trashforgubler - Tumblr blog

[trashforgubler]

Hello

I know i have been gone for much longer than a fat minute but i’ve been thinking about beginning to post again. if anyone is still here and has a suggestion for me i would be happy to attempt to do something with it 🥰

[trashforgubler]

My Cell

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Spencer falls in love with the reader, who is the owner of a bookstore

Extra Info: Titled after “My Cell” by the Lumineers, which is one of my favorite songs ever, 11/10 should listen. Also the book I mention in here is one of my all time favs if you’re looking for a recommendation 

Requests: Open

masterpost

Spencer had a thing for books. At least, that’s what he told himself as he was walking into Bastet Books for the third time this week. Even though this bookstore was on the other side of town, and there were exactly three other book stores that were considerably closer to his apartment. He told himself this bookstore was better, even though the other ones had far greater selections (and lower prices). He told himself that he liked the white cat with one blue eye and one green eye that greeted him at the door every time he came in, and it had nothing to do with you thank you very much. 

 Of course, he had noticed that you were… attractive. But attraction is nothing but science. Anyone would be attracted to someone as beautiful as you were. The way your hands gently cradled the books in your arms as you restocked them on the shelf. The way your eyebrow furrowed slightly as you read, making you look lost in another world. Anyone would notice the smell of lavender and Old Spice as you walked by, excusing yourself with a soft voice and a shy smile, your bright eyes darting theirs as they moved past. This is what Spencer used to explain the butterflies that flew around in his stomach every time he saw you at the cash register. 

He did not have a crush on you, he was just observant.

 And as Spencer walked out of the bookstore with an armful of true crime and a copy of Twilight (in Russian of course, as he doesn’t read fiction in English, but still takes his friend’s recommendations), he realized he was going to have to think of some more reasons why he drives the extra 20 minutes to this bookstore, because the persistent itch in his eyes and nose were telling him he may be allergic to cats. 

 Three days later Spencer was back at the bookstore. The same bookstore that was an inconvenient distance away and had an animal that he was definitely allergic to. He told himself he got allergy medicine because there may be other times where it might come in handy and going into the bookstore was a good way to test it out anyway.

 The bell on the door welcomed him in. As always, he immediately looked to the cash register, secretly hoping to see you. No, I’m not hoping anything Spencer assured himself. Although his own mind contradicted this thought as he found himself disappointed when he laid eyes on not you, but an older man with a scraggly beard behind the counter. Funny, he thought for sure you worked on Thursdays. But he began browsing the shelves anyway because he was certainly here to buy books and that did not change based on who was working.

 He made his way to a section he hasn’t been down before: Historical Fiction. Usually, he preferred to keep historical and fiction books separate from each other, as he found the inaccuracies to be outraging when the two were mixed together. But he had already read all of the historical books in the store by now, and as he found last time, he was not a fan of complete fiction. Even in Russian.

 His long fingers traced the dusty spines on the shelves as he read each title to himself. The quiet music echoing down the empty aisle made him smile slightly, another reason he loved this store. The others were boring and dead silent. Stepping into them felt like walking around a prestigious museum more than a bookstore. Not here. Here, there was the strum of acoustic music that made everything feel alive. Small conversations could be heard from other aisles, and he liked how they stacked the books here. Not just on the shelves, but on top of them, and on coffee tables placed sporadically throughout the room. There were even books on the windowsills, as if the store were so bursting with words and stories they couldn’t be confined to a single space. 

 Spencer picked up a book from the top of the shelf: The Secret History by Donna Tartt. It was clearly used; the cover was bent at the corner and the spine was broken in several places. It was even starting to rip at the bottom. These were his favorite books. Ones that were read by so many people it was starting to fall apart but seemed to stay together just for him.

 “That’s a great book.”

 Spencer turned to the voice, but he knew he didn’t need to. He would recognize the softness of the words and the smell of lavender anywhere. You were standing near him, a box of newly shipped books in your arms, ready to shelve. Except the box was marked Contemporary, not Historical Fiction. Maybe it was this minute detail, the one that meant you had walked into the aisle he was in just to see what he was reading that gave him the courage to respond.

 “Yeah, it looks good. I think I’m gonna buy it.”

 He pretended to study the cover again. He wanted to keep talking, he really did, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. 

 “You’re Spencer, right?”

 Spencer looked up again and nodded, trying to keep his face and body language casual, even though he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

 “You’re in here a lot, aren’t you?”

 Spencer nodded again. Say something, he scolded himself. 

 “Yeah, I uh, really like to read.”

 He mentally slapped himself. Could he have picked something more stupid to say?

 “I can tell,” you said with a smile. God, you had such a beautiful smile. “I’m Y/N by the way.” You shifted the box of books into one arm and extended your hand to him. He shook it without thinking about all the germs that might be on it. For the first time in years, the thought never crossed his mind. Maybe it was because you were different than other people. Other people were germy and even the thought of touching their hands revolted him enough to spit statistics at them, lectures on how he would rather kiss a stranger on the lips than shake their hand if given the choice. The touch of your hand made him want to melt.

You stood in silence for a few seconds, smiling at each other politely. Spencer began to rock on the balls of his feet slightly, usure of what else to do. He should not be feeling nervous, but he was

 “Well, let me know if you need anything,” you said finally and leave the aisle.

 As soon as you were out of sight, Spencer rubbed furiously at his eyes. What was that? He interviews serial killers for a living but can’t have a coherent conversation with someone he likes? No, I don’t like them, he assured himself. Liking someone means going on dates and doing other things with them, and Spencer does not do that. He ignores the persistent voice in his head telling he would actually very much enjoy doing those things with you.

 A small purring object presses against the bottom of his pant leg, tickling his ankles. He looks down and sees the cat, rubbing his body against him. Spencer bends down and pets the top of his head, absently wondering if you had noticed that his hands had been shaking during the 30-second interaction. He looks back down at the cat and sees that they’re wearing a collar, Bastet it reads. Spencer smiled to himself. There seemed to be something unignorably adorable about naming a bookstore after your cat, and naming your cat after the Egyptian god of cats. Spencer liked the idea that there was someone just as nerdy as him.

 He gave Bastet a quick kiss on the top of the head and left the aisle. He turned right to go to the cash register but stopped when he saw who it was. Scraggly beard guy was gone, and instead, you were chatting with a customer as you bagged their items. Immediately, Spencer’s heartbeat picked up once again, and the butterflies returned to his stomach. Stop. He told himself. I will not let you get nervous over someone you don’t even like. When it was his turn, he put The Secret History on the counter and pulled the bills out of his wallet. 

 “Spencer, long time no see.” you joked. You scanned his book and took the bills from his hand. He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t jump when your soft fingers grazed his.

 Spencer forced himself to return the laugh even though he felt like throwing up. Why did he feel like throwing up? He avoided eye contact by shuffling the bills around his wallet until you returned the book to him. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off with a hasty, “Have a nice day!” before speed walking out of the store. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to hold up the line with another conversation, but he knew deep down if he looked at you for one second longer he would say things that were not rational, and Spencer was always rational. 

---

That night when Spencer tucked himself into bed and opened up the book, his receipt fell out of the first page and onto his chest. Only the receipt had something written on it in neat blue ink. 

 Spencer,

I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll let someone better at words than I am say it instead (I’m a reader and not a writer for a reason). Read the poem "A Stranger" by Lang Leav. It’s one of my favorites and every time I read it, I find myself thinking of you. 

-         Y/N

 But Spencer didn’t have to read the poem, because he’s read it many times before. And every time he did, he found himself thinking of you. He smiled as he finally welcomed the butterflies and racing heart wholly at the thought of your name. And before he drifted off to sleep, he recited the poem in his head, and with every line he thought, a new butterfly appeared.

 There is a love I reminisce,

Like a seed

I've never sown.

 Or lips that I am yet to kiss,

and eyes

not met my own.

 Hands that wrap around my wrists,

and arms

that feel like home.

 I wonder how it is I miss,

these things

I've never known.

 Maybe falling in love, was not so scary after all. 

[trashforgubler]

Put Your Head on My Shoulder

Work Count: 1.1k

Summary: Spencer is in shock after a rough case

Extra Info: Not posting for weeks and then posting twice within 24 hours? Couldn’t be me. Anywho I’ve just been having the world’s worst writers block and I guess the writing gods have granted me inspiration twice in one day. Please help this is a desperate cry for prompts. Titled after “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” by Paul Anka

Warnings: Panic attack, vomiting

Requests: Open

masterpost

You had never been more relieved to finish a case. The man who was responsible for torturing and killing ten women and holding a six-year-old hostage was now in the back of a cop car with a disgusting smirk on his lips. The child was wrapped tightly in her mom’s arms as a paramedic stitched her up. You wished that you could be happier, but sometimes saving one just wasn’t enough. Images of the last woman, bound and gagged, tied to a post flicked through your mind. If you had only been a few minutes faster, you would have saved her.

A sigh escaped your lips. If you had learned one thing during all your years at the bureau, it was that you can’t dwell on the losses, you have to think about the ones you do save. So, you forced yourself to think of Spencer, who had successfully talked the psychopath into not shooting the little girl. It was intense to say the least. Even with three guns pointed at the unsub’s chest he still put up a hell of a fight, going on and on about how he was death and he could do whatever he wanted, and no one could stop him. Luckily, Boy Wonder put an end to it before the unsub pulled the trigger. But come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him since. It had only been about 20 minutes since it all happened, and you had been too preoccupied talking to cops and other agents to notice. Usually he stuck close to you, knowing that the presence of a familiar face after a rough day was always comforting, but you knew that he secretly felt the same way. He was always extra clingy after bad ones like this, so it was slightly concerning he was nowhere to be found. You began walking around, asking each member of the BAU if they had seen him. They all gave a nonchalant no and went back to their business, but you could feel that something was off.

After ten slightly panicked minutes of searching, you finally saw him. Relief flooded your veins as you caught sight of a slender figure leaning up against an empty ambulance, out of the way of all of the chaos. You walked over to him, trying to appear casual despite your mounting concern, the last thing you wanted to do was overwhelm him.

“Hey,” you said softly. You took your place leaning beside him, your shoulder against the cold metal of the vehicle so that you could study his expression up close. He looked… blank. You had expected him to look scared or tired or angry, but not this. He was completely emotionless. His eyes were unfocused and staring at nothing down the road, his mouth was slightly open, like he forgot how to shut it. To be honest, it was a little frightening. Your first instinct was to reach for him but given his state you weren’t even sure if he was aware of your presence and would probably have a heart attack if someone touched him. “Spence,” you tried again, “You okay?” Again, there was no response. Not even a twitch. You were about to go get someone, possibly a paramedic to come check him out before he finally spoke.

“She almost died.” His voice was a whisper, almost inaudible, but you could still hear the slight quiver in it. Your heart squeezed. Close calls always left everyone a little shaken, especially when it involves kids, but you’d never seen him like this before.

“But she didn’t, you saved her. You did good.”

“But she could of, and I would have been right there and it would have been my fault.” Panic was setting into his eyes. He shifted his stance uncomfortably as his breath began to quicken, making his vest move up and down. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop it. She would have just died”

“Spence look at me,” You tried. But he was too far gone. His breathing became even faster to the point where you could hear his strangled gasps. He reached a shaking hand up and tried to tear his vest away from his neck, but it was no use. No matter how much room he put between it he still felt like he was drowning. Drowning because he was so powerless compared to everything else. It all became too much, and he felt his stomach cramp. A wave of nausea hit him full force and out of nowhere he bent down and vomited violently onto the concrete. The sourness made his eyes water and seeing it made him gag all over again.

“Okay, okay just breathe through it.” You unstrapped his vest for him and threw it to the side before running your hand up and down his spine, trying to provide some kind of comfort. It was only seconds before he heaved again, coughing loudly as he tried not to choke. The noise must have caught the attention of one of the officers, because within seconds Hotch walked up, eyeing Spencer with a furrowed brow.

“What’s going on? Is he sick?” As if on cue, Spencer began another round of vomiting, but Hotch didn’t flinch.

“I don’t think so. I think he’s in shock.” Hotch gave an unsure nod before leaving to find water for him. Spencer stayed hunched over, with his hands on his knees for another minute, before straightening up again. He drew in a shaky breath and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “Do you wanna go sit down over there?” You gestured to the curb, one away from most of the people. He gave a weak nod and slowly began walking towards it.

Easing himself down to the curb he put his head in his hands, trying to get control of his body. Your hand wandered up and down his back as you waited there silently until Hotch came back with a water bottle. Unsurprisingly, Spencer declined it, still too shaken up to drink anything.

“I’ll give you two a minute.” Hotch said in a low voice. His fatherly instinct was telling him to stay, but he knew Spencer hated being vulnerable around people, especially his boss, so he walked back to the scene.

You turned towards Spencer, about to ask him what was going on, but before you could, he laid his head down on your shoulder with an exhausted sigh. His eyes closed and you decided to talk to him later, for now, you let him rest. Hotch looked over, concerned at first, but you gave him a small smile.

[trashforgubler]

Be Still

Word Count: .8k

Summary: The reader has Tourette’s Syndrome and has a tic attack while waiting for Spencer to come home

Extra Info: So I have Tourette’s Syndrome, and this fic is literally just me talking about the tic attack I had last night. All of the tics I write about in this fic are ones I actually have. I wanted to write something Tourette’s related because it’s so misunderstood and gets so little accurate representation in the media. A lot of people have told me that they wish they had Tourette’s so they could swear whenever they want, because they don’t know about this side of it. My tic attack last night lasted for over two hours, which is scary when your just in a dark room by yourself at three in the morning. Anyways, if you have any questions about Tourette’s or anything like that, please feel free to ask, I promise you won’t offend me with anything and I would love to tell you more about it if your interested. The song is “Be Still” by The Fray

Warnings: Centered around tics and tic attacks, caution to anyone who has a tic disorder who might be triggered by it 

Requests: Open

masterpost

All you wanted to do was watch Hamilton. For anyone else, it would have been an uneventful night. Unfortunately for you, you had Tourette’s Syndrome. Normally it didn’t bother you very much, sure it was annoying, and people stared at you, but you eventually just stopped caring and accepted that this is just how your body is and that’s okay. But nights like these made that philosophy extremely hard to stick to.

You snuggled up on your half of the bed with your laptop, and pressed play. It had been an average tic day, nothing out of the ordinary, which continued to be the case throughout the first act. You were whistling, shaking your head and hands, and repeatedly blurting out an overly enthusiastic “Hi!” to any new character that popped up on screen. Of course, you weren’t thinking anything about it. You couldn’t recall a time in your life where you didn’t twitch and make weird noises, and tonight was no different.

Until it was.

It came on slowly at first. The occasional motor tics soon became more frequent, until you had to set your laptop on the ground out of fear you would knock it off and break it. Inhaling slowly, you pleaded with your body to calm down, to just for once, be still. You prayed that this was just a bad cluster, as you hadn’t had a full-blown attack in months, but you could feel that something was off. The bizarre, lighting bolt energy was coursing through your body and you knew you were screwed. Suddenly, your eyes squeezed shut and your back arched violently, forcing your neck to bend in ways only seen in The Exorcist. You were locked in that position for a few seconds before your body finally relaxed, only to immediately do it again. Air was no longer expending from your lungs. Instead, the tics forced you to inhale more and more, making choking noises as you did. God, you wished Spencer would hurry up and get home. He texted you earlier that night that he would be home late today. On the one hand, you hated for people to see you like this, I mean, you literally looked possessed. But on the other hand, tic attacks were terrifying, especially when your alone. They had complete control over you, thrashing from side to side and then suddenly stopping and making your entire body paralyzed with you back contorted like a snake so that you were twisted face first into your pillow. Time was completely lost, it felt like you had been going for minutes and hours at the same time, but eventually, you heard the door unlock.

“Y/N! I’m home!” Spencer called from downstairs. You wanted to yell out that you were in the bedroom, but you could barely breathe let alone talk. “Y/N?” The confusion in Spencer’s voice was evident, as you usually greeted him with a kiss and a smile as soon as he walked in the door, regardless of what time it was. He wandered from room to room, checking the kitchen and the patio trying to find you, and eventually made his way up the stairs. By now, your tics had gotten louder. Rarely during an attack did you say words or phrases like you do normally, it was mostly those god-awful choking sounds that you could feel vibrating your chest. Your abs were on fire, your ribs stuck out prominently as your stomach sucked in so far it felt like it would touch your spine. You let out a strangled gasp as your back arched again, blocking off your airway for the umpteenth time that night, and it was finally loud enough for Spencer to hear. The footsteps that had been walking around quietly suddenly became louder and quicker as he realized what was happening before he even saw. He flew into the bedroom; feelings his stomach drop as he saw you.

“Hey, it’s okay I’m right here. This will pass in a minute.” Spencer pulled a chair next to the bed and continued coaching you through it, encouraging you to breathe even when your tics forced you to hold your breath. The attack gradually became more violent, as muscle tensing tics were replaced with you slamming your head into the bed repeatedly. Spencer grabbed a pillow that had fallen onto the floor and quickly put it under you, trying to lessen the headache you were sure to have the next morning. He continued to sit there as the attack finally began to slow, and you were able to fully breathe for the first time in hours. Eventually, you stopped moving, and laid motionless on the bed, breathing deeply as you prayed to the Tourette’s gods that they wouldn’t give you a round two.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “You need anything?” You almost laughed at the question but found yourself to be far too exhausted to. You merely shook your head and limply threw your arm out to him, inviting him to bed. He smiled softly and plopped down next to you, taking you in his arms and holding you.

[trashforgubler]

You’re Lucky I Love You

Word Count: 1k

Summary: You leave Spencer and your daughter home alone and disaster ensues

Extra Info: The title is inspired by the song “You’re Lucky I Love You” by Susan Ashton

Requests: Open

masterpost

Spencer can do a lot of things. Keeping your seven-year-old daughter from ruining your new carpet was not one of them.

As most stories of your home being destroyed go, it started with you leaving. You were redecorating the living room and were off to buy some new paintings to hang on the wall. Spencer couldn’t seem to care less what paintings you chose as long as there was still room for his bookshelf, so you left him and Bella home alone. This was a grave mistake.

Things were going fine until lunch. They had been playing Barbies all day, Spencer reenacting one of the old bank heist cases to Bella’s delight. You had specifically told Spencer he was not allowed to tell Bella about his job unless he made it age appropriate, so after the bad guys were arrested before they were able to hurt anyone and everyone in the bank rode away completely fine on one of the many unicorns strewn around the playroom, it was time to eat. You’ve repeatedly said that if Spencer keeps feeding Bella dinosaur chicken nuggets she’s going to get scurvy, but Spencer being Spencer (and a complete push over when it came to his daughter) always gave them to her, but not before making her pinky promise not to tell you.

They were halfway through their lunch when Spencer got a call. He kissed Bella on the forehead and promised her he’d be right back as he stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Now, Bella could certainty handle eating her lunch by herself. Unfortunately, this is not what she chose to do. She really would have, but something caught her attention. From out the kitchen window, she saw a cat wandering around in the backyard. And if there was anything Bella loved; it was cats. Glancing over her shoulder, Bella quietly got down from the chair, and eased the door open. The cat immediately looked up at her but didn’t seem to be startled. She bent down in the grass and held her arms out to it. The cat slowly walked over to her and allowed her to pick him up. She walked back into the house and put him on the living room carpet.

By this time, Spencer had finished his call and walked back into the kitchen, only to find it empty. “Bella?” he called.

“I’m in here!”

Spencer followed the voice into the next room.

“Bella?”

“Yes daddy?”

“Who’s cat is that?”

Bella shrugged and continued petting it. Spencer stared at it for a moment, wondering where in Gods name his daughter had found the absolute fattest cat he had ever seen. To say the thing was huge would be an understatement, I mean, it looked like it had swallowed a balloon or something. The cat also looked like it was breathing abnormally heavy, but from the looks of it it had been stationary for quite some time. He was trying to figure out why this cat looked so strange, when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

“Daddy what’s that?” Bella pointed at a strange sack emerging from the cat. At first, Spencer thought that it was just doing its business, but it became quickly apparent that’s not what it was.

“NOMYGOD IT’S GIVING BIRTH ON THE NEW CARPET!” Spencer yelled frantically.

“She’s having kittens!” The huge smile on Bella’s face would have been adorable if Spencer didn’t have an actual feral cat going into labor in his living room. By the time Spencer stopped freaking out enough to run and grab a bath towel, there were two fresh kittens and a giant stain on the carpet. He gently lifted the cat and put her on towel, and then wrapped the kittens up in another. It took another half hour for the other three to be born, and the cat was just starting to push out her last one when the door unlocked.

Spencer and Bella looked at each other with the same “oh shit” look, having absolutely no idea how to explain the situation.

“Hey guys, I’m home!” You called.

Spencer got up and went to meet you, but instead of being met with the usual hug and kiss, he held his hands up in front of  him and started talking faster than you’ve ever heard him speak before. “Okay before you go into the living room let me just preface that despite what it looks like I was actually watching Bella for the entire time and I was being very responsible but then I got a call from Hotch so I left the room for ten seconds, I swear it was ten seconds and she found a cat in the yard and it was really cute so she brought it inside and put it in the living room and I didn’t know until after a came in and I didn’t really think much of it until it started, um.”

“Started what Spencer?” you asked cautiously. He scratched the back of his head nervously so you walked by him and into the living room where you were met with the most outrageous thing you had ever seen in your entire life. Your daughter was holding a bundled towel and watching the cat excitedly.

“Mommy look! Kittens!”

You laughed nervously as you walked to the other side of the cat and saw that it was indeed giving birth, on your new carpet. You glared at Spencer.

“Surprise?” he said nervously. You couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Can we keep them mommy? Please?”

You counted the kittens in her arms. There were six of them, plus the mom herself. There was no way you were keeping seven cats, but your daughter was giving you the cutest pleading look you had ever seen, and you know how much she’s been wanting a cat.

“Please?”

You turn around and see Spencer begging too.

“Really Spence? You want to keep seven cats?”

“Just until we can find most of them a home, but we should maybe keep one or two of them…” He gave you a tiny smile and tilted his head down, giving you the same puppy eyes, your daughter was.

“Fine! We’ll keep them for now, but just so you know I’m never leaving you two alone again!” You couldn’t help but smile as you turned around and heard Spencer and Bella high five each other, already picking out names for each of them. “You’re lucky I love you Spencer Reid!” You called over your shoulder.

Now you just had to get the carpet cleaned.

[trashforgubler]

Thank You For 100 Followers!!!

I actually reached this mile stone a few days ago but I just wanted to say thank you so much! When I first started this account I thought no one would ever read my stuff but now I’ve passed this amazing milestone! I love reading all the comments people leave because they literally make my day and I love getting to interact with you guys, it’s the best thing ever. Thank you again for all the support!!

[trashforgubler]

Close Your Eyes

Word Count: .6k

Summary: After a hard case, you have to coax Spencer to sleep on the jet

Extra Info: I have the world’s worst writer’s block right now so if you have any requests PLEASE send them. Song is “Close Your Eyes” by Rhodes

Requests: Open

masterpost 

You were exhausted. The case had been one of the worse ones you’ve seen in a while. Five victims in total, the last one killed right in front of you. Spencer had been trying to negotiate with the killer, but he looked him dead in the eye as he sent a bullet through the young girl’s head. The rest of the team moved quickly to arrest him, but Spencer just stood there, staring at where the killer had been. It took you a concerning amount of time to coax him out of the building and into the car. Even then, he said nothing the entire ride to the jet, he just sat there, staring at the ground.

Now you could see him, sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. You weren’t quite sure what to do, but you knew it had to be something. He looked like hell. His hair was tangled, you could see from your place in the aisle that he was shaking slightly, probably from the adrenaline. The case had been so fast paced that none of you had been sleeping well, and you knew for a fact Spencer has been up for well over 24 hours. The thing he needed most was sleep, but from the looks of him that wasn’t going to come easy.

“Hey.” You sat down next to him and gently rubbed your shoulder into his. He ran his hands over his face in response, looking more tired than he had in the car ride over here, when you thought for sure he would fall asleep with his eyes open. “We have a couple more hours ‘till we get home, why don’t you try and take a nap or something?” He roughly shook his head, apparently adamant about keeping himself awake. You were in no place to judge, however. You knew the feeling. Sometimes after a hard case the only thing you can see when you shut your eyes are the people you couldn’t save. That girl would be haunting him for a while. “Will you lay down a least?” With a little coaxing, you brought his head to your lap, and began massaging his head, hoping to relax him more. You could feel the tension leaving his jaw as you continued, but you could also see he was still awake.

From all the years you’ve known Spencer, you’ve picked up some tactics to make the insomniac genius fall asleep. The most fool proof method seemed to be poetry. Luckily for you, poetry was one of your favorite things, and you’d read your favorites so many times they became ingrained in your memory, almost as if they were waiting for moments like these.

“All people are children when they sleep.

There’s no war in them then.

They open their hands and breathe

In that quiet rhytem haven has given them.

They pucked their lips like small children

And open their hands halfway,

Soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.

The stars stand guard

And a haze veils the sky,

A few hours when no one will do anybody harm.

 If only we could speak to one another then

When our hearts are half – open flowers.

Words like golden bees

Would drift in.

God, teach me the language of sleep.”

Spencer was out before you reached the third stanza, his eyes shut gently and his breathing finally slowing. You pressed a light kiss to his temple, silently wishing him sweet dreams.

[trashforgubler]

Hi! I just binge read all your criminal minds fanfics. Is there a particular two in the works for "til it happens to you"? I love it a lot and would love to read a part two. Tysm!!

thank you so much that’s so sweet of you! I never planned on making a part two for that fic, but I could totally try and figure something out. I’ll defently tag you if i decide to post it! ❤️❤️❤️

[trashforgubler]

You Know I Love You

Word Count: .8k

Summary: You’re out of town and Spencer decides to have movie night with your daughter Bella. Unfortunately, they decide to watch Coraline, which leaves the six year old feeling rather unsettled

Extra Info: This movie used to absolutely terrify me when I was little, but is now honestly one of my all time favs. Its literally genius. I’m forever salty they took it off of Netflix earlier this year. Anyway, the song is called “You Know I Love You,” by Sakura Jurai, which is one of the songs of the movie’s soundtrack.

Requests: Open

masterpost

Movie night. The perfect way to bond with your children. All you need is a bowl of popcorn and an old couch and you’re on your way to forming happy memories right from the comfort of your very own living room.

At least, that’s what Spencer thought. It’s not like he was having a lot of them growing up, but with you out of town he figured what better way to wind down with his daughter than spending some time in front of the big screen? So, on a Friday night, Spencer popped some popcorn, but M&M’s in it for extra spice, and started flipping through the kids’ section of Netflix with Bella. They’d seen all the Disney movies already, and if he had to watch Despicable Me one more time he thought he might scream. No, they definitely needed to try something new, and that was when the movie “Coraline” showed up.

“Oooh, let’s watch that one!” His six year old daughter pointed enthusiastically at the screen, immediately drawn in by the characters bright blue hair and devious smile. Spencer shrugged and hit play, not bothering to watch the trailer or read reviews first. After all, it was a kid’s movie, what could go wrong?

By the time Spencer realized that this absolute horror film should definitely not be categorized as a kids movie, it was too late. Between the skin crawling idea of having your eyes ripped out and replaced with buttons, to being chased down a web by some spider mutant, it was clear that Spencer had made a grave error. Bella’s eyes were glued to the screen, to in shock to duck her head under the blanket. Her skin had become the same shade as the ghost kids that the Bedlam had stuffed in the mirror. Spencer promptly turned the movie off, leaving them in complete darkness.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t like that movie very much.”

After a few minutes of Spencer sitting in a silent panic, wondering what kind of nightmares his daughter was going to be dealing with for the next few weeks, he finally decided to pick her up and get her ready to sleep. After getting her pajamas on and making sure she brushed her teeth well, Spencer tucked her into bed and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Goodnight, lovebug.” He was about to leave and go about his night, when Bella said:

“What if she comes and gets me?”

Spencer’s heart sunk at the sound of her soft voice, completely terrified that the animated character was going to hurt her in the middle of the night. He walked back over before sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding his arms open. Bella promptly went and sat on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder with her arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

Spencer was a little lost on how to reason with a six-year-old, because she was the perfect age to firmly believe that there were monsters under her bed no matter what logic Spencer tried in the past. It wasn’t until you told him that six-year old’s require different methods to ease their fears that he was able to make any progress.

“The scary woman died at the end, remember? She got trapped when Coraline slammed the door on her. She can’t hurt you. Besides, I promise we don’t have any secret doors in our house.”

“But what if she comes though my closet?”

The gears in Spencer’s brain began to turn. Trying to put a six-year-old to bed was like trying to solve a case. Both required a lot of brain power trying to understand someone who made absolutely no sense to the rest of the world.

“Well, then your going to have to fight her like Coraline did in the movie.”

“How?”

Spencer left the room, and ten minutes later returned with a bottle of windex he had pulled out of the recycling. The label had been taken off and replaced with “Monster Repellent” written in Sharpie, and the bottle itself was full of water with a few drops of lavender oil. He handed to his daughter, and lead her around the room telling her to spray anywhere she thought the Bedlam could get in. Under her bed, the closet, the window, according to Bella, the Bedlam could shrink herself down to the size of a mouse and hide in her dresser drawers (which were then sprayed thoroughly). After all the crucial areas had been taken care of, Bella went back to her bed, where Spencer sprayed the lavender mixture on her, making her giggle.

“There, now you’re invincible. No monster will ever step foot in your room, and if they do, they will be met with the fiercest warrior of them all!”

Her laugh echoed in the room as Spencer kissed her one last time and pulled her blankets to her chin.

“I love you, Bella sleep tight.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Spencer shut off the light, smiling as he watched his daughter fall asleep.

[trashforgubler]

Hey, Ma

Word Count: .8k

Summary: You come home from work and walk in on Spencer and your daugher (Bella) renacting Shakespeare's “Much Ado About Nothing” in your living room

Extra Info: Shoutout to the English test I had today on this play for inspiring this fic. The song doesn’t have to do with the fic other than I just really like it and the title fits well, but it’s “Hey, Ma” by Bon Iver

Requests: Open

masterpost

After a long day at work, you wanted nothing more than to come home to a quiet household.

Unfortunately, you married Dr. Reid.

From first glance, you would think that he would be a mature, responsible man. His many doctorates and the fact that he wears a bow tie to Red Robin led you to such conclusions, but it didn’t take long for you too see who he really was. He was the kind of friend that held passionate arguments about whether Die Hard counted as a Christmas movie (he won, it does). He was the kind of husband who told you to close your eyes because he had a “sexy surprise” for you, only to greet you wearing a Winnie the Pooh onesie that was definitely not sexy. And the kind of father who puts on a princess crown and has tea with his daughter every Saturday morning. The shenanigans he pulled were endless, especially when you left him and Bella alone, and tonight was no exception.

You walked into your house and were immediately hit with the smell of chocolate chip pancakes. A peculiar dinner choice, but definitely not the strangest you’d ever walked in on them eating. The time Spencer went out and bought food dye just so he could make green eggs and ham would have to be the strangest thing that has been made in you kitchen. But what was more peculiar than the smell of breakfast at almost ten o’ clock at night, was what you heard. Very strong, very obnoxious, British accents coming from your living room.

“I wonder that you still be talking Benedict, nobody marks you!” your daughter said loudly, in a very sassy voice she could have only learned from her father.

And yet an even louder, sassier voice replied:

“What, My dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”

What was your living room this morning, had now been turned into a stage. The sofa was lined with Bella’s stuffed animals, and Spencer had turned off all the lights in the house except two lamps, which he had pointed on himself and his daughter so that they were the only thing that stood out against the shadows.

You watched them silently from the darkness. They were so wrapped up in their performance, they hadn’t even heard you open the door. You held back a laugh as Bella so wonderfully delivered the iconic, “I would rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me,” line. The exhaustion that filled your every bone minutes before was completely gone. Looking back on it, it was probably a mistake to tell Spencer that Bella needed to do a certain amount of reading per night, because you guess this is where his mind went to.  It wasn’t until the end of the act that he finally looked up and saw you. “Bella, look who it is!”

“Momma!” Small arms wrapped around your waist as she crashed into you with so much force you had to take a step back to keep your balance.

“Hey cupcake!” No matter how hard your day was, a hug from her was always the cure. Of course, a little attention from Spencer defiantly didn’t hurt, which you were remined of as you felt a soft kiss on your cheek. Bella was more than excited to tell you all about what her and Spencer had done tonight. After picking her up from school, they went to the park and played soccer (she won), and then they came home, they made pancakes together, before Spencer decided that a school night was the perfect time to reenact one of theatre’s best comedies. After the initial excitement, you and Spencer simultaneously realized that it was an hour and a half past Bella’s bedtime, to which she was promptly sent upstairs to begin getting ready; only after Spencer promised to tuck her in.

Now that you were alone, you had a couple questions.

“Shakespeare? Spence she’s six.” You began helping him collect all the animals as you raised your eyebrows at him. “You know most dads reenact something like Goldilocks or Beauty and the Beast, right?”

“Well clearly I’m not most dads,” he said, gesturing to his kimono and mismatched fuzzy socks.

You had to crack a smile at that one. “Does she even understand what’s going on?”

“She’s my daughter of course she understands what’s going on,” he joked.

“Oh, don’t tell me she’s gonna turn out like you.”

“Y/N I will do absolutely everything in my power to assure that is exactly what happens.”

“Spence don’t you dare!” You laughed, launching a stuffed animal at him and hitting him square in the face.

“I will make it my personal mission to make sure she memorizes the periodic table and can tell you the stages of photosynthesis before she reaches the second grade!” He threw the stuffed animal back at you, his entire face glowing with happiness.

“At this rate, she’ll probably right her crush a sonnet for Valentine’s day!”

“After all the Shakespeare we’ve been doing together I should hope so!” The stuffed animal dodge ball continued for another ten minutes until you heard a shout. “Daddy! I’m ready!”

“Your princess is calling, Signor.” Spencer gave one final throw, nailing you in the stomach before heading upstairs with smile.

[trashforgubler]

Writings On the Wall

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: You and Spencer are friends, but then you find a giant pile of unsent love letters that he wrote about you stored in his desk

Extra Info: Y’all seem to like Reid - centric fics so here ya go. Song is “Writings on the Wall” by Sam Smith

Inspired By: this really cute post   

Requests: Open

masterpost   

One more paragraph. Just one more. You could do this.

Well, maybe you could, but your last pen gave up the ghost halfway through the first sentence. Biting back a growl of frustration, you drop the pen and stare at it menacingly as it rolls across your page. Here you were, trying to get some work done for once and that thing has the audacity to tap out..

“Hey Y/N, Morgan and I are gonna go grab lunch. Wanna come?” Spencer’s tall form appeared in front of you, a giant smile plastered on his face per usual. You hated to admit it but his messy hair and wrinkled sweater looked particularly cute today. The offer was tempting, but you were afraid that if you didn’t get through your work now, you wouldn’t ever do it and the last thing you needed was Hotch on your ass about late assignments.

“No, I’m gonna take a raincheck. Sorry pretty boy.” The disappointment flashed on his face only momentarily before he promptly covered it up.

“Okay, well have fun with… that.” He said, gesturing to the never-ending pile of papers on your desk.

He waved goodbye as he and Morgan headed out of the room, before you called out to him, “Could I borrow a pen?”

“Yeah it’s in my desk!” He yelled from the elevators. You flashed him a quick thumbs up as the doors closed before walking over to it. Man, that dude has no right to be making fun of you for your desk. If yours was messy, his was catastrophic. Seriously, there was not an inch of it that wasn’t covered in empty coffee cups, old case reports, or some random paperback that your pretty sure no other human being could possibly have interest in. You eyed multiple books that weren’t even in English. A laugh escaped your lips as you realized Spencer’s desk is the perfect representation of Spencer himself. But, no matter how fun it was to count the number of coffee stains on his papers, you did actually come here for a reason. Unfortunately, Spencer was not to clear on the coordinates of his pens, so you started opening random drawers until you found them. After all, there were only three.

First drawer: More books, mostly overdue ones from the library. God this guy needs an e -reader.

Second drawer: His laptop, a package of expired cough drops, and an old sudoku puzzle book.

Third drawer: Paper. Lots of paper. Actually, so much paper, you could barely get the drawer open all the way. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it, until you saw your name written at the top of one of them.

You felt a tingle of guilt go through your body as you took the top sheet out and read it.

Dear Y/N,

You looked so beautiful today. I wanted to tell you, but I every time I look at you, I feel like I can’t speak. I can hear the words I want to say swirling around in my brain, but by the time I want to say them, I get so nervous that they don’t come out right. On the jet ride home today, I saw you in the back making tea. Only you could look so perfect doing such an arbitrary task. You looked so gorgeous I actually got out of my seat, suddenly feeling confident enough to tell you. I wanted to look into your eyes and say that your smile makes my heart flutter, and your laugh makes me want to cry. Not because it’s a bad laugh. Because it’s a beautiful laugh. On second thought, I probably wouldn’t say that. Its confusing. I wanted to tell you that you are the most exquisite thing I had ever seen. Instead, I asked you what kind of tea you were making. When you said mint, I said “mm caffeine.” After that complete failure at flirtation, I went back to my seat and tried to figure out what about you made me so jittery. I don’t know what it is. But I know that one day I’ll figure it out. And once I do, I’ll be able to tell you all of that, and so much more.

Love, Spencer

What? You had seen the way Spencer sneaks glances at you out of the corner of his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking, but you didn’t think much of it. You were friends. Of course, you definitely had a crush on him. You blushed the first time you shook hands with him, and ever since then you had been secretly hoping he would ask you out, but you didn’t think that he was interested. Guess you overestimated your profiling skills on that one. Setting the letter beside you on the floor, you looked back into the drawer. It only took a moment to realize the entire thing was stuffed with letters to you. One after the other you pulled them out. Some were multiple pages stapled together. Long lines that read like poetry. Others were barely legible scribbles on coffee stained sticky notes.

You said you liked my sweater today and I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t say, “It would look better on you.”

You were so enveloped in reading each and every scrap of paper in the drawer you completely lost track of time. Before you knew it, you heard Spencer’s laugh coming toward you, and there was no time to hide what you had found.

“And then I- nomygod!” Spencer’s carefree tone was replaced by sheer panic when he saw you on your knees, next to a giant pile of paper and a now empty bottom drawer. You knew you had to address it, but you weren’t quite sure how to start this conversation. You had been reading for so long you almost forgot how to speak. Maybe Spencer’s social awkwardness was contagious.

Not trusting yourself to form a coherent sentence, you settled for a drawn out, “Hey, Spence.” Sheepishly, you stared at the papers on the floor, knowing it was beyond obvious what you had done. On the one hand, you felt guilty. It’s his desk, his letters, his privacy was being evaded. But on the other hand, they were all about you, and the man clearly needs help expressing his feelings.

“Did you- ”

“Yep.”

“All of them?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Spencer tucked his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground, not knowing where to start. One of his biggest and most embarrassing secrets had just been discovered from the one person he was determined to hide it from.

“Okay,” Derek started. Both you and Spencer jerked your heads up at him, completely forgetting that he was still there. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into, but I’m just gonna go hang out with Garcia while you to figure out… this.” He said gesturing to the mess. He laughed and playfully hit Spencer on the shoulder, clearly seeing that he was beyond embarrassed by whatever was going on.

“Spence…”

“I – I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s weird and its creepy but I just had all these feelings and I could never talk about them because I didn’t know how so I just wrote them out and hoped that they would help me actually talk to you but it obviously didn’t help and I just kept writing them anyways and oh my god this is so embarrassing.” He turned a shade of red you didn’t know human beings were even capable of. Nothing in life had ever prepared you for a situation like this, so you did what you always do when people you love are upset.

You stood up from the floor and placed your hands on his shoulders, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “I love you too Spence,” you said softly. The smile on his face was indescribable as he wrapped his arms tight around your body.

[trashforgubler]

Something Chimes In Me

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Reid gets back from a rough case and you dance in the living room together

Extra Info: Y’ALL IF YOU LISTEN TO ONE SONG SUGGESTION I GIVE YOU MAKE IT THIS ONE. It’s called “Something Chimes In Me” by Cirque Éloize but make sure you listen to the one with the guy singing because trust me it’s way better than the girl version. Anywho this is legit my favorite song rn and I’ve been wanting to write something with it for the longest time and I finally got this idea so yes please listen to it

Requests: Open

masterpost   

The case had been a rough one. Four teenagers went missing. All four of them ended up dead. They caught the killer, but not before any of them could be saved. Spencer got out of the car feeling more defeated than he had in a long time. He wanted nothing more than to see you, to hear your voice. The phone calls were great, but it was nothing like being able to gaze into your eyes as they lit up when you saw him, or the way you pulled him close to you in your sleep.

If he had the energy, he would have run up the stairs and broke the apartment door down to get to you, but the last few days had taken too much out of him. Still, he found himself almost jittery with exhausted excitement as he unlocked the door. As soon as he saw you standing in the kitchen, he threw his messenger bag on the ground and swept you into his arms, relishing in the sweet scent of your skin.

“Hi Spence,” you laughed. His clinginess was nothing new, after all he caught serial killers for a living. Anyone who did that needed a hug afterwards. He stood motionless, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his until he finally broke it with a long kiss.

“Hi Y/N.”

It was only then you saw his eyes. The usual brightness was gone, and was replaced by a dull, tired look. He looked like he hadn’t slept well in a while, but more than that, he just look broken. “You okay?” you asked him. He turned his face down to the floor, suddenly ashamed of his own emotions. Even with his vocabulary, he couldn’t quite figure out how to communicate his feelings, so he settled for a shrug.

“C’mere.” You led him over to the couch, and let him collapse on it with a satisfied sigh. As soon as you sat down, he tipped his head onto your shoulder, letting you comb your fingers though his tangled hair, massaging his head as you did. “Wanna talk about it?”

He took your free hand in his and squeezed before giving a quiet, “No”. Well, if he didn’t want to talk, you weren’t going to make him, but you also knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep if the last thing he had on his mind was how terrible his case went. You searched your brain for ideas, trying to grab at anything that would make him feel better. It wasn’t until you looked around that one popped into your head. As soon as it did, you untangled yourself from him and made your way across the living room, beginning to leaf through your substantially large record collection until you found what you were looking for. Carefully, you took it out of the sleeve and set it on the turntable before releasing the arm, smiling at the small crackle of the vinyl coming to life.

Your chimes still resonate in the clouds of my guest room, and I stand in need of your fine bloom

The smoky voice of the singer wafted through the apartment, enveloping you in its warmth as you stood willfully entranced by the sound. As the energy flowed through you, your hand reached out to Spencer, inviting him to join you in the middle of the room. It seemed like the music was captivating him the same as it was for you. He looked relaxed for the first time that night as he got up and put his hands on your waist. With your arms set on his shoulders, you smiled. You couldn’t help it. His curly hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at you, having never seen something so beautiful. You. In your sweatpants and old college t shirt that smelled like lavender fabric softener, dancing in his arms in the middle of the night. The dim lights that used to bother you because you could never see swallowed you whole and you let them. The rest of the world stopped as you felt his arms move from your waist, to your upper back pulling you tight against his chest. Now instead of dancing prom style, you were simply held in his arms, rocking back in fourth. Your head was upon his chest, and you closed your eyes at the comforting warmth of it. The rise and fall of his breathing made you feel safer than you ever have before.

If your drop shall be sufficient, I’m overcrowded by your thirst. It denies resistance

Never before had you felt this loved. You were so absorbed in the moment of it you almost didn’t notice the quiet sniffle from above you. Looking up, you were met with Spencer’s teary eyes. They were red, and filled to the brim. As he noticed you studying his face, he smiled at you.

“Spence?” you asked softly.

“I’m not sad, I promise,” he replied with a small laugh. “I just love you a lot.” His voice hitched on the last sentence as your heart swelled. You kissed the tip of his nose as you felt your own eyes burn with tears of joy. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about another human being. He tucked his head into your shoulder and sighed a happy sigh.

Ghost lights flicker flirtatiously. Like pom – poms on prom night, flitting away your timidity

Time disappeared a long time ago, but eventually in the warmth of his embrace, you became more and more exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and rest your head upon him until morning

“You ready for bed?” he asked, as if he read your mind. You nod, too tired to say anything else. After placing a kiss on your lips, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and took you down the hall. God, you loved him like hell.

I need you, baby can’t you see. Something chimes in me

[trashforgubler]

While You Sleep

Word Count: .9k

Summary: Spencer isn’t sleeping and the reader (obviously concerned) makes him

Extra Info: Shoutout the AP Psychology study guide I’m supposed to be filling out right now that inspired this fic. Song is “While You Sleep” by Boom Forest.

Requests: Open

masterpost   

Spencer was up late again. It’s not surprising, he has never been a big fan of sleeping, saying he had more important things to do than lie unconscious for 6 – 9 hours a night. You used to let him do as he would when it came to sleep, after all, he was a grown man. A grown man in the FBI with almost as many doctorates as you had fingers on your right hand, surely he could handle his own sleep schedule. Usually, he did, but throughout the week you saw the bags under his eyes get darker, his curly get more tangled, and the crease between his eyebrows grow more defined. During the day he always looked like he was about to pass out, and at night he was nowhere to be found, leaving the queen size bed you share to feel far too big. After dating for a year, you trust him enough to tell you when he’s having trouble sleeping. The nightmares used to plague him constantly until you sat him down to talk about it. Since then, they are only sporadic, and he comes to you in the morning, knowing that you’ll make him feel safe again. So, if nightmares aren’t the cause of his recent insomnia, what is?

You wake up in bed alone for the fourth time this week. Considering its only Thursday, that’s too many times not to be concerned. The clock to your right says it’s 3:17 a.m, but the coldness on your boyfriend’s side of the bed says he hasn’t been there all night. Based on his ravishing performance last night of trying to cook dinner and dropping a full carton of milk on the floor because of the coordination slowly leaving his body, you decide it was time to involve yourself. The warmth of your blankets leaves you as you stand up and wander down the pitch-black hallway. Well, almost pitch-black hallway. At the very end of it was Spencer’s study, and a soft, yellow glow was spilling out from under the door.

You knock gently before entering, squinting at the sudden brightness that assaults your senses. Unsurprisingly, Spencer was leaned over at his desk, a pile of case files in front of him. He had three cups of coffee, all of them only half-drunk, and he was poring furiously over an open folder on his desk. The adorable way his tongue sticks out ever so slightly when he’s thinking let a small smile form on your face. His hair was a mess, he was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and more concerningly, you had been standing in his room for about thirty seconds and he hadn’t even noticed yet. You didn’t know how long someone had to go without sleep to not notice someone standing right next to them, but it was definitely too long.

“Hey.” You pushed lightly on his shoulder, knowing he was too far gone to respond only to someone’s voice.

He immediately snapped out of whatever trance he was in and looked at you like a deer in the headlights. As soon as he recognized you, his features softened as he exhaled loudly. “What are you doing up this late?” he asked.

“What am I doing up this late?” You laughed as you said it, and received an embarrassed smile in return. “I came in here to ask you the same question.”

“I’m just trying to work through this case. I thought I almost had it, but I guess I didn’t. Feels like I’m back at square one again.” He rubbed at his eyes and turned his attention back to his desk before you spun his chair around to face you.

“Well, maybe that’s because your giant brain wants to sleep.”

“I think my giant brain wants to solve this case.”

Clearly, you were going to have to come up with another tactic to get him to come to bed. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. If you can answer this science question, I’ll let you keep working. If not, you have to come to bed.”

“Deal.” Spencer folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. With the light hitting his face directly, he looked like he hadn’t even seen a bed in months.

“Tell me the four stages of sleep, in order.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow out you, surprised that you gave him such an easy question. But you knew that asking a question that seemingly had an obvious answer would confuse his poor sleep-deprived brain.

“NREM -1, NREM – 2, NREM – 3, REM.”

“Well, looks like bedtime for you Dr. Reid.” You manhandled him out of the chair, him not bothering to give too much fight. Turns out he hadn’t even realized what was going on until you were already in the bedroom. You deposited him on his side of the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, noticing his eyes were already starting to shut.

“But – but I got the question right.” He said groggily.

“Actually, you go back to NREM – 2 before entering REM sleep, which is why people spend 50% of the night in NREM – 2. A certain boy genius told me that once.” You said smugly.

“Mm.”

When you climbed into bed next to him, he immediately wrapped himself around you and tucked his head to your chest. His breathing and heart rate were already starting to slow. You placed a kiss on his forehead as he fell asleep.

“Goodnight Spence.”

[trashforgubler]

Glow

Summary: Bucky and Steve have a four year old daughter named Sky, and they learn that she has the same healing powers that Rapenzul does while staying at Stark Towers

Extra Info: I have no idea where this idea from but here it is. Guess I offically write for three fandoms now 😂. The song is called Glow, and it was composed for Disneyland’s World of Color. I sang this for my choirs Christmas concert this year and it’s honestly one of the prettiest pieces we’ve ever done and I love it so much. Also sorry I couldn’t get the word count on this one, I wrote it on my phone and can’t figure it out on here

Warnings: one fuck word

Requests: Open

masterpost

“Ow, dammit.”

Steve dropped his knife and pressed a finger to the edge of his bleeding thumb.

“You okay?”

“Yeah just a little nick. Does Stark have any bandaids around?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replied, “Let me go check.”

Bucky was halfway through the kitchen door when he almost ran into his four year old daughter. She was already in her pink nightgown and slippers, her curly hair ruffled like she had just been asleep.

“Oops sorry doll,” Bucky said as he kneeled down and kissed her on the cheek. “What are you doin’ down here?”

“Is daddy okay?” Her soft voice melted Bucky’s heart everytime he heard it. Pure innocence wrapped in a bow.

“He’s okay honey, he just got a little boo-boo.”

At this, Sky’s blue eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face. “Can I fix it?” She asked, excitement seeping out of her question.

Bucky’s eyebrows creased, “Fix it?” He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Maybe she just wanted to kiss it better like both of them had done for her so many times before.

“Yeah! I’ll show you!” Before he could question her further, Sky had taken Bucky’s calloused hand and dragged him across the kitchen to Steve. She then pushed Steve into one of the chairs by the kitchen table, and took her seat across from him. Gently, as if his hand were made of glass, she placed it on the table and pressed her small finger to the cut, and wrapped her other hand around his forearm. “Stay still,” she said, in the most serious voice she could muster.

Steve looked over at Bucky, confusion written all over his face. Bucky merely shrugged and returned his attention to Sky.

“Ready daddy?”

“Sure am baby girl.”

With that, she closed her eyes, and began to sing.

“Flower gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine, what once was mine.”

It was as if an angel was sitting before them. Her voice was impeccably clear. If they weren’t looking right at her, they never would have guessed it was a four year old singing. The sound was hauntingly beautiful. It echoed off the kitchen cabinets the same way a choir’s does in a cathedral. They didn’t know anything could sound like that.

They were so hypnotized by her voice it took them a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t just their imagination, their daughter was actually glowing. Her jet black hair was illuminated by a golden outline that shone on her freckled skin. A golden infinity had wrapped itself around her and Steve’s arms, and pulsated with her voice. Even the cut was shining through the back of her hand.

“Heal what has been hurt. Change the fate’s design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine, what once was mine.”

Sky opened her eyes and removed her hand from Steve’s. The cut was gone.

The kitchen was so quiet Steve’s racing heart could be heard from across the room. “H-h-how?” Was all he could spit out, having lost the ability to form a coherent sentence once his daughter lit up like a fucking lantern.

“I don’t know,” she said casually.

“Okay either I’ve been drugged or you guys adopted Tinkebell.” All three heads turned to see Tony standing in the doorway, looking a little more than shocked. “I - I heard something godlike coming from here and I just came to check it out to make sure it wasn’t the Lord calling me home.”

There was another beat of silence as Steve examined his hand for the tenth time. “Anything else you want to show us?” He asked, voice still wavering.

“Nope!” Sky jumped down from the chair and ran back to her bedroom, leaving the three men to stare at eachother, still in shock from what they just saw.

“You gotta keep an eye on that one.” Tony said with a smile.

Bucky and Steve looked at eachother in exasperation, simultaneously realizing that parenting just got a little more interesting.

[trashforgubler]

My brain has been melted by quarantine and I really want to write but and I’m super stumped about what to do next so please send requests!! ❤️❤️❤️

[trashforgubler]

Guiding Light

Word Count: .6k

Summary: Reid shows up to the BAU clearly sick so you comfort him

Extra Info: Y’all I just found out that my state won’t go back to school for the rest of the year, so I defiantly have loads of free time to write. Please send, prompts, diolouge, songs or whatever and I’ll whip you up something. This fic is named after Guiding Light by Mumford and Sons

Warnings: Vomit, maybe 2 swear words

Requests: Open

masterpost  

Reid walked into the BAU looking like a bag of ass.

Well, maybe “walked” isn’t the right word.

The 30 something year old genius stumbled feverishly into the BAU, his wrinkled shirt not buttoned correctly, and his face plastered with a thin layer of cold sweat, causing his unbrushed curls to stick to his forehead like glue. In simpler terms, he looked like a bag of ass.

You caught a glimpse of this sorry sight on your way to the copier. The new case file had just handed out, but they were a couple short, so you offered to go make more. It was here, passing by the glass doors that you saw Reid, standing outside the elevator, looking like a deer in the headlights. It was blatantly obvious he was sick. Between his slightly wavering form and his ghostly pallor, even Stevie Wonder could have spotted it from a mile away. Setting the file down on the desk beside you, you promptly went over to him. The closer you got, the worse he looked. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and it was beyond you how he was able to drive here without smashing his car into tree.

“Hey Spence,” you said in a low voice, “You feelin’ okay?” His eyes remained focused on the ground, completely unresponsive to any of the stimuli around him. In fact, you weren’t even sure if he knew you were standing right in front of him. “Spence,” you repeated, taking his glistening face in your hands to meet your eyes. At that, he snapped out of it. Blinking hard, he gazed around the room, as if he wasn’t completely sure were he was, or how he got there, and judging by how hot his skin felt against yours, that was entirely possible.

“Sorry what?” His voice was at least 3 octaves lower, and sounded raspy.

“I asked if you felt okay.”

He ran a trembling hand through his matted hair before replying, “I feel fine.”

“Okay,” you said nodding, but you wrapped a strong arm around his waist because he really did look like he was about ten seconds away from keeling over. “Let’s go down here.”

A few unsteady footsteps later, you were in an empty conference room. You deposited Reid into one of the chairs before grabbing the box of Kleenex and wiping down his face with it.

“Mm,” a small smile of gratitude formed on Reid’s lips as he leaned into the touch. The cold tissue felt heavenly on his burning skin, but he had lost the ability to form a coherent thought as his stomach started to churn. A new layer of ice-cold sweat appeared on his face, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to him and causing him to squirm.

“What’s wrong?”

Reid wrapped his arms protect around his midsection and swallowed thickly.

“Mmph, stomach,” he got out between pained breaths.

“Feel like you’re gonna puke?”

Reid’s eyes squeezed shut as he nodded miserably. You swiftly grabbed the small garbage can from the corner of the room and set it down in front of him. As soon as you did, Reid gagged harshly into it before releasing the entirety of last nights dinner in one go. You laid a comforting hand on his back and rubbed gentle circles on it, feeling his muscles tense and release with every heave. The next half an hour was a vicious cycle of gagging, vomiting, and heavy panting as he waited anxiously for the next round. Eventually, a burning gag ripped through his throat, producing nothing but a string of bile. He coughed harshly before gagging unproductively again.

“Hey, breathe, you’re all empty.”

Nodding weakly, he let his head drop to your shoulder in exhaustion, like a puppet who had just gotten it’s string cut.

“Feel any better?”

His shoulders shrugged halfheartedly as his eyes slowly drifted shut.

“Wanna hang out here for a little bit?”

He nodded again, shifting so his head laid on your lap.

“Okay.”

[trashforgubler]

Bruises

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: The reader is in an abusive relationship and the team finds out (Morgan centric)

Extra Info: I have a part 2 for this in the works but it is not coming along all  that swell so if you want a part 2 let me know and I’ll finish it but if not I’ll probably scrap it :) also this fic was inspired by the song Bruises by Lewis Capaldi

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence, panic attack, maybe one swear word

Requests: Open

masterpost

You pull up to your parking space and stop. Taking the keys out of the ignition and putting them in your purse, you begin to open your door put pause. Instead, you pull down the mirror above you and cringe at the hack job of coverup makeup you had slathered onto your face. The fresh purple bruise is anything put small, and your drugstore concealer is doing nothing to help. Your fingers brush across your cheekbone as your mind drifts back to last night. The fear you felt, the anger on his face, the sharp pain…

Snap out of it, you scold yourself. You don’t have time for this. Adjusting your hair so it covers your cheek, you get out of the car and head into the building.

Anxiety ripples throughout you as you ride the elevator. The last thing you want is for someone to notice it. It’s times like these you wished you worked at Hooters were everyone would be staring your boobs instead of the division of the FBI that trains their agents to pick up micro expressions.

The elevator opens to reveal the BAU, bustling with agents and staff even before eight in the morning. You give polite nods to your acquaintances as you head over to your desk. A picture of you and your boyfriend greets you. Picking it up, you study it: his arm wrapped snuggly around your waist as you look into each others eyes, a genuine smile painted on both your faces. If only a camera had been able to capture what happened later that night, away from the sunny park and into a small bedroom with a man who had had one to many beers and was too drunk to hear the word no. Your jaw clenched at the memory as you tipped the frame over, placing the picture side down on the desk so you didn’t have to look at it anymore.

“Mornin’ Sunshine.”

The voice from behind startled you and caused you to jump slightly as you whipped around. After realizing it was only Morgan, your face began to burn from embarrassment. Why did you have to startle so easy?

“Sorry, you scared me,” you said with a chuckle, unconsciously tucking your hair behind your ear. As soon as you did it, you realized your mistake. Your heart skipped a beat and you immediately fixed your hair, but it was too late.

“Where’d you get that from?”

“The field.” Dammit, you answered too quickly. Your automatic response to anyone asking about a bump or bruise was becoming too automatic.

“I didn’t see you get hit.” His voice was monotone. Clearly not believing a word you said.

“Well I sure felt it.” You cracked your best fake smile, hoping a joke would throw him off the scent, or at least get him off your back.

“Huh.” Morgan wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was taking a good, hard look at you. It was uncomfortable enough that you broke eye contact and looked down at your lap, pretending to pick at your fingernails.

“Y/N”

Glancing back up at him, you were met with a steady look.

“I need you to promise me that if something is happening to you, if something is wrong, you will tell me, okay?”

You nod in response.

“No, I need you to say it.”

You laugh slightly to make it more lighthearted, “I promise to tell you if something is wrong.”

“Okay.”

Morgan gave you one more glance over before leaving you in peace. It took every ounce of energy you had not to scream. You don’t need his help, you don’t want to talk, all you want him to do is to mind his own damn business. You laid your head on your desk in exasperation, enjoying the feeling of the cold wood on your aching head. Only seconds pass until you sense Reid walking by on his way to the bullpen. It’s easy to tell it’s him because of the scent of coffee and cheap laundry detergent that wafers off of him. As he once told you, the less money you spend on laundry detergent, the more you can spend on books. Groaning slightly, you peel your head off your desk and walk up to the pen.

JJ greeted everyone with her usual smile that a mix of, “Hi, I’m happy you’re here,” and,“this folder I’m handing you contains multiple images of various mutilated bodies.” You take your place at the table next to Reid, cursing that he’s on the side where you were hit. Morgan’s gaze lands on you from across the room as you adjust your hair for the umpteenth time.

The meeting begins, but something feels off. Focus is hard to keep when your hiding something in a room full of profilers. The longer you’re in the room, the more paranoid you become.

Everyone’s eyes are on me

Everyone’s watching me

Everyone knows

Then, the panic sets in. If everyone knows, they’re going to confront him, and he is going to kill you. Not only that, but everyone will think you’re insane for staying with him. And what about Morgan? He’ll be furious you didn’t tell him. He gave you every opportunity, but you chose to lie straight to his face every day. The more you thought, the harder it became to breathe. Your pulse raced beneath your skin as you spiraled.

This is never going to end

Gripping the handles of the chair, you attempt to ground yourself, but it only draws more attention to you.

“You okay?” Reid had leaned over slightly and asked in a soft voice, his face trying to hide his concern, but in a small room he might as well have yelled it. All conversation stopped as everyone turned toward you. Air was quickly becoming scarce and having six pairs of eyes on you was doing nothing to help.

“Y/N?” Hotch was trying to get your attention, but the only thing you could focus on was the fact that you were suffocating and they were all watching you drown. You had to get out of here. Words were impossible to get out, so you said nothing as you abruptly stood up walked out into the hallway. Tiny black dots were starting to appear in front of you as you stumbled around, having no idea where you were going. It’s like you weren’t even in control of your body anymore.

“Hey, you’re okay. Just breathe.” Morgan had appeared at your side. How long had he been there? You didn’t know and you didn’t care. His calm voice and reassuring hand on your back encompassed you like a worn blanket. “Let’s go in here.” He guided you to one of the chairs in Hotch’s office before closing the door and sitting down to face you, taking your shaking hands in his. “Breathe with me, c’mon.” He inhaled deeply and held it before exhaling audibly. After a few more antagonizing minutes of breathlessness, you finally feel your lungs fill again. The room was eerily quiet now and you prayed for Morgan to say anything. The silence was too ominous.

“What’s really going on with you?” he began, “And don’t give me any bullshit about just being tired of having an off day. Being tired gives you eyebags not bruises and panic attacks.”

All of a sudden silence seemed much more appealing. You really did want to tell him. The lying and the hiding and the suffocating was unbearable. You just want to breathe again, but you don’t know how.

“Can you tell me how you got that bruise?”

You answer before you think, “Bryce”

Morgan greets your answer with nothing, prompting you for more.

“He was mad that he couldn’t find the batteries for the flashlight, and I told him that we should go to bed and worry about it in the morning. He didn’t like that I told him what to do, so he threw it at me.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

You nod and stare at your lap, ashamed that you’ve put up with him for so long. Morgan gently raises your chin up to meet his eyes. “Y/N I promise he will never lay a hand on you again.”

Tears stung at your eyes. Every day you went home in fear because you knew what you were going home to. You knew that he was going to hurt you but he did it in a way that made you think he still loved you, but punches thrown at your face hurt the same no matter what the circumstance. The thought of never going home to him once would have terrified you, but something about Morgan swearing to you that you’ll be alright made it almost too good to believe. Pursing your lips, you let a teardrop escape. Morgan pulled you into his shirt, wrapping his arms around you. He smelled like old spice, and leather, and safety. All the emotion from the past two years you had been fighting so hard to keep at bay came out.

You were finally going to be safe.