Fresh tears trickled down your cheeks.

Spencer quickly approached, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your tears while rubbing slow circles on your back. “This is beyond Stephen, isn’t it?” He dared to ask.

Your eyes met his. “Until when?”

He frowned at your half question. “Until when what?”

“When will our learning end? Hotch lost Haley, Morgan almost lost Savannah.” <<I almost lost you>> “And don’t even get me started on the things you’ve lost or were about to lose because of this job.” Your voice was filled with a bitterness you hadn’t realized until now, a bitterness that grew day by day as an agent in the BAU.

Spencer had so many reasons to tell you why his job was worth it, but given recent events, it was only natural that the positive would be overshadowed by the thick, dark cloud hanging over you.

In the absence of a comment from your boyfriend, you decided to say what had been on your mind, no matter how controversial it might be. "Maybe it's time we tried our luck outside the BAU.”

Reid’s eyebrows rose at your suggestion, he couldn’t believe what had just come out of your mouth. “I don’t think you’re thinking this through clearly, sweetheart. We’ve been through a lot lately, which is why we can’t make any decisions now, not when all the emotions are running high.”

“This isn't an idea that came out of nowhere. I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I’d like to admit.” You confessed.

Spencer's expression began to harden. "How long? Why are you only telling me now?" His questions sounded almost like a complaint, and rightly so. He never believed you would keep something as big as that from him for who knows how long.

“I don't know exactly how long ago it was,” you exclaimed defensively before taking a deep breath. “Well, it's obvious why I'm telling you this now. You've been shot, you've been kidnapped, but this thing in prison was something completely different. I've never seen you like this before…” You stared into his eyes, emphasizing that special something that was conspicuously absent.

Spencer ran a hand over his face. “My love, listen, I don’t want to talk about that right now, and I don’t want to talk about quitting our jobs either.” His tone softened. “We just got back from a funeral, I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted. Can we just go to bed and talk tomorrow when we’re clear-headed?” You relented only when you saw the tiredness etched in his eyes.

But days passed, then weeks, and neither of you dared to broach the subject, at least not directly. You didn't, mainly because you were having such a good time with Spencer, and a difficult conversation like that would've its consequences. Plus, just thinking about it felt like someone was squeezing your heart.

Your days off were running out, your return to the BAU was imminent, and you still had the option of never returning. But for that, you'd have to sit down with Spencer and have a difficult conversation, because you couldn't sweep your problems under the rug forever.

Spencer wasn't home. Since he got out of prison, he'd tried to spend as much time with you as possible, but lately, and increasingly, he'd been going out alone, telling you he was going for a walk, getting coffee, or visiting Henry and Michael. His excuse today was that he was going to visit Diana, but his lies were about to crumble at your feet when the phone rang.

“Reid Residence.” You answered the phone as you had said so many times in the past. Perhaps it was silly, but saying Spencer’s last name gave you a certain comfort, especially during his stay in Millburn.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Emily added after saying your name.

“It’s not like that, I was just watching TV.” You replied, absentmindedly playing with the phone cord. Spencer was probably one of the few people in the world who still had a phone like that in his house or rather, it was your house, too. You still hadn’t gotten used to living with him, since you’d only been living together for a few days when he was arrested in Mexico.

“Oh, me too! I got obsessed with a show and-” Emily cut herself off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, could you please tell Reid the results of his psych evaluation are in?”

“Psychological evaluation?” Emily couldn't see it but your brow is furrowed.

“Yes, don't worry, I checked it myself. Everything's fine, considering everything that's happened.” You froze, Emily's words only served to confirm what your mind didn't want to fully accept, even though the suspicion was always there.

It was one thing to seek reassignment to the FBI, and another to lie to you,that had crossed the fragile line on which your patience hung.

“I brought blackberry pie.” Spencer exclaimed happily, announcing his return home.

You didn't bother to say goodbye properly to Emily; you just hung up the phone and stood there with your arms crossed, staring at him in annoyance.

Spencer's smile faded the instant he noticed your body language and your proximity to the phone, but he didn't say anything, waiting for you to break the growing tension in the air.

You didn't want to give in you needed him to say something, anything. But the silence was killing you, so you gave in, though not completely. "Emily called." Your words hung in the air.

You could see it in his eyes; he clearly knew what you were referring to, but from what he said next, it seemed like he just wanted to upset you. "Is that so?" He murmured casually. "What did she say to you?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Spencer Reid.” You exploded. He tended to be sassy at times, but this crossed every line for the man you shared a bed with.

Spencer sighed and took three steps in front of you, making sure to leave an appropriate distance. “I never meant for you to find out like this.”

“Your intention was to keep me from ever finding out.” You kept your tone high. “How did you expect to keep this from me? I’m a profiler, we work in the same unit.”

“There’s no need to scream.” He murmured in a controlled voice, perhaps too controlled. Perhaps he was afraid, afraid of exploding like he had in that interrogation room with Catherine Adams. No, he would never hurt you, at least not physically, because lying by omission was also harm.

“I’m not yelling!” Okay, that time you did it, so you forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice took on a controlled tone.

“Why?” He spat out, almost as if it were a joke, a very bitter one. “For the past few weeks, you’ve been making insinuations and comments about leaving the BAU. Fine! Resign if that’s what you want, but don’t drag me down with you.” He said firmly.

Your expression gave way to surprise before it took on a tinge of anger. “I will! I will leave the damn BAU, which has done nothing but cause me pain.” Your words were filled with bitterness.

Reid's firmness wavered at your comment. “That's where you met me…” He whispered. “Am I pain to you too?” For the first time in weeks, he allowed you to see his vulnerability.

You quickly shook your head. “Of course not.” You sighed in frustration. “Listen, I didn’t realize I hated my job until you went to prison.” Your heart ached this was still a sensitive topic. “Tell me something, Spencer. Why would you want to go back to the FBI? Especially when they turned their backs on you.”

“You had your reasons for believing he was guil-” You didn’t let him finish his justification.

“Of course not!” Actually, yes, but love makes us blind. And they didn’t know Spencer well, not like you or Emily, JJ, Penelope, Dave… “If we’d had the FBI’s backing, you wouldn’t have spent three damn months in that horrible place, and you’d still be you…”

Spencer frowned, his expression darkening with anticipation of what might come out of your lips. “Still be me?” A trick question that would be difficult to dodge.

“You've changed.” You limited your response. The fish dies by the mouth, isn't that what they say?

“Well, after three months in federal prison, I'd be worried if that experience hadn't changed me.” He crossed his arms.

“Experience? Is that what you call it?” Your expression reflected your annoyance. “Of course, it would be stupid to expect you to be the same, but a lot of things have changed. You didn’t even let me visit you.” Your words sounded almost like a reproach, and maybe they were.

“Oh, wow.” Spencer threw his hands in the air. “It took you a while to bring that up.” His words were laced with venom.

“How did you expect me to react?” You raised your voice again, Reid’s jaw tightening. “Everyone else had the right to see you, except me, your girlfriend…” You hated when your voice broke.

Spencer's expression softened slightly. "I didn't want you to see me like that." He explained.

"Battered? Miserable? Different?" You blurted out, waiting for the answers that had been tormenting you.

“Why do you insist I’m different?” He raised his voice as well. “I’m the same man.” He insisted almost desperately, trying to make the idea fit not only your mind, but also in his own.

“Why are you!” You exclaimed firmly. “You carry a second gun holster.” You pointed.

“It’s a precaution.” He excused himself.

“No, that’s paranoia." You countered. “And that’s the least of it. I can no longer see that innocence in your eyes, the faith that this isn’t such a bad world.” You sighed. “On the surface, it’s not a huge change, but I notice it. I noticed it when that sweet, somewhat innocent man I fell in love with slammed a pregnant woman against a wall and muttered that he was going to kill her.”

Your words were a sentence, and for a long time they tormented you, as you replayed the scene over and over again.

An old friend settled in Spencer's eyes: guilt. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I shouldn't have…" His voice broke as he sank onto the couch. "I'm not like that. I was… I don't know…”

You wanted him to be aware of his change, but you regretted it when you saw the pain and guilt in his eyes, in his expression, radiating from his entire being. If that was the price, you weren't willing to pay it. You would never do anything that could hurt him, not even something that would cause the slightest scratch.

You followed him to the couch, resting your hand on his knee. “I know that’s not the kind of person you are, and I really want to believe it was just a one-time thing, caused by all the emotions you were going through, that you still go through every second.” He stared down at the carpet, but you knew he was listening. “I’ve known you for years, Spence. You’re so kind, too good for this world. You don’t usually resort to such extremes because that’s not you, and then comes the regret and eternal guilt.” From the expression in his eyes, you knew those two were already manifesting. “Seeing you there, like that, destroyed me in ways I never anticipated,” you whispered.

“I’m not so kind or a saint, I’m not as good as you think I am.” He said, his gaze still as lost as his. “What happens next? Will I actually kill someone? I… I’m afraid this is who I am now.” His voice broke, his curls covering his eyes, but you could bet tears were gathering at the corners.

You immediately wrapped him in a hug, and he clung to your arms. “No, no, no. You're still you, with a few changes, but you're still you…” You cling to that idea, not the despicable facts.

“But for how much longer?” He murmured against your shirt, this time you could feel the wet drops on the fabric of your shirt.

“I don't know,” you whispered. “But if you stay in that job, it'll probably keep taking pieces of you away, until what's left is little or nothing…” It wasn't the right time, but you had to say it, make him understand, a last ditch effort to keep from losing him…

Spencer pulled away from the hug. “You can’t know.” He still had tears on his cheeks.

"You joined the FBI very young, a different person than you are now. Have you ever wondered what your life would be like? Without gunshot wounds, without kidnappings, without Dilaudid, without deaths..." The answer to that question was many times, but he didn't say anything, preferring to ponder everything in silence.

“I won't force you to leave the BAU, but I will because I can't stand being there anymore, no matter how much I once loved it.” Your voice cracked. “And I really wish you would come with me because I can't lose you, Spencer. I couldn't bear it…”

Spencer stood up from the couch, dusted off his clothes, and hurried to wipe the evidence of his vulnerability off his face. “I’d love to give you what you want, but the BAU is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t think I can really leave it, no matter how many pieces of me it takes in the process.” And with that, he headed into the bedroom, not even waiting for a syllable to leave your lips.

The following days were filled with something different in the air, something that made everything more complicated and everything got even worse when Spencer was reassigned to the FBI, although not completely according to him and although he resented his days off you were secretly happy even though your relationship wasn't at its best.

You decided that once that case was over, you'd announce your departure from the FBI. Matt Simmons had joined the team, after all, which gave you some peace of mind. Although those were the kinds of decisions you made with Spencer, and doing it alone felt even more wrong…

You stopped by the Naples, Florida, police department. Honestly, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You knew you were supposedly working, but the status of your relationship with Spencer had you worried, to say the least.

You had to fix this no matter what, so you swallowed your pride and headed to where you knew Spencer and Emily were.

Along the way, you rehearsed how you would tell Spencer that you supported him, that if his decision was to stay at the BAU, you respected and supported him because that's what a couple does. You mentally rehearsed your speech, perhaps a bit too cheesy, so you limited everything you felt for him to just "I love you.”

The door was half closed, you were about to burst in but you were friends with Penelope Garcia so you stayed behind the door listening to the conversation between Emily and Spencer.

“Because I wanted to kill Scratch.” Reid's words caught you off guard, but honestly, everyone at the BAU has had that same thought at some point.

“Standing room only on that bus.” Emily replied.

“No, I mean it literally. After what he did to you, if I had found him, I would have killed him. And… I would have slept well.” His words were like having a glass of ice water thrown over your head in winter.

It was one thing to think about killing someone, with someone like Peter Lewis, there was a kind of justification, but you're supposed to be the embodiment of justice. You wouldn't have cared if someone had said that. But you knew Spencer or at least you thought you did, because your Spencer, the awkward boy who trembled when he asked you to be his girlfriend, that guy couldn't sleep well if there was blood on his hands, no matter the reasons, he'd be tormented by guilt until his last breath. This new man, on the other hand, admitted he was okay with it; it was more than you could bear.

You carefully turned around, discarding the reason you were there in the first place. You told yourself you weren't running away, but honestly, you were. But you weren't running away from your beloved; you were running away from what he had become.

Arriving at the hotel at night after a long day's work, you approached Emily, asking to be put in a different room from Reid. The hotel had enough rooms, but Emily looked at you with some confusion.

“Is everything okay?” Emily asked, only the two of you were in the lobby, the rest had gone to their rooms.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah, I just want the bed to myself.” The version of you from several months ago wouldn't have been able to stand being even two inches away from Spencer.

Emily was more respectful of privacy, so she gave you the space you needed without further questions. But she still got involved by giving you the key to the room across the hall from Spencer's.

Spencer was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. When he didn't see you walk through the door, he went out to look for you in the lobby. He didn't find you, so he asked at the hotel reception where they told him your room number. It wasn't the same as his, and you were just across the hall, but the distance felt like more than that. It had been feeling that way for a while, for both, actually.

Spencer sighed heavily, running his hands over his face. Part of him wanted to give you the space you forced upon him, but he'd been locked away for three months without anything from you… And finally, there was that proud part of him that refused to seek you out without you doing it first.

That's how it was lately, someone had to give in and neither of them was willing to do it.

But if no one did something soon, everything he had built would crumble at his feet… The mere thought of losing you made Spencer quickly get out of bed and head out the door.

You were lying in bed, tossing and turning, when your phone suddenly rang. You answered it without noticing who it was. “Can we talk?” You swore Spencer’s voice on the other end of the line made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s late, and I was about to fall asleep.” That’s what you wanted to come out of your lips, but instead it was… “Sure.” You hated the urgency evident in your tone.

Then the door rang. You pushed back the covers before getting out of bed and then opened it. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting in case you said yes.” Spencer still had the phone to his ear when you opened the door. His voice was so soft it almost made you forget everything that had been different about him lately.

You both put away your phones, and a smile inevitably formed on your lips. “Your room is across the hall.” Remembering the troubles surrounding you, your smile slowly faded, until only a ghost of what was left remained, just like you and him.

Spencer stared at you, as if your eyes could give him all the answers he was looking for. “Why aren't you sleeping with me?” He asked cautiously. “Is it because I kicked you the other night? Because I already apologized for that.”

His attempt to lighten the mood drew a small laugh from you, and for a moment you could see him again, your dear and beloved Spencer Reid. “No, it’s not that.” You shook your head.

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles but his eyes fixed on you. “So tell me why, sweetheart, why aren't you next to me in bed?”

His eyes were so intense, so intense they triggered the truth. “Because I needed space.”

Spencer looked almost hurt. He stopped wiggling his thumbs but continued to hold your hands. “Do you want space now?” He asked tentatively, hoping the answer was no.

“I don’t know…” You whispered.

Spencer sighed and finally let go of your hands. “It’s been like this between us lately, hasn’t it? We let it build up and then you push me away like a bad habit. I honestly didn’t expect I’d have to sleep alone tonight, and the worst part is, I don’t even know why.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re in trouble, that’s obvious, but we’re still holding onto this, and I thought a better way to deal with it was to give me a break.” You explained.

“A break from me?” His expression said it all, that hard mask firmly covering the pain, the pain that what he had could end and he hadn’t even realized it.

You closed your eyes for a moment, regretting your choice of words and his interpretation of them. “A break from what you are now.” You corrected your words, but not for better.

He sighed in frustration, hating your constant reminder of what he was and what he is. “Oh, so now I'm some kind of monster you must escape?” His tone was filled with bitterness.

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” You clenched your jaw, keeping yourself from yelling and starting an argument in the hallway. “I would never refer to you as a monster.”

“So what do you mean?” He asked sharply. “Uhm? What word would you use to describe what I am now? What seem to despise to you.” After that, he said your name with a certain chilling undertone.

“A stranger.” You blurted out, and from the expression on his face, you knew the word stranger stung more than monster. “That’s how I see you, and excuse me, but it’s hard to see my sweet boyfriend as anything more than a stranger when I hear him say he would’ve killed a man without remorse and slept well afterward.”

Spencer looked up from the floor, realizing you'd overheard his conversation with Emily. “So that's why you've been avoiding me all day? That's why you sent me to the dog house?”

You frowned. “You seem to be downplaying it.”

Spencer sighed heavily. “It’s not like that, but it’s hard to believe my words affected you when Scratch doesn’t deserve any courtesy, not after what he did to our team, our family.” His words came out firmly.

“Peter Lewis is dead!” Maybe shouting the reminder would bring him to his senses. “We’re supposed to be on the side of justice, and beyond that, you’re not like that. When you first killed someone, you couldn’t sleep, the guilt ate at you, no matter how bad that man was.” You responded with the same firmness as him.

Spencer remained silent, you hit the nail on the head because he usually had a lot to say.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, you’re going through a lot and honestly, I can see the resentment building up in your eyes. This is going to destroy you, Spencer, and I'm not willing to see it happen.” You whispered.

A flicker of fear crossed Spencer's eyes. "What are you trying to say?" He asked tentatively.

You swallowed, trying to ease the weight of your words that made a lump in your throat. “I’m trying to say that I need some time away from this, Spencer, away from you. And permanently some time away from the BAU. This is my last case.”

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You should admit. Spencer had done a great job on this case, even though his personal life was crumbling around him especially with the things you'd said to him.

The jet ride was silent, except for the small talk between Luke, JJ, and Spencer. Everything else was peaceful, normal…

Your initial plan was to announce your departure on the jet, but you decided to postpone it until you arrived at the BAU so you could say a more appropriate goodbye to Penelope. You couldn't give a half-hearted goodbye to the sweetest woman on earth.

You never liked goodbyes, and honestly, who does?

You could still feel a ghostly trace of the hugs you received from your friends and now ex colleagues. Their farewell speeches haunt your mind, and for a moment you wished that saying goodbye to something that was once a home didn't feel so bitter, like escaping through the emergency exit.

There were dried tears on your cheeks, the physical reminder of the goodbye that was rekindled when the cool night air hit your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Spencer chivalrously offered to drive you to the hotel where you were going to stay until you found a place or until you decided to come back to him, which would be unlikely if neither of you were willing to give in.

“So I guess this is goodbye, although I hope it won't.” He said honestly as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“We’ll see where life leads us.” You replied, though you didn’t really want to go where the tide took you. You wanted to choose for yourself, but you didn’t have the strength to swim against the current.

Spencer handed you your bag, holding back the words. “I hope it leads you back to me.” He gave you what looked like the ghost of a smile before you opened the car door.

But before you could get out of the car, Spencer said your name in that way only he could make your heart skip a beat. You turned around almost immediately, searching for what he had to say. “What you said was true?” You frowned, needing more information, because you had said a lot, especially to him. “About how resentment is going to destroy me…” He finished it.

You nodded slowly before looking away. This was more difficult than either of you could have anticipated. “It's like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die.”

Spencer just nodded silently, but you knew he was reflecting on your words, as you knew every one of his expressions perfectly, some of which you had even adopted.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” You mumbled before finally getting out of the car. A cowardly goodbye, because if you stayed any longer, you'd probably jump into his arms.

You headed to the hotel reception, you searched your bag for your wallet to pay for the room but then you found something else, Spencer's credentials in your bag, he was going to quit…

You ran out of the hotel, but Spencer and the car were no longer where you'd left them. So you frantically flagged down a taxi.

When you reached your old building, you ran up the stairs. You finally arrived in front of the door to the apartment you'd once shared with Spencer and knocked, knowing that using the keys you hadn't yet returned would be invasive.

When Spencer opened the door, you didn't expect to see the surprise etched on his face. You wanted to tell him so many things; your heart was racing, really racing, from him, or rather, from running. But then, before you could give a grand speech, you crushed your lips against his.

He didn't even hesitate for a second, his hands wrapped around your waist, his eyes closed and his soft sigh caressed your lips during the kiss.

After a few seconds, you pulled away, breathing as rapidly as he did. “I thought you might need more time.” Spencer was the first to break the silence, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I needed it, I did, but you left something in my bag. I don't know if it's a mistake or-” He interrupted you as you spoke hurriedly.

“I'm going to quit.” He replied with conviction.

You looked at him intently, still believing this was too unreal. “We have a lot of things to sort out, and I don’t want you to feel pressured. You shouldn’t leave your job just because of me. I know what I said before, but I love you, and if you love your job at the BAU, I accept it. Just please don’t become a stranger. I know it’s difficult, but hold on to the real Spencer Reid, the sweet, innocent, and clumsy man I fell in love with.” Your voice and your eyes were full of pleading.

Spencer took your face in his hands. “I promise I won’t become a stranger. I really don’t want to become someone I’m not. And if the price to pay is leaving the BAU, I’ll accept it because I can’t lose myself, and I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You rested your face in his hands. “You really don’t have to quit your job. You don’t have to sacrifice anything to be with me. I would never ask that of you.” You had, but now it was different. You couldn’t do that to Spencer. You could never do anything that would hurt him, not him.

“I know.” He continued to caress your face. “We’ve had difficult times for this job, because it’s about sacrifice, and I don’t know how I was so blinded before. But I won’t let my job cost me my relationship with you, much less myself.” He replied with a hint of sadness.

“But I don’t want you to rush into a decision, so what if we make a pros and cons list or something?” You looked at him.

Spencer let out a soft laugh. “I already told Emily.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, one that wasn’t enough to ease your doubts. “Hey, it’s okay. I have three PhDs to fall back on, remember?”

“It’s not that… I just don’t want the years to go by and you blame me for forcing you to leave your job.”

Spencer stroked your hair. “Hey. I would never blame you, because this is only my decision.” His response put you at ease. “Besides, I'd been thinking about it for a while, but I didn't want to admit it because the BAU is all I've ever known.” He admitted.

You raised your head to look at him. “Surely in a few years you won’t hate me for that?” You asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Of course not, although it would be a good idea to attend couples therapy, maybe to strengthen communication.”

You nodded slowly; the idea actually sounded pretty good. For a moment that day, you'd felt like you'd lost everything, and now it seemed like everything was going to be resolved. That lifted a huge burden off your shoulders.

“You know I love you, right?” Spencer caressed your face again.

You leaned down to kiss his palm. “I love you, too.”

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

This is a request by @asterio14 hope you like it sorry it has taken me so long to write your request.

Another Spencer Reid X Teen convicted reader.

This is not related to all to my other Spencer Reid x prisoner teen reader completely different.

Request: Both Spencer Reid and Reader are serving life sentences at adult prison. Reader has already served three or four years. is a character who doesn't mind being in prison, perceiving it as natural habitat. He is the one welcoming Spencer into his new home. The reader is put in for Arson but accidentally killed someone.

Third person pov...

In Millburn Correctional Facility a H/C teen sits in his cell, the cell itself wasn't very large but he still had a sink, a usable toilet, small plastic mirror hanging on the wall, a small bed with a thin cover and single pillow.

Opposite another bed but with no one staying in it, 18 year old Y/N had been in this correctionally facility for 2 and a half years for arson and accidental homicide, when he was 16 he stupidly played with matches and accidently set a barn on fire and the owner happened to be inside the barn.

He tried to save them but was already dead when Y/N dragged them out. Since he got sent to prison, he has been a model prisoner and was allowed curtain things others weren't, such as books to read and a sketchbook to draw in.

After a couple of months the teen got used to being in prison, as he was a minor he was sent for a juvenile centre then when he turned 18 was sent to this correctionally facility.

Currently the teen was sketching on his bed, humming a song he liked, his back lent against the wall his knees up so prop up the sketchbook for him to sketch.

A guard knocks on the barred door alerting the teen, he glanced awa from his sketchbook then back just as quick. "Prisoner L/N, you've got company" calls a guard, Y/N just gives a thumbs up to the guard but doesn't move, by now the guards know the teen enough that he wont move when they open his cell.

Once the door was closed, he looked up and saw a man. "Guess your my cell mate then" he says, the guy was young looking with longish curly hair with a young but haunted face, he was tall and lanky around 6ft.

The man just stares at the kid, Spencer was first surprised at how young his cell mate was, the kid didn't look older than 20, he had H/C hair and E/C eyes, he was wearing a white t shirt and the prison uniform pants the shirt was hung up.

Y/N gives the guy a friendly looking smile. "Yo! I'm Y/N, nice to meet you" he says Spencer is glad he doesn't hold his hand out for a handshake, Y/N goes back to his sketching.

Spencer then sits down on the opposite bed, he was glad to be moved into these smaller cells and away from the public ones he was first in, Spencer watches the boy before realising he didn't introduce himself.

"Im Spencer Reid, nice to meet you Y/N" He says, the boy only smiles and gives the man a thumbs up. Over the next few days Y/N and Spencer got to know each other.

Y/N tells him why he was in prison and Spencer explains his story about him being an FBI agent and how he got blackmailed and put in prison, 3 weeks later they had bonded like brothers.

Y/N told his tragic backstory of loosing his Mum at a young age and having an ass hole of a dad, who neglected him and didn't tell him what was right or wrong so he went with anything.

Spencer was sympathetic to the kid and told him about his dad leaving him and his mum alone. Y/N laughs making Spencer look over at the teen. "We both had shitty Fathers then" his words makes Spencer laugh as well.

"I suppose we do" he mutters into the darkness of the cell.

12 weeks later, Spencer has been released from Prison but his team and Mr Scratch is no more, for his last day and night Spencer spends it with his new friend and brother Y/N.

After dinner the two sit in their shared cell, Y/Nsat on his bed and Spencer sat on his own, it is silent until Spencer gets up from his bed and sits next to Y/N on his.

The teen currently had their head in their knees not looking at Spencer, he had been secretly hoping the this day wouldn't come so soon, when Spencer goes he would be alone again.

Spencer fidgets awkwardly before breaking thr silence. "I'm sorry Y/N, but I've been found innocent by the Judge I have to go" he tries to reason with the teen.

Y/N keeps his head in his knees not talking, Spencer sighs and sits suddenly Y/Ns pulls him into a tight hug that he couldn't seem to want to let go off.

Spencer frozen physical contact was not his thing, The teens arms shake as they hug the older man tightly, Spencer relaxes slightly and hugs the teen back.

He will miss the young kid alot and will always be thinking of him.

The end!

So sorry for thr wait I didn't have alot for this oneshot so sorry that it is alot shorter than thr usual 1000 + oneshots, I've been busy with my classes and trying not to burn out from everyone and thing.

As usual so sorry for the grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Worr count: 960

[the-fiction-witch]

Soaked

Media - Sex Education Character - Otis Millburn Couple - Otis X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18+ (Nudity suggested / nipple play/ breast play/ eating out/ squirting) Word Count - 891

Otis and Y/n sprinted down the slick pavement, doing their best to navigate the puddles that formed quicker than they could dodge them. Their breath came in quick bursts, and their hearts raced as they fought against the relentless deluge that hammered everything in its path. The storm had arrived with a ferocity that caught everyone off guard, just that morning, the world had been bathed in warm sunlight, with a bright blue sky stretching endlessly overhead, a quintessential summer day that promised nothing but ease.

But by the time they had settled into their classes, ominous dark clouds rolled in, blocking out the sun, and thunder boomed in the distance like a relentless drum. Rain poured down in sheets, drenching the entire landscape, and transforming the school's playground into a small lake. Roads quickly became rivers, washing away the calm of the morning, while inside the school, the power flickered and went out, plunging classrooms into a dim, eerie twilight. Realizing that the weather was beyond their control, the school made the call to send everyone home early. As students flooded out of classrooms, excitement mingled with apprehension, and Y/n and Otis found themselves racing against the elements, unprotected, without umbrellas or raincoats.

Just as a low rumble of thunder reverberated ominously above them, Y/n dashed into the safety of the brown brick bus stop, her sneakers splashing in the widening puddles, with Otis close on her heels.

With hearts pounding and chests heaving from the exertion, they paused to catch their breath, their bodies still shocked by the sudden chill of the cold rain.

Otis glanced at Y/n and found it hard to look away from her. He took his bottom lip between his teeth struggling to soothe his thumping heart as he looked at her.

Y/n stood looking out to the rain, her hair drenched and flat down her back, her white uniform shirt turned sheer from being so utterly soaked in rain, the curves of her body evident, her white cotton bra on full display stuck to her body. Her uniform skirt saturated flat against her thighs, her bare legs shivering as water ran and dripped down her body.

It took all his might not to stare, not to push her against the wall and warm her up. But he knew he was in a similar state, and already his hardening cock was visible through his wet trousers.

“Y/n,” He said, “You okay?”

She nodded, “Cold.”

“Come here,” He offered opening his arms,

Without a word, she shuffled her feet across the bus stop and into Otis's arms,

He softly chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist laying his head on her shoulder, “That feel better?”

“Mhm,” she nodded doing her best not to shiver,

“Hopefully it won’t be long till the bus comes.” He told her,

“We can hope,” she agreed,

Otis tried his best not to push his hard-on up against her, his hands gently stroking across her soaked clothes.

Y/n stepped back trying to push herself against his warm body, but immediately tensed up feeling his hard-on against her, “Ohh…”

He couldn’t help but smirk, “Hi Y/n.”

“Hi…” she blushed,

“You’re still cold? You’re shivering sweetheart.” He growled in her ear, his hands slipping up to cup her breasts,

She gasped and laid her head against his shoulder,

Otis smirked and began to squeeze her breasts hard stroking his hands in little circles as he squeezed and groped her,

She softly bit back a moan her hips squirming against his, her nipples getting hard from the cold and the friction of his hands,

“Fuck-” Otis cursed softly, turning and pushing her up against the bricks,

Y/n looked up at Otis with big eyes gasping hard and fast, “Wha- what if the bus comes…”

“We will wait for the next one,” He gasped pushing his body up against her kissing her lips hard and letting his hands roam her, his hands falling to her thighs and pushing up her skirt, until he revealed her panties, “Fuck… you’re soaked.”

“It’s the rain,” she blushed,

“Liar.” He smirked, as he dropped to his knees on the cold concrete,

She playfully squirmed as he tugged down her panties,

Once the panties were around her ankles Otis moved between her legs and began to kiss and nibble on the outer lips of her pussy,

Y/n muffled her moans and squeals under her hand,

Otis smirked and kissed her clit, he made sure to be slow but merciless getting faster and faster and drawing her closer and closer to the edge,

She whined and whimpered under her moans, fighting back the urge to squirt or cum all over his face,

All while of course, Otis was trying to make both things happen,

It hit her suddenly and she let out a short scream as her body shook, her head thrown back, and she squirted down his chin,

Otis licked it all up excitedly making sure to keep her enjoying the peak of pleasure for as long as possible until he finally pulled back and licked his lips, “Happy sweetheart?”

“Yes…” she gasped, “Ohh! The bus!”

He quickly got to his feet wiping his mouth as Y/n pulled up her panties,

They shared some body spray just as the bus pulled up, and they rushed out onto the bus giggling as they sat down together eager to get home.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 722

Gif NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If this gif is yours please let me know, so I can give you credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2021

[midala-of-the-valley]

Midalas David 8/Prometheus Masterlist

David 8 x Reader

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine Prologue, Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6, Pt7, Pt8, Pt9, Pt10, Pt11, Pt12, Pt13, Pt14, Pt15, Pt16, Pt17, Pt18, Pt19, Pt20, Pt21, Pt22, Pt23, Pt24, Pt25, Pt26, Pt27, Pt28, Pt29

Oneshots and Imagines:

Emergency Presents for a Certain Android Imagine David teaches you how to waltz Imagine you're helping David bleach his hair. Congratulations! (Crack Birthday Oneshot) I wanna do all the things that lovers do (Valentine's Special) Imagine you're plagued by nightmaresNSFW Alphabet for David

David 8 x Elizabeth Shaw Questions to the Void

Rafe Millburn x Sean Fifield x Reader Darling, that was Lily of the Valley Early Hours, Tangled Limbs

✨️Midalas Unhinged Prometheus Prompts✨️ You should be with me (Meredith Vickers x Reader) Stop imagining it (Walter x Reader)

[babbling-idiot2]

Millburn x  M/ reader

Requested: Nope

Warning: Fluff

(It is not opinion, but it is fact that Millburn from Prometheus, deserved better! He deserved a happy ending! Also this is a male reader! I hope you enjoy!)

****

When you had woken up from your deep sleep. You were met by a wave of nausea. Instantly you felt hot saliva and your face was in between your legs letting go of anything in your system. "Oh god, what the hell?" You say out loud but more to yourself. David walks over after checking on the others. "You seem to not remember that before you went into deep sleep, you were quite ill. Your illness has passed but the nausea will last for a few hours." He says as he sets a paper towel in your hand and walks away without a care in the world. You shake your head and look back to the mess between your feet "Fucking androids." Wiping at your mouth you hear someone laughing in the pod next to yours. Casting a glance behind you you see a man. He had dirty blonde hair and glasses. He had a cheesy looking smile on his face and he held his hand out to you after he seemed to calm down a bit. "Millburn, nice to meet you..?" You stood up and looked at him with a stern glare "I'm none of your god damn business!" You say as you walk out of the room. Later on in the day you actually started to feel better and you also though about what you said. Truth be told it was harsh, but also you threw up every bit of contents in your stomach. You weren't in the mood to be all happy and jolly. But you did want to apologize. So, for a second you looked around after getting your tray. You spot him across the room, sitting alone. You walk over slowly trying not to spill the boiling contents of soup. When you made it over you sat the tray down and sighed out. Looking up you see that Millburn was already looking at you. Another cheesy smile was plastered on his face and he seemed glad you were in front of him. "Anyone sitting here?" He shakes his head and gestures to the seat "Nope, all yours." You nod and sit down. "Listen, uh Milburn right?" "Yep!" "Alright, well Millburn I would like to apologize for my rude outburst earlier. I wasn't feeling great and just lashed out at the nearest person. Also between me and you-" you say as you lean closer, he does as well and for a small moment you thought, how beautiful his eyes looked, you felt your heart go a tad bit faster and you snapped out of your small moment. "-I- I um, I don't uh...Like Uh, androids all that much." He smiles even wider and nods his head while still looking at you. You look down and lean back in your chair. You tried to think of anything else but him. You wanted to change the subject. "S-so, the uh soup. Is it good or bad?" "Its good." He says as he continues to smile. Deep down you knew he could read you like a book. But you just hoped you didn't look like a fool. After everyone ate you all were asked to join in the main room for a meeting of sorts. At first it was to meet the guy running the show. And after doing so everyone started to mention their roles on the ship and why they were here. That was until everyone had to know why you were here. "I'm here to makes sure you don't die." "So your a doctor?" You open your mouth to answer but David cuts you off. "Yes. He is our medical advisor and is quite good at his job. If you need medical assistance you will go to him." Your hands go straight to your face and you groan out. You then stand and start walking to the exit. "The meeting is not over yet." "It is for me, robo." You say walking straight to the med bay. When you enter you go over to one of the many computer and sit at the chair. Laying your head on the desk you breath out shakily in anger. For a while you sat like that. Soaking in your own anger. That was the one thing you hated most, people interrupting and androids. They always gave you a bad feeling, especially David. You still sat in your own anger. That was until you heard the doors open and you immediately straightened up. You turned around with a smile until you saw David. Your roll your eyes and turn back around. "What do you want David?" "I will warn you now Mr. L/n. Skipping a meeting can result in consequences." You turn around slowly and stare at him "Is that a threat I hear? Or are you always this bitchy?" You say as you stand up. Walking over to him you look at him in the eyes. So lifeless. So emotionless. So dead. "Not at all, but I can only imagine what it is like to be a ignorant...? Oh what is that word I hear Fifield use? Ahh yes a, prick." Your fists ball in anger and you grab him by his lapels. Pushing him against the wall you bring your other hand back and punch him. Once, twice then a third time. By the fourth punch your hand is bleeding and he seems untouched. "Get the hell out you stupid fuck!" You let go and he walks out. You lay your hands flat on the wall in front of you. Your injured hand burns and aches with ever move. You squeeze your eyes shut at the pain. Breathing heavily you don't even hear the sound of foot steps coming into the room. "You need help with your hand?" You recognize the voice, Millburn. You look to the side and see him giving a small smile. "Sure." You say walking over to one of the many medical counters. You hop on top of it as he walks over to you. You point over at a cabinet, "In there, there is alcohol, Neosporin and in the top cabinet is some gauze and tape." He nods at this and brings everything back over to you. "So. You punched David huh? That quite uh, impressive." You raise an eyebrow. "I punched an android and fucked my hand up. How is that impressive? To be honest, ill probably pick up a few chicks with this or some shit." You laugh slightly at the small joke you made. "Or men." You look at him oddly for a moment as he continues to clean your hand. You honestly thought you were the only person on board who was interested in the same sex. Guess you were wrong. "Oh, and what is that suppose to mean, Millburn?" He smiles goofily. He shakes his head and continues to aid your hand. You use your other hand and card is through his curly hair. He stops what he's doing when he feels this. His eyes roll back and so does his head, he swallows thickly. You smile at the sight and decide to take a chance. You lean in slowly and kiss at the column on his throat. You pepper kisses up and down his neck and finally lean back after to observed a few small purple marks littered on his neck. He smiles again and wraps his arms around your waist. "I like you." "I like you too." You say rubbing his back with your uninjured hand. "Can I tell you something?" You nod "Well, before I went into my pod the first time. I saw you in the pod next to mine and I just thought you were so handsome. I got a crush on you when I saw you. And when I later found out we both would be on Prometheus, I just got so giddy with excitement! I couldn't wait to meet you. That's why I was smiling at you when we woke up!" You smile and lean in to peck his lips. He smiles into it and pulls away. He sighs out in content and goes back to doctoring up your hand. After this you'd definitely have take him on a date of some sort.

****

(I will write for him cause he is Cute! And he deserves love. I will gladly take requests for him all day long. :))

[lipstickstainz]

true lies - s. r. (11/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: you know what's coming - the truth.

Warnings: angst, minor violence

Word Count: 2k

A/N: i listened to my favorite saddest songs while writing. be prepared. thanks for your kind feedback! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous part

JJ snaps you out of your thoughts. There's an expression on her face that you can't find the words for. "Y/N? What does she mean?"

You have to swallow. Your throat is tight and you can barely breathe, so you cling to her to keep from sinking to the floor. You can't take your eyes off the two in the interrogation room.

"What deal?" Spencer sits up straighter than he already does. His whole body is tense.

Cat shakes her head. "I thought you weren't here to talk about her or you."

When Spencer slaps the table with his palm, she doesn't even flinch. You do, the harder, and JJ's hands clench into fists. But you only notice this out of the corner of your eye. "What deal, Cat?" His tone is harsh, leaving no room for Cat's games.

She sighs. "Maybe you should ask her yourself. After all, she did come here with you, didn't she? I don't think she'd skip this dance." Cat looks past Spencer to the one-way mirror, straight through it, as if she knows you'd be standing right there. Her grin is crooked and ugly. "Come on, Y/N. You should know I don't bite. Not without notice, anyway."

You feel JJ's gaze on you as you enter the interrogation room without a word. You close the door behind you and out of the corner of your eye you notice Spencer looking at you. But your gaze is fixed straight on Cat. You stop right at the door.

"It's good to see you again, Y/N."

You don't have to be a mind reader to know what's going on in Spencer's head. It's practically written all over his face. Again?

"Hi, Cat," you reply curtly. You feel like shooting her.

"I always knew you lived dangerously. But I didn't think you were stupid. Yet you were the smartest one on your team. No offense, Spencie." She says it like she's bored out of her mind, not like the whole situation could completely escalate in the next second. Spencer tries not to let on, but you can read the confusion on his face. "I guess I was wrong about that."

"What are you talking about?" you ask, involuntarily taking a step forward. Cat takes it as a sign to keep talking.

"I know you killed my partner in crime. Must have been quite a mess, I'm told. Shot right through the head. Kudos, Y/N. I knew you were smart, but you're also badass. Who would have thought." She raises her hand and inspects her filthy and chewed fingernails. Her gaze drifts to you without her moving her head. She looks at you through her eyelashes, which makes her look crazy. "Quite a pity about him. But he was really just my accomplice's boyfriend. So, not worth mentioning."

Accomplice? Boyfriend?

It only takes a brief moment for everything to come together in your head. Apparently, all emotion falls from your face, because Cat looks extremely pleased. "You didn't play by the rules, Y/N. And now someone else has to pay for it."

In three steps, you've crossed the room and pulled Cat from her chair. Before Spencer can stop you, you push her full force against the nearest wall, causing a gasp to escape her mouth. You press your forearm against her throat and she lets out a hoarse laugh. Her gaze mirrors yours. Fierce and unyielding. The pressure on her throat intensifies and she has to cough.

You feel big hands on your shoulders, yanking you back so that you stagger and bump into the table. For a brief moment, you want to fight back as you leap forward again to put a stop to Cat once and for all, but Spencer extends his arm to allow some distance between you. You don't look at him. Out of anger and out of shame, because this isn't you.

"What's going on here?", he finally asks when you've pulled yourself together a bit and he's sure you won't kill her the next chance you get. "What's she talking about, Y/N?"

Cat's look is challenging and you know full well she's not going to say anything. She's dropped the bomb and now it's up to you to make sure the explosion isn't too devastating. You look at Spencer and tears form in the corners of your eyes. There's no way to get around it. And he better hear it from you than from some crazy psychopath. You owe him that much.

"When you were arrested", you begin, hoping your voice doesn't sound as brittle as it does, "it was clear to me from the start that Scratch couldn't be responsible. When you were taken to Millburn Correctional Facility instead of protective custody, it should have been obvious to the others. It was no accident that they sent you there. It was too personal." You can barely look at him, which is why you stare at the floor. "It couldn't have been Scratch, but there was no one else who had a score to settle with you." Your gaze shifts to Cat, "Except for her.

I had no proof, nothing. But I was one hundred percent sure she had something to do with it. So I talked to Emily. She gave me the day off, and I came here." You suppress the urge to knead your hands, so you shove them into your pants pockets. Your gaze wanders back to the floor, though you'd like to look at Spencer. You want to know what's going on inside him, but you don't dare. "Cat denied having anything to do with it at first, but I didn't believe her. And then she made a deal."

"And that included?" asks Spencer. You have to swallow.

"She would get you out of jail, after all, she put you in there too. I knew you wouldn't make it through jail. And not because you were too weak, but because I knew there were some people there who wouldn't bat an eye to hurt a FBI agent like you. And I couldn't stand that, so I went for it." With each word, your voice grows quieter, though you try to sound as determined as possible. But the pain weighs you down and takes away your breath. You remember the visit then, and what it had cost you.

"And what did she want in return?" Spencer's eyes glisten as if tears have formed in them. He blinks once, and the shine disappears. "What the hell did she want, Y/N?"

You can't stop the tears streaming down your cheeks Your heart is beating fast, like it's about to jump out of your chest. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for what follows. "She - she wanted me to leave you. Cat knew that prison could never hurt you the way I would if I abandoned you. If I left, with no explanation and no goodbye."

Spencer's shoulders sink and his muscles are no longer stretched to breaking point. You don't dare look at him, so you stare at Cat, whose grin has actually widened. Psychopathic sadist.

"Actually, Y/N was never supposed to come back either", she continues the explanation, but Spencer continues to look at you. "That was the deal. You weren't supposed to tell anyone about this and never come back, but you didn't stick to that. You thought if you killed the guy and I continued to be in here, you could go back home and get on with your life." Her grin disappears and suddenly she looks incredibly bitter. "Very reckless, if you ask me. My birdie knows you're back home, and as a warning, she left you a trail of dead married men. Apparently you got the message, after all, you're here. That they are dead is all your fault, Y/N. Because you couldn't stay away from your beloved Spencer." She looks from you to Spencer. "It's tragic, isn't it? She loves you so much that she took on all that pain just so you could get out of jail. How incredibly selfless of her. And I'm pretty sure you weren't exactly kind to her when she returned, were you, Spencie?"

Spencer and you can't look at each other, so heavy is the pain on your shoulders. All the anger, despair, and confusion that had spread through you since you saw each other again gives way to an all-consuming feeling of pressure that you can't shake. The only thing that can give you both some comfort is the clarity that has been created. Spencer now knows what really went on, and you no longer have to keep secrets from him. But the matter is far from over.

You look to Cat, but can't find the words. She's won.

You leave the interrogation room without looking at Spencer or saying another word. What could you have possibly said? JJ looks at you with widened eyes as you rush past her. She has her cell phone to her ear, probably talking to Emily, but calls after you, but you don't stop. The air in the building is stuffy and you feel like you're choking on it. Your heart is racing and you feel sick. You just want to get out.

"Y/N." Spencer's voice forces you to stop. You stop so jerkily that you almost fall. When you turn to face him, he's standing right in front of you. His gaze is hard. He opens his mouth, but he doesn't know exactly what to say either.

"I can't, Spencer", you beat him to it. You want to turn and keep walking, but his hand curls around your arm. At the touch, you're struck by lightning.

"Don't you think we should talk about this?"

You should. Definitely. "She had the men killed because I returned", you whisper. "She killed them because I couldn't take it anymore. Because I wanted to be with you. It's all my fault, Spencer. And I'll take the consequences for that."

"So you're just going to leave? Without explanation and without goodbye?"

You don't want to leave, quite the opposite. You would love to throw yourself into his arms, kiss him and never let go. You want to tell him you love him, but you can't. "I can't stay, Spencer. If I did, she would kill more people. I can't be responsible for that. I'm sorry."

You turn away from him, but as you take a step forward, Spencer pulls you back, making you slam against his chest. Your hands settle on the soft fabric of his shirt as his settle on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His expression has changed. There is deep sadness in his eyes and he tries to blink away the tears that have formed in the corners of his eyes, but they fall down his cheekbones. All at once, he looks so young. "Promise me you'll come back? Back to me?" One of his hands clasps both of yours, still resting on his chest. He holds them tightly, afraid of losing you again.

You smile weakly at him and tears come to your eyes too. Your smile is honest, but sad. "I will always come back to you."

- tags -

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[whisperedmeg]

BLIND CONTOUR ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part x

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: an HR training forces her to reckon with how it all began — the softness she offered, the power she didn’t realize she held. then a prison lockdown leaves her bloodied, trembling, and safe only in his arms. he holds her like something he never wants to erase.

genre: hurt/comfort, smut

w/c: 3.6k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, discussion of power dynamics/imbalance, prison lockdown, mentions of blood/injury, sort of a hostage situation, shower scene, unprotected p in v (unprotected as in no condom but it’s established she’s on bc and don’t worry this isn’t a setup for an unplanned pregnancy trope I promise lmao), crying during sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare/cuddling

a/n: this chapter is kind of all over the place, but I think it’s an important one for a bunch of reasons. as always, I appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed the series so far 🫶🏼 part 11 is coming sometime next week. can’t believe there’s only 3 more chapters left 🥲

series masterlist

The PowerPoint projected onto the wall said Ethical Conduct in Correctional Health Settings, but it might as well have said This Will Ruin Your Morning.

I sat in the breakroom with lukewarm coffee and five other nurses while a representative from HR clicked through slides that felt vaguely threatening. Phrases like dual relationships and over-identification floated across the screen in dull font, all framed in neutral language that still made my stomach twist.

“Inmate patients often misinterpret kindness as romantic or personal interest,” the presenter said. “This can lead to inappropriate attachment behaviors, especially if boundaries aren’t clear.”

I stared at my coffee. It had gone cold.

The slide changed. Power Dynamics in Clinical Encounters. A list of bullet points followed — positional authority, dependency for care, zone of helpfulness.

And all I could think about was Spencer.

Not the version of him now — not my Spencer, folded into our shared Saturday mornings eating yogurt with the foil lid still attached. No, the version from Millburn. Hollow-eyed. Quiet. Clever, even when he didn’t speak. The man who used a chessboard to communicate and didn’t smile often, but when he did, it made me weak in the knees.

I thought about the first time he beat me in Scrabble. He used words like flybys and zymurgy and quixotic so casually, as if that was something normal people did during a concussion screening. I thought about how I’d smiled at him like a secret. About how he’d looked at me like I was oxygen.

I’d always let him stay in the infirmary longer than he needed to. I’d played games with him, let him talk to me, given him back a piece of control over his time, his choices. It had felt harmless. Gentle, even. But the truth was, I had been the one holding all the power, even when I thought I was just showing him kindness.

He hadn’t been allowed to decide anything about his own life back then — not what he wore, or when he ate, or where he slept. So I let him decide whether we played chess or Scrabble. I let him talk to me like he was a person instead of a number, and I told myself that meant we were equal. But we weren’t. I was the one who got to walk out at the end of the day. I was the one with the badge, the authority, the agency.

I wasn’t ashamed of loving him. But for the first time, I realized how much of that love had started when he had no other choice but to trust the only softness available. I wasn’t wrong to care for him. But I hadn’t seen just how deeply the system had narrowed his options — or how easily love can grow toward the only open window, like a tiny plant stuck in the shadows, stretching desperately towards the sun.

The session ended. Someone made a joke about how none of us had time for “romantic inmate drama” anyway. Everyone laughed. But I felt sick.

—

When I got to Spencer’s place after my shift, he was on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, a book open on his lap. His glasses had slipped down his nose and his curls were in full rebellion.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “You okay?”

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. “Yeah. Just work stuff.”

He watched me cross the room and then set his book aside. I sat down and curled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.

I thought about how people — people like Spencer — study faces. I’d spent so many hours trying to read Spencer’s back then, trying to interpret the distance in his gaze, the calculation in his stillness. And now, watching him beside me, I realized I wanted to be read, too.

After a moment, I said, “Will you draw me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Like in an art class. Blind contour. You don’t look down. You don’t lift your pen. You just draw what you see.”

“Baby,” he said, trying not to laugh, “I can’t draw.”

“I’m not asking for a masterpiece, Spence. I’m asking for an absolutely terrible line drawing of my face.”

He tilted his head. “Where is this coming from?”

I hesitated. “I think I just want to know how you see me. Not the polished version. Just… whatever comes through. Plus, it might be funny.”

He looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “But only if I get to keep it.”

We rummaged for pencils and a sketchbook. He sat cross-legged on the couch, turned towards me as I sat against the other end.

“No peeking at the paper,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the next few minutes, he was completely focused. Every now and then he’d mutter things like, “I think this is your eyebrow, but it might be your nose,” or “I might’ve accidentally given you a third eye”

I couldn’t stop smiling, and his eyes never left my face.

When he was done, he turned the pad around.

It was tragically awful. My right eye sat closer to my chin than my forehead and I was pretty sure I counted four nostrils.

I laughed. “Wow. That’s even worse than I imagined.”

He grinned. “It’s strange how hard it is to get something right when you’re trying desperately not to mess it up.”

The words landed differently than he meant them to. I swallowed. “My turn.”

—

Drawing him was harder than I thought it would be. Not because of the exercise, but because of what it brought up. His face had changed since prison — softer in some ways, older in others. But there were pieces of him I still remembered vividly. How angular he looked in fluorescent light. How his hands trembled when he’d first get brought in by the COs.

I traced the curve of his nose in my mind. Let the pencil follow.

When I finished, I looked down at the paper and burst into laughter. I’d drawn his eyes almost on top of one another, so he ended up looking more like a cyclops than a human. His ears were so crooked you could barely tell I’d even intended for them to be ears. I handed him the monstrosity, still giggling. “It’s so bad,” I said. “And somehow also completely you.”

He held the page gently, as if it was fine art.

“I love it,” he asserted with a wide grin.

After a long moment of silence, I raised a quiet question, my mind still stuck on the HR slides from earlier. “Do you ever think about how little choice you had?”

Spencer looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“When we met. I could’ve walked away. You couldn’t.”

He blinked. His posture shifted, like he wasn’t sure whether this was a memory or a minefield.

“I sat through a training this morning,” I explained. “They were talking about power dynamics. About how inmates might misinterpret kindness. About how health care providers can become too emotionally involved. And all I could think about was you and me.”

He was silent, listening.

“I remember every time I let you stay longer in the infirmary. Every game of chess. Every smile you gave me like it was something you weren’t supposed to hand over. And I realized — even when it felt mutual, it wasn’t.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept going.

“I always saw you as my equal, but you weren’t. Not really. I didn’t realize how unfair that was to you until today.”

Spencer took a slow breath.

“I’m not saying what we have isn’t real,” I added quickly. “God, Spence, I know it is. And you didn’t ever misinterpret anything. You didn’t misread the signs I was giving you. But I still can’t stop thinking about how little agency you had. How I might’ve inadvertently taken advantage of the position you were in, flirting with you when you didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

His gaze held mine. “You were the only person in there who treated me like I wasn’t broken. If there was a power imbalance, it didn’t come from you.”

“But it was there,” I said. “And you still fell in love with me.”

He reached across the couch, resting his fingers lightly on my knee.

“I didn’t fall in love with you in prison. I survived because of you in prison. I had a crush on you, of course. But I fell in love with you after. After you showed up at my apartment and didn’t look back.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“You made me feel like I was worth knowing again,” he said.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his.

“I’m still sorry,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to be.”

Later that night, we curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over our legs. Our hideous drawings sat side by side on the coffee table.

He traced slow circles on the inside of my wrist.

“We should frame them,” he murmured.

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“They’re terrible,” he admitted. “But they’re honest.”

I smiled, watching the curve of his mouth as he looked at the drawings.

“They’re us,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

—

I went back to work the next day, giggling at the sight of the drawings on the coffee table before I left his apartment.

It was a normal shift at first — charting, two medication rounds, a sprained ankle from rec time. Spencer had kissed my forehead that morning like nothing in the world could go wrong.

But it happened fast. A snapped broomstick turned into a shiv. A hallway scuffle flared into chaos. And then everything locked down.

Sirens screamed overhead as the COs bolted every entry. The intercom crackled something about securing infirmary staff, but I was already on the wrong side of the door.

I’d stepped out to grab more gauze from the supply room. One second I was rounding the corner near Block C, and the next, I was face to face with an inmate I didn’t recognize — bleeding from the forehead, shirt torn, wild-eyed and twitchy like he hadn’t slept in days.

He had a sharpened toothbrush in one hand.

My mouth went dry.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he said, voice too calm. “They locked us in.”

I didn’t run. I couldn’t. My body was all instinct and slow breath. I raised my hands.

“Okay,” I said softly, carefully. “Let’s sit. I’ll help you with that cut, alright?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared — eyes glassy and unpredictable. I registered the tremble in his hand, the way the makeshift weapon hovered at his side. He wasn’t threatening me, not directly. But he wasn’t stable either.

“I’m a nurse,” I said. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

A long beat passed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

I sat cross-legged against the wall, heart thudding in my ears. When he crouched beside me, I fought the urge to flinch.

I didn’t have gloves. I didn’t have anything but the gauze I’d been holding. I pressed it gently to his temple. Blood welled beneath it, and it soaked through quickly — onto my hands, into the cuff of my sleeve. I just kept applying pressure, steady and firm.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice thin.

A pause. “Tony.”

“Hi, Tony. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.”

We sat like that for what felt like hours — no clocks, no guards, just distant shouts and the thunder of fists on bars. I could hear the static of CO radios, barked orders, the sound of something heavy slamming into steel. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone was laughing — manic and unhinged.

Tony kept the shiv in his lap. I tried not to look at it.

Every few minutes, his hands would twitch. Once, he stood up suddenly, pacing a few feet before crouching again. I didn’t move.

The second time he stood, I braced for the worst — and then he just sat back down with a sigh and pressed the gauze tighter to his head.

“I didn’t mean to be here,” he muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.

Eventually, a CO found us and barked for Tony to stand. He dropped the toothbrush without protest. I watched them zip-tie his wrists and haul him down the corridor, blood crusted at his temple. I still don’t know what he’d done. I just knew he didn’t hurt me.

But he could have.

That’s what stuck.

My hands didn’t stop shaking, not even when I scrubbed them raw in the infirmary sink. I could still see the red stain of his blood on my scrubs, dried now, crusted at the seams. And I couldn’t get the image of that plastic handle out of my mind — the way it had gleamed under the flickering light. The way it reminded me, viscerally, that kindness doesn’t always protect you.

I wasn’t able to check my phone until I was cleared to leave two hours later.

Twelve missed calls. Seven texts. Three voicemails.

All from Spencer.

—

When I finally got to his apartment, the door opened before I even had the chance to fumble with my keys. Spencer stood there in the doorway, looking panicked and sleep-deprived and like he’d run through every possible worst-case scenario a thousand times.

His hands flew to my face like he didn’t believe I was real. “God, are you okay?”

I nodded, barely.

“I saw it on the news. You weren’t answering. I—I couldn’t reach you. I had Garcia hack into Millburn’s internal system. She got me CO radio traffic and timestamped movement logs, but we couldn’t find anything about you, there was nothing—” His voice cracked. “I thought—I thought something had happened to you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve gotten in trouble with the Bureau for abusing their systems,” I whispered, too shocked and touched to mean it.

“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “I had to try and find you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest so tight it almost hurt. I felt the tremor in his shoulders before I heard the heavy breath he sucked in.

I closed my eyes and let myself shake.

—

The shower was his idea.

“You’re covered in someone else’s blood,” he said gently. “Let me help.”

We undressed slowly, almost clinically. He reached for the faucet, tested the water with his hand, then stepped aside, waiting like he was afraid to rush me.

The moment I stepped under the spray, I broke.

Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a quiet, unstoppable unraveling — muscles trembling, jaw clenched, eyes burning. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was fear, thick in my throat.

Spencer stepped in behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist like a bandage pulled snug. He didn’t say anything. Just held me, chest pressed to my back, hands splayed over my ribs like he was trying to count each one and make sure none had splintered without him noticing.

I leaned into him and let the water wash over us.

When he reached for the shampoo, his fingers threaded through my hair with tenderness. He massaged my scalp slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I might flinch if he moved too fast. I stood still while he rinsed it out, then turned to face him.

He cupped my jaw and kissed my forehead. Then he reached for the washcloth, lathered it between his palms, and began to wash my body — my arms, my shoulders, my chest, down to my stomach, my legs. Gentle, thorough, like he was scrubbing off the fear and replacing it with his love.

“I was so afraid something happened to you,” he said finally, voice ragged.

“I know,” I whispered. “But it didn’t. I’m right here.”

He exhaled shakily, something cracking open in his expression.

“I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he said. “I kept thinking, what if I never got to touch you again? What if I didn’t say I love you enough?”

My throat tightened. I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together under the stream. “You did. You do.”

There was a long, trembling pause.

Then came the shift. Like something soft giving way under the weight of too much feeling. He let the cloth fall and leaned in to kiss me — slow, steady, and full of ache.

There was no urgency — not yet. Just the quiet gravity of skin and memory. His hands found my waist, and mine threaded into his damp curls. We kissed under the spray until the water went cold.

When we stepped out, he dried me gently, then himself. We made our way to the bed wrapped in towels, in silence, in something close to reverence.

He laid me down like something precious. Crawled over me like he didn’t want to miss a single breath.

“I need you,” he said softly. “Need to feel you.”

I nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ve got me. I need you, too.”

His hand went to the nightstand for a condom, but I stopped him.

“You… you don’t have to,” I said softly, and Spencer looked down at me like a deer in headlights. “I’m on the pill. You know I take it religiously. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”

He froze. “You’re sure?”

I held his gaze. “I’m sure,” I whispered.

His face shifted — awe, want, disbelief. Then he kissed me again, deeper now.

When he pushed inside me, it felt like coming home. He moved slowly and carefully until we were fully joined then stilled there, breath shaking. We both gasped — even after everything, this closeness still had the power to undo us.

He pressed his forehead to mine. Our noses brushed. Our hands found each other and held tight.

We started to move together, slow at first — long, deep strokes that made my body arch into his without thinking. My legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to me.

He groaned against my mouth, kissed me hard. “You have no idea how scared I was,” he said, voice broken.

I whimpered softly, fingertips digging into his back. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Just focus on this,” I begged.

We moved like that — like we were rediscovering each other, like every thrust was a tether, pulling us tighter. The pleasure built sharp and slow, pulled from something deeper than just sensation.

His pace quickened, just slightly. His lips traced my jaw, my throat, the shell of my ear. “I need you to let go for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

I moaned, body trembling. “Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling just right. I broke with a gasp, hips bucking, body clenching tight around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, holding me through it. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

My breath caught in my throat. My eyes stung. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he kissed the tears from my cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He shifted slowly, gently guiding me onto my side and curling around me from behind. He slid back in with a low groan, burying his face in the curve of my neck.

This angle — this closeness — was unbearable in the best way. He moved deeper, slower, like he needed to feel every inch of me, like anything faster would be too much.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, hand over my heart. “You’re safe.”

I turned my head just enough to kiss his cheek, and it was then I noticed the glistening tear streaks running down his face, too. “Only because you’re here.”

He moaned softly, his arm tightening around my waist, his rhythm stuttering as I pushed back against him. His fingers found mine again and held tight, grounding us both. The pleasure unfurled once more in my belly, deeper this time. A slow rise toward something bright and breaking.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” I breathed — and then I was coming again, shuddering around him, everything inside me tightening and releasing in slow, rolling waves. My back arched, my breath caught, and I felt him everywhere.

He buried his face in my shoulder and let go with me. His whole body shook as he came, a raw, wrecked sound tearing from his throat. I felt it — the pulse of him deep inside, the heat, the staggering intensity of it.

He clung to me like he might fall apart without something to hold, and I held him just as tightly.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He wrapped the blanket around us, tucked his body close, kept himself buried inside me like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

“Promise me I’m never going to lose you,” he whispered, still shaking.

“‘M not going anywhere,” I replied softly, my voice loose and sleepy and in love. I reached for his hand and looped our pinkies together. “Promise.”

We lay there for a long time. Quiet. Still. The worst of the day behind us. The fear, the waiting, the helplessness.

Now there was only this — the warmth of skin, the hush of steady breath, the outline of two people who’d almost come undone.

Not perfect. Not polished.

Just two messy shapes drawn in unbroken lines — holding each other together.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part xi

[meganskane]

Safe Haven

masterlist

summary: spencer has a rough first night after coming home from prison and reader helps him through it. 

warnings: mentions of reid’s time in prison.

word count:

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

a/n: thank u to @taralewiz for helping me w/ the title for this :)

It's been seven hours

Seven hours since Spencer walked through the front door of his home. Seven hours since he’s been reunited with you again, seven hours since he was able to feel your touch, and seven hours since he’s been free of the hell he had been living for three months.

They two of them decided to call it a night by midnight yet, here he was at four in the morning staring up at the textured ceiling. It's not like he hadn't tried to go to sleep, he did, he truly did. He tossed and turned, trying his best to not wake Y/N from her peaceful state. All he wanted was to sleep but, his intrusive thoughts are what prevented him from doing so. The anger and guilt have been gradually building since the incident.

Sleep began to take over, he knew this because of the way his eyes began to grow heavy with sleep. His respite was short-lived, the minute Spencer’s eyes closed he jolted awake. He couldn't elude the horror that was the Millburn Correctional Facility. The vile acts he was forced to witness, the pain he endured, and the evil it made him become.

***

Spencer was different. There was no doubt about that, she could tell from the moment he walked through the front door of their home. He wasn’t the same man who Y/N met six years ago, the man who used to wash her hair after a bad day, the man who made sure to bring her favorite drink from their favorite cafe everytime he was out, or the man who used to leave her a small post it note drawing every time he has whisked away on a case.

Yes, he was still her Spencer but he was different.

“Darling? It’s nearly 4 in the morning. Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” was all he said. No more, no less.

“Something on your mind?” he hummed, neither confirming nor denying.

“Disregarding your feelings won't help, you know that better than anyone.” when she didn’t receive a response that pretty much confirmed that there was undoubtedly something wrong.

“Look, Spence, I don't want to coerce you into talking about anything you don't want to but, I do want you to know that it’s perfectly okay to cry or to scream to the point where you wake up with no voice, I’ll cover my ears.” she laughed softly, hoping to make him smile. That was always like Y/N, always striving to make light of a bad situation.

“You deserve a good cry, you’ve been through hell and back this year” She continued, rambling on about all the incidents that have happened with this year alone,

Spencer knew Y/N was right, that didn't prevent him from saying what was coming out of his mouth next,

“Stop, just stop.”

“Quit trying to pry your way into my head, I don't need you to fix me, alright? You're not a therapist and you sure as hell aren't mine.” His response was cold, it was the harshest she's ever heard it.

Again, Spencer was different. Four months ago he wouldn't have snapped at you so quickly.

“I just wan– I wasn’t tryi– I’m sorry.” the sound of Y/N’s voice cracking caused him to finally face her, for the first time tonight. Within seconds Spencer wished that he could've taken back the aggression. She was only wanting to comfort him, he knew that.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to–” He sniffled, Y/N watched as the tears threatened to spill from his eyes. She quickly waved it off, the sight was enough to break her heart but, when he laid his head on her chest and started to cry, that's when she felt her own eyes begin to swell up with tears.

It wasn't like she could blame him for being frustrated. Anyone would be if they were sentenced to prison for a crime they didn't commit.

She began taking deep breaths. Hoping he’d follow suit, “Yeah, that's it Spence just keep breathing, in and out. You're doing great sweetheart” she soothed, softly rubbing circles against his clothed skin.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he knew he couldn’t keep this from her for too long. He has to share it with someone he trusted, he couldn’t continue to walk around and live his life normally with this guilt on his shoulders.

“Please don’t leave me” he softly mumbled against her skin inhaling her scent. His voice was so low she practically missed it.

“I'm not going anywhere” Y/N quickly reassured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Promise me” he sat up to look at her.

“Spenc–”

“Y/N.” his eyes never left her own, he was serious. Did he seriously think whatever he did was enough that she’d leave him for it.

“Okay. Promise”

The room fell silent for a while until he decided to speak up, “It's like I can't get away from it, no matter how hard I try.”

“From what?”

“Prison, myself.”

Himself? She drew her eyebrows together and turned her face slightly toward him “You’ve lost me?”

He hadn't bothered to say anything else, just stared down at his hands, “Spence?”

“I’m not the same man I was before I went in there.”

“What’d they do to you in there?”

“It's not that they did. It's what I did.” he answered.

“I'm just as bad as the rest of them.”

“No you’re not” she quickly argued, how could he be as bad as them? He’s Spencer.

“You don't know what I did Y/N” she stared at him waiting for him to continue, what could he have done that was so bad, without reason?

“I worked in the laundry room so it was easy for me to take things in and out. The men who beat me up, they wanted me to move their drugs for them or else they’d kill me,”

“They had already k-killed Delgado so I knew if I didn’t do it, I know they would’ve killed me t-too.” the thought of when his friend was murdered had been burned in his head. The downside of his eidetic memory, he’s never going to forget that last breath of a man he barely knew, a man he fought to protect.

“So you moved the drugs?” She asked pushing his hair away from his face, his hair wasn’t as soft as it used to be. His curls were messy and dry, undoubtedly due to the toiletries in prison.

“No” he quickly shook his head.

“Then what did y–”

“I tainted the drugs.”

“Tainted?” he hummed, you weren't shocked or scared.

“I nearly killed half the men in that prison. I’m a monster. Every time I close my eyes I keep reliving everything. Seeing Malcom on the floor because of what I did. I should still be in there”

“No, you’re not Spencer. You were protecting yourself, I’m sure anyone else would’ve done the same, I know I would’ve.”

“You would've?”

“Hell yeah I would've” Spencer let out a huff of breath, that burden of keeping this to himself was off his shoulders. That still didn’t stop him from believing he was a monster.

“I didn’t feel guilty about it” he admitted, the more he revealed it was like he wanted her to leave, as if he was giving her a way out.

“Spencer, you’re not like them. If you were like them you wouldn’t be telling me about this. You wouldn’t be crying about the men you could’ve but didn’t kill. You’re nothing like them.”

She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, she knew he was exhausted. From all the crying, and all those months of living in fear and not getting proper sleep. This was something Y/N used to do to get Spencer to fall asleep, no matter how much he’d say he wasn’t tired, the head scratch was enough to have him snoring for hours.

As if on cue, the sound of his snores filled the empty space of their bedroom. Was this the way Y/N expected her first night with him home again to be like? No, not the slightest bit but, for Spencer? She’d do it time again, and time again with no questions asked.

‘I’ve come to believe that in everyone’s life there’s one deniable moment of change. A set of circumstances that suddenly alters everything” — Nicholas Sparks, Safe Haven.

taglist: @takeyourleap-of-faith @willowrose99 @jhillio @pancake2603 @spencerreid9 @miraclesoflove @aayaissaa @spencerreid9 @spenxerslut @nomajdetective @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @reidingmelodies

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[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn​ <3 I hope you like it! 

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins​ // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

 --->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

 --->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.  

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

  --->--->--->--->--->

 This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N  rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->  

 This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!