This Is So Cute 💕

This is so cute 💕

imma need some serious angst with cold!reader and spencer. Like spence gets MAJORLY injured and maybe cold!read even has to do like cpr on him, like the full angst kit and caboodle.

(love you queen 😘)

WATER WEIGHT — SPENCER REID!

spencer’s not allowed to die. not yet. you’re not ready.

s10!spencer x cold!reader 1.3k angst cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

WARNINGS | attempted drowning (by unsub of spencer), spencer’s heart stops momentarily, cpr

a/n — not the lip on lip action you guys wanted but close enough ig—

The air is sharp with the bite of winter, and the dull roar of the river accompanies every breath you take. Trees with skeletal branches loom overhead, casting long shadows in the dim light of late afternoon.

The case has been relentless—ten days of chasing a killer across state lines, culminating here, at the edge of nowhere. The unsub’s trail had gone cold this morning, but Spencer had insisted on canvassing the area near the river, claiming he’d seen something the rest of you missed.

You hadn’t agreed, but you’d let him go. He was Spencer Reid, after all. Always right, always insistent. But when the scream came over the comms—short, sharp, and unmistakably his—your heart froze in your chest.

Now you’re running. Sprinting, boots pounding against frozen earth as you follow the distant sounds of a struggle. Branches snag at your jacket, the cold air burns your lungs, but you don’t hesitate. You don’t even think.

When you burst into the clearing, the scene before you punches the air from your lungs. The unsub has Spencer pinned, his body half-submerged in the river, arms flailing weakly. Water churns as the unsub presses down with unrelenting force, trying to hold him under.

“Reid!” you scream, voice tearing through the air.

You raise your weapon, but the angle is wrong. You can’t risk hitting him. Instead, you lunge forward, but you’re too far away, and Spencer’s struggles are slowing. His hands, clawing desperately at the unsub’s arms, are slipping beneath the water.

“Spencer!”

The rest of the team crashes into the clearing behind you, shouts erupting. Morgan reaches the unsub first, tackling him away from Spencer with a force that sends both men sprawling. The unsub roars in fury, but Morgan lands a solid punch, silencing him.

You don’t care. Your focus is on Spencer, who floats face-down in the water, unmoving.

Time slows, the world narrowing to the icy river and the too-still figure within it. Without thinking, you plunge into the freezing water, the cold like knives against your skin. Your hands find Spencer, and you haul him out with a strength you didn’t know you had.

“Reid, come on,” you mutter, voice trembling as you lay him on the riverbank. His face is pale, lips tinged blue, and his chest is still.

You check for a pulse and feel nothing but your own rising terror. “No,” you whisper, the word a desperate plea. “No, no, come on.”

“Damn it, Spencer, don’t you dare do this to me,” you mutter through clenched teeth as you tear the bulletproof vest from his body, hands pressing into his sternum.

You glance up briefly, catching Morgan and Rossi watching with grim expressions. Emily is on the radio, calling for an ambulance, her voice tight with urgency.

You return to the task at hand, refusing to think about what it will mean if you can’t bring him back. Your breaths come in gasps, but you keep going. Time blurs, the world narrowing to the rise and fall of your hands against his chest.

Your arms ache, your knees dig into the rocky bottom of the bank, but you don’t stop. You can’t. You’ve seen death before, so many times, but not his. Never his.

“Come on, Spencer,” you say, your voice breaking. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

You press harder, your movements growing frantic. The tears stinging your eyes are a surprise, and you blink them away furiously.

“Reid!” you shout, slamming your hands down harder than you should, desperation overtaking reason. “Breathe!”

There’s a crack underneath the heel of you palm, but you keep going.

“One, two, three,” you count under your breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Come on, Spencer. Don’t you dare.”

You alternate between compressions and breaths, the movements mechanical, but your mind is chaos. Images flash unbidden—Spencer’s soft smile over morning coffee, the way his eyes light up when he’s unraveling a puzzle, the quiet moments when his presence is the only thing that grounds you.

“Don’t you die on me,” you mutter, voice cracking. “Not like this.”

Another round of compressions, another breath, and then—finally—a cough.

Spencer jerks beneath your hands, water spilling from his mouth as he gasps for air. Relief crashes into you with such force that you sag back on your heels, hands trembling.

Spencer blinks up at you, dazed and disoriented, his lips forming your name in a hoarse whisper.

“Reid,” you whisper, your voice shaky and thick with emotion. You reach out, your hands hovering uncertainly before they settle on his shoulders.

He blinks up at you, confusion knitting his brow. “Y-You—“

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your tone sharper than you intend. The flood of emotions crashing over you is too much—relief, anger, fear—all fighting for dominance. “Don’t you dare say anything right now.”

His gaze flickers to your face, and something in his expression shifts. He sees it then, the cracks in your cold exterior, the raw panic that lingers in your eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you just put me through?” you snap, your voice rising. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to drive the point home. “You—You scared the hell out of me, Spencer!”

His lips part as if to respond, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You could’ve died,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You did die! And if you ever—if you ever do something like that again, I swear—“

Your voice cracks, the anger giving way to a wave of helplessness that leaves you trembling. Without thinking, you pull him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him tight.

His body is cold and damp against yours, but you don’t care. The steady rise and fall of his chest against yours is the only thing that matters now.

“You’re an idiot,” you snap, voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to tears. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

Your voice cracks again, and you bite down on the emotion threatening to spill over.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” you murmur against his shoulder, your voice a quiet, trembling whisper.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, then his arms come up slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s unsure whether you’ll shove him away at any moment. But when his hands settle on your back, the warmth of his touch feels grounding.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river.

You don’t respond. You just hold him tighter, unwilling to let go, as the rest of the team works to secure the unsub and call for medics.

The cold bites at your skin, and the weight of everything presses heavy on your chest, but none of it matters.

Tags

spencer reid criminal minds spencer reid x reader

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside.

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ.

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib.

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets.

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway.

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered.

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges.

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut.

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you.

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him.

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say.

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

@shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

Tags

bucky barnes bucky barnes x reader bucky x reader bucky barnes x you bucky barnes fluff

10K notes View Post

love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 month ago

I love him 🫶

𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒔, derek morgan

derek morgan x shy!reader (908 words)

in which derek kisses you for the first time and you say ‘thank you’

warnings: none, tooth rotting fluff 🫶🏻

note!: inspired by gilmore girls!!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You run through the raining street, giggles escaping your lips at the circumstances. Derek has his coat over the both of you, trying to protect you from getting wet as you speed to your house. Your hand clutches him arm to make sure he's going on the right way.

You feel giddy, it's your fourth date and you wonder if it can get any better than this. It feels well deserved after months of pining and flirting. Or better, him flirting with you endlessly while you fluster every single time.

Now that there's actually something going on between you, he takes things more gently and your heart warms at him being overly respectful with you. Small gestures as holding your hand whenever you're walking side by side, always taking the side closest to the road when you're on a side walk and insisting to pay the bill at every chance he gets.

Once you reach the porch, your breathing is uneven - the giggling mess not helping much on it. Derek throws the jacket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms up and down to warm you up.

"You okay?" He asks, way less affected by the running than you. Damn him and always being in shape.

"Yeah- yeah, i'm okay." You breath out, pulling the coat tighter around yourself. You find yourself hoping he forgets to take it back so you can have it for a little longer.

"Cosy?" He teases with a smile. Warmth spreads across your chest and neck, feeling suddenly embarrassed that he noticed your attention for his coat.

"Mhm. You sure you don't wanna come in?" You look at the raining pouring and the way the sky is starting to get dark. The idea of him going back there doesn't please you at all.

"Yeah, don't worry about me, sweetheart. Get yourself warm, don't want you catching a cold." He takes a step closer, wiping a droplet of water from your cheek.

You all but manage to nod before saying, "See you tomorrow?" You know you will, you work together. But you can barely think when he's standing so close.

"See you tomorrow." Derek confirms, not bothering to tease you about it and you feel grateful for it. You wait for him to make a move to leave, not daring to do it before him.

But instead, he moves even closer. His hands cup your face gently, giving you time to pull away. When you don't, he leans in to connect your lips with his in a gentle kiss. You heart races, hands coming up to rest on his chest as your mouth moves against his.

Before it can get any further, he slowly pulls away. Leaving a small peck on your lips before letting go of your face.

"Thank you." You practically squeak out, heat covering your cheeks.

Derek smiles slightly confused and without thinking you rush out a 'bye' before unlocking the door and slamming it shut behind you.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"He kissed you and you said 'thank you'?" Penelope asks.

"Yes! I'm so embarrassed, i can't believe i did that." You sigh exasperatedly, face falling to your hands. You've been thinking about what you're going to do when you see him all morning. You made sure to tell Pen to arrive earlier so you could seek for her help.

"Well that was very polite." She smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, it was stupid." You pull your head up only to drop it on her shoulder right after. "He's gonna start thinking i'm so weird." You know that's probably too dramatic, but the insecurity is eating you up.

"Oh, angel. He's head over heels for you, i don't think he'd ever find you weird." She rubs your back in a comforting manner.

Once you get yourself together, you thank her quickly before heading to the kitchenette for some coffee. Maybe that will lighten your mood.

Too engrossed in choosing between oat or regular milk, you don't notice Derek approach you. His hands touch your waist and you jump almost immediately. Mug almost flying off your hand if it wasn't for him reaching to steady your hand.

"Didn't mean to spook you, angel." He turns you to face him, your back against the counter as he stands close to you.

"Hi. S'okay." You mumble shily, grateful that he seems to act as if nothing happened.

"Hi." Derek's voice sounds gentle, looking around to make sure there's no one around before saying, "Do i get a good morning kiss?"

You grow hot but can't help but feel tempted, making note to not embarrass yourself again. With a small nod, you lay one hand on his arm to steady yourself and press a small kiss to his lips. His lips chase yours once you pull away, leaving a slightly longer kiss on them.

"Thank you." Derek says, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Derek!" You gasp embarrassed, hands covering your face. You were foolish enough to think he hadn't noticed.

"Sorry, sorry." He chuckles amusingly, pulling your hands away from your face and kissing both of them.

"You're mean." You mumble with a pout that makes him think this is even more endearing.

"You're adorable." He retorts, making all the anxieties you had earlier disappear. He pulls you in a hug, squeezing you tightly before kissing your temple reassuringly.

"Let me help you make that coffee." He adds. You're just grateful that he's him after all.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

love you,

cat 🤍

Tags

derek morgan criminal minds x reader derek morgan x reader derek morgan x fem!reader

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love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 month ago

Love love love 🤍

schrödinger’s relationship

spencer never needed to define what this was, until you did. now, the box is open, the outcome inevitable, and he has never been so happy to lose an argument.

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: situationship (ish? it gets resolved fast lol), mutual pining, friends to lovers (except they've been kissing for months), mention of heavy makeout, lap sitting, shirt removal, spencer kissing you to shut you the fuck up, cat does not survive the experiment (metaphorically speaking, there is no animal killing in this fic LOL) wc: 1.4k request: here

Your body is warm in his lap, your weight pressing down just enough to be distracting — no, disorienting — and Spencer is trying very hard not to look at your lips. Not just because they’re parted, slick, and kiss-swollen, but because the soft smudge of your lip gloss is evidence that this has been happening. That he’s been kissing you long enough to leave proof of it.

Mascara has clumped just slightly at the corners of your lashes and there’s a half-moon of pink polish chipped at the very edge of your thumbnail.

He’s obsessing over details. Your pupils are dilated, swallowing every fleck of color. He knows it’s a physiological response — dopamine, norepinephrine, oxytocin, all working in tandem to make you look like this, flushed and increasingly pretty on his thighs.

It’s easier to focus on biology than it is to focus on the fact that this moment exists in a state of suspended reality.

This was new. Not just in the way that everything between you had been new, in the way that months of small, careful steps had led to this, but in the way that Spencer had never felt like this. Overheated. Overwhelmed. Overrun with sensation. It had started as everything else had — soft and slow, the kind of kissing that didn’t lead anywhere except to more kissing.

And for months, he convinced himself that he could exist in this purgatory of lips meeting and parting, of hands resting politely at your waist. That he could always pull away before the ground gave away beneath him.

Today the ground was gone.

Spencer had never been particularly drawn to categories — not in the way people seemed to crave them. Labels had always felt limiting, reductive, forcing the complexities of human relationships into neat little boxes that never quite fit. He had been content in ambiguity, had never needed something to be named in order to understand it.

With you, the lack of label wasn’t liberating, it was frustrating. Because if this wasn’t something that could be named, then what was it?

“I’m just saying, I feel like if Rossi can write a whole book about a case, then I should at least be able to mention it in passing at brunch.” Your fingers skate absentmindedly across the dip of his throat, and Spencer, entranced, forgets to do something as basic as breathe. Oxygen is apparently optional. “But no, apparently that’s an inappropriate topic over eggs benedict. Which, okay, sure, but if I have to sit through another conversation about Carly’s fiance’s fantasy football league, I think I deserve to liven it up a little, you know?”

Your genuine need for an answer is clear, but Spencer can’t even remember what brunch is.

You gesture when you talk, and it’s so innocent — just emphasis, just a habit — but right now, it’s destroying him. Your fingers drag absently up his arm, over the soft material of his sweater, mapping the line of his forearm before skimming back up his neck. And then, like you don’t even realize you’re doing it, your palms smooth over his chest, fingertips tapping lightly against his collarbone like you’re idly counting his heartbeats. Spencer is painfully aware of every single one.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies. But he can’t decide what would kill him faster — how you touch him, or the moment you stop.

Spencer manages to clear his throat — barely.

“I think your friends don’t appreciate you enough.” His voice sounds strained, but any attempt at analyzing tone evaporates the second his fingers breach the barrier of your shirt.

Warm fingertips skim over bare skin, and suddenly, the conversation seems wildly misplaced. Because what was that about appreciation? If he’s trying to prove a point, he’s making it very convincingly.

You hum, shifting against him — not intentionally, probably, but it doesn’t matter, because he feels it all the same.

“Well, I can’t just hang out with you constantly.”

Spencer isn’t sure how to respond — because if he’s honest, that’s exactly what he wants. You, constantly. No breaks, no buffer. Just you.

Instead, he stares at your mouth again, because his brain is broken, and this is the inevitable destination. He never really understood the appeal of making out before you — before that first time, when he was supposed to just kiss you once and somehow ended up losing entire minutes of his life to your lips, to the sheer pleasure of pressing against you, of drinking in your sounds.

His broken brain is built to reinforce pleasure-seeking behaviors. Neurochemical feedback loops, all of it designed to keep him coming back. To keep him wanting. As if he needed the help.

Spencer doesn’t even pretend to think about it before saying, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your lips twitch. You’re about to tease him, he can tell.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing at all,” you say, tilting your head. “But wasn’t it you who went on that tangent about how platonic relationships significantly improve cognitive function?”

Spencer tries to find a loophole in that statement.

“And we,” you say, tracing a path down the trail of hair at his navel, “are not exactly fulfilling the platonic requirement.”

There was a time when he would have insisted — vehemently, even — that their relationship was strictly platonic. Fool’s errand.

“I mean, technically, if we wanted to be platonic, we could just… say we are.” That alone is egregiously incorrect. Spencer prepares to say as much, but then you pause, rolling the thought over like you’re actually considering it, before adding, “Like if we don’t label it, then it doesn’t count, right?”

His first instinct is to argue. His second instinct is to really argue. But neither one survives the sensory overload of you pressed against him.

“It’s like when you don’t open your credit card statements,” you continue, lips pursed. “Sure, the debt exists, but if you don’t acknowledge it, then it doesn’t feel real. So technically, if we just never say what this is, then it’s…”

“Schrödinger’s relationship?”

Spencer doesn’t know why he gives you the words — why he hands you the metaphor like a loaded gun and watches as you take perfect aim.

“Exactly! We exist in a state of undefined possibilities. We’re both platonic and not platonic until we open the box.”

Spencer sighs, rubbing at his temple, because now his entire brain is consumed by the implications of your logic.

Schrödinger’s cat was never meant to be a real experiment — just a way to illustrate how, in quantum mechanics, particles can exist in multiple states until measured. The cat is placed in a box, along with a vial of poison triggered by a completely random quantum event. Until the box is opened, it’s both alive and dead, trapped in an impossible in-between, a paradox that shouldn’t exist but somehow does. The problem is, that concept doesn’t translate perfectly to relationships. People aren’t quantum particles. Relationships don’t exist in probability states.

Except, apparently, this one does. Because as long as neither of you put a definitive label on what’s happening here, you exist in an undefined state.

He glances at you, at the expectant look in your eyes, and something about it makes him laugh, not because this is funny, necessarily, but because of course it would take a physics analogy for him to see what’s been obvious all along.

“I’m fairly certain that if we opened the metaphorical box, we would find that the cat — that is, our relationship — was decidedly not platonic.”

He hopes you’ll take the words for what they mean. That, for once, you won’t take the obvious escape route, won’t let yourself tuck this moment nearly into the realm of plausible deniability.

Because what he really said — what he really meant — was that he wants you. Only you. Singular, exclusive, definitively. If you pressed him for stronger language, he’d give it to you.

Your face was quick to light up.

“Are you asking me to go steady? Because Spencer, that’s a serious commitment. That means shared desserts, and, like, the expectation that I text you goodnight. And what’s the policy on PDA? Full access or —”

The rest of your sentence vanishes into fabric as Spencer pulls your shirt over your head, words muffled into cotton. You let out a muffled protest, momentarily caught in the fabric, and Spencer swears he’s never been more tempted to laugh at anything in his life.

By the time he tosses your shirt aside, you’ve recovered, blinking at him like nothing happened, hair adorably mussed.

“ — case-by-case basis?”

Spencer drags his hands down your hair, smoothing out the worst of the damage. He sighs dramatically, but his lips are twitching. “If I had known going steady required this much paperwork, I would’ve reconsidered.”

You grin at him. “Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait until we get into the holiday gift-giving policies and date night scheduling. Speaking of which —”

He doesn’t let you finish. He kisses you mid-sentence, less because he wants to shut you up (though that’s a nice bonus) and more because he can. Because he gets to. Because somehow, without him even realizing it was happening, this wonderful, impossible thing has become real.

This thing between you, this thing that was supposed to be undefined, a quantum maybe — it’s never been uncertain. It’s never been both platonic and not platonic, no matter how long he tried to pretend otherwise.

No, the box is open now. It probably always was.

And Spencer had never been so happy to kill the cat.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

Tags

spencer reid criminal minds fic spencer reid x reader spencer reid fluff

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love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 week ago

I love Franco fics sooo much

Flirt - Franco Colapinto

@shitshowblog prompt request #1 - "I like your last name. Can I have it?"

Summary: Franco is notorious for his flirting abilities, but maybe he's met someone who can play him at his own game.

Norris!reader (bc Lando and Franco seemed to be good friends last year and I think this would be a fun pair)

Word count: 903

Lando was the least surprised person to find his little sister was interested in the Williams driver who subbed in for Logan. The two had crossed paths last year a couple times but it never seemed to get anywhere as more than passing flirty banter than disappeared over the winter break and with him not returning as a driver, y/n wasn't sure what to do.

But then he got announced as Alpine's reserve driver.

Y/n returned this year more determined to get Franco's attention and keep it.

"Hey, Franco." Y/n greets as she passes by him in the paddock making his head whip around upon hearing her voice.

"Hermosa, I-where are you going?" Franco asks expecting her to stop for conversation. But y/n has a plan and it doesn't involve making his life easy.

Y/n slows her steps smiling as she turns to find Franco moving to catch up with her.

"I was going to grab something to eat at McLaren." Y/n explains as if she's none the wiser. "Unless you know something better to eat?"

"I could suggest one or two things." Franco smirks dragging his gaze up and down y/n's body which almost makes her stutter but she manages to maintain composure and maintain the energy he maintains with ease. "I think my ideas would fill you up very well actually."

"That's a very bold statement. You should really act on it rather than saying it." Y/n states watching his eyes widen for a moment.

"Come eat lunch with me. I will make sure you are well fed." Franco states making y/n internally celebrate that her mission is so far a success.

It didn't take long for Lando to realise his sister wasn't going to be spending more than the journey to the track with him so he just let her get on with it because he actually likes Franco and while he doesn't want to think about what the two might've got up to last night after being caught leaving together.

"Try this." Franco demands holding his fork out with some Korean BBQ chicken on it that he took from the Alpine catering which seems to be providing better than McLaren today. Y/n flinches away from the suddenness of the fork in her face and she hardly has a chance to process what he's trying to feed her before he speaks again. "You did not complain at what I was putting in your mouth last night you can trust me."

"I prefer what you were doing with your mouth last night too." Y/n comments earning a smirk before she leans towards the chicken and finally accepts the bite to try earning a smile while Franco shifts over and kisses her cheek while she chews and nods in defeat of the fact that his food is much better than what she'd been offered. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course, hermosa." Franco laughs nudging his plate towards her for her to have some more.

Franco visiting the Norris family home since y/n still lives under her parents roof is already beginning to be more and more of a norm, but Lando hadn't been home during one of his visits despite being a witness to them in the paddock.

"You two are all over each other. Please." Lando groans as he walks out into the garden where the two are "sunbathing" but really are a couple movements away from having sex in the garden with how far their tongues are into each other's throats.

Apparently that was all he came to say so presumably he'd looked out the window and felt the need to speak up, because he disappears back inside.

"I told you we should've gone to your place with Lando coming to visit." Y/n states while Franco hums, his mind very much elsewhere and the lust clouding his eyes is definitely not going to be easy to clear so she has to say something to snap him out of. "You know I like your last name."

"Thank you, mi amor." Franco mumbles slowly coming down from his thoughts while y/n smiles a little.

"Can I have it?"

"Of course you-my name? You want my-oh-OH you are very good." Franco laughs then pausing. "Do you really want my name?"

Y/n had really just stolen the pick up line and put it to use on the Argentine. But in truth neither had actually discussed their long term future, they've sort of been caught up in living in the moment that they just didn't think about the future much.

"I...I mean it would be quite nice to think we'll last that long together." Y/n mumbles earning a grin before she is almost head butted in an excited kiss.

"Amor, you leave it with me I will make sure you get my name and anything else you'd like." Franco smirks then biting his lip for a moment. "If your brother does not want to know what we get up to, I will get us a hotel to have fun in."

"W-Wait, leave it with you? What does that mean?" Y/n questions realising she might've just encouraged a very early engagement.

"Do not worry about a thing mi amor." Franco assures her then muting her second attempt to question him with another kiss. "Let's go find a hotel."

Tags

formula 1 f1 x reader f1 imagine franco colapinto f1 fic franco colapinto fic franco colapinto x reader franco colapinto fanfic

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love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 month ago

This is perfect 🤍

okay but when the team actually starts calling the reader and aaron mom and dad behind their backs and one day someone lets it slip out in front of them??

i just… aaron’s reaction?????

the parentals

i love this dynamic SO MUCH cw; fem!bau!reader, established relationship, fluff <3

as you and aaron entered the bullpen, you were both quick to notice the others huddled around spencer's desk, surely for a new session of physics magic.

a smile immediately twitched at aaron's lips, tossing you a mischievous look. as long as it didn't make a mess, or a disruption - per his and reid's previous discussions - he really didn't mind the recurring demonstrations.

but would he ever miss an opportunity to get the blood rushing in this scenario - never.

"be nice." you teased, laughing softly under your breath as you followed him over.

"i'm always nice." aaron playfully insisted, those brown eyes flickering in that way that just melted your heart. "what do you mean?"

"better be careful," emily's warning came into earshot as you neared, completely oblivious to the two of you - the timing just perfect. "or else dad's gonna ground you."

aaron's expression quirked at the title, his eyebrows lightly furrowing.

"oh please," spencer said, his fingers making quick work of whatever the experiment happened to be. "he's too busy with mom-"

jj's eyes happened to lift right at mom, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately choked back a laugh. some horror timidly filled her eyes, and she didn't cover up her sound too adequately. it caused the others to instantly look up too, and freeze.

"busted." jj mumbled, her gaze finding the ground.

aaron's smile resurfaced, crossing his arms. his tone was playful, yet confused and utterly amused nonetheless. "dad?"

spencer flushed. "uh..."

"oh c'mon. cut the crap." emily interrupted with an eye roll, looking between the two of you. "like it's not shocking at this point. just look at what the two of you were about to do, lecture us-"

"hey no," with a laugh you cut in, arching an eyebrow. "i don't lecture."

"exactly. he does," emily crossed her arms also with a smitten smirk - her point thoroughly exhibited. "you're the flexible one. see, mom and dad."

"i always thought rossi was dad." aaron expressed openly, a small chuckle shaking through his chest.

"no, you were always dad," jj shook her head, "rossi was mom, until," once again, her eyes found yours, smiling softly this time. "until someone else came around, and took on the role wholeheartedly."

you grinned, exchanging a quick, loving glance with aaron. "what's dave now, then?"

"old."

Tags

aaron hotchner criminal minds aaron hotchner fluff

7K notes View Post

love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 month ago

I love every single word of this fic

Lodestar | s.reid

You call Spencer to tell him you've gone into labor just as he closes in on an unsub. He's determined to make it back to you in time.

Pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid Contains: fluff!, established relationship, husband!spencer, canon typical violence, reader is afraid of needles, epidural, pregnancy and labor and birth (not really described in detail lmao but does happen), girldad!spencer (supremacy), astrophysicist!reader, s12!Spencer but pre-prison, first part is from spencer's perspective and the second is from reader's Length: ~2.1k Note: this started as a joke and then became the silly "prequel" (idk it's just the same reader and daughter) to Star-Stuff, but it can completely stand alone!

They’re only three miles away from the dairy farm when Spencer’s phone rings.

Spencer nearly doesn’t answer. JJ holds her phone out over the car’s center console so he can listen to Emily’s update from the backseat, and at the rate Luke’s driving, they’ll be on the grounds within minutes.

And, if the profile is correct, they’re already running out of time. The rest of the team is too far behind. Spencer can’t afford to lose focus.

But you're the only person who would be calling him right now, and instinct forces him to answer.

“Hi,” he whispers.

In the rearview mirror, Luke furrows his brows at him.

“Hey!” you answer, and the forced pep in your tone gives Spencer pause. “How’s the case?”

“Uh, it’s—I can’t really talk right—hold on, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Everything is fine. I just—” you cut yourself off.

Spencer’s heart races. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you breathe.

But he knows you’re lying. Your voice is strained, shaky.

He says your name—stripped from its usual softness, now a demand.

JJ twists in the passenger seat and mouths something to him, but Spencer turns to the window as if it might give him privacy. Through the glass, he watches the overgrown grazing fields rush by.

Two miles away.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “So, I’m fine.” A pause. “But… my water just broke, and I think I’m in labor.”

Now, his heart fucking stops.

“What? Are you positive?” he asks.

“Well, I’m pretty certain that I didn’t just piss myself on our living room floor.”

“You might have!” he says desperately. “Incontinence is extremely common in the third trimester! The fetus presses on your bladder and weakens your pelvic floor, and remember when you—”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry! I’m—” driving up to a dairy farm that was recently run out of business by an industrial dairy processing plant that undercut their prices, and the former owner is now systematically killing all of the employees that left his farm to work at the plant, including his own daughter, who he is holding captive somewhere on the farm and may have already killed. You know—smaller family farms make up the vast majority of farms in the US, but are responsible for less than 20% of production. Industrial agriculture operations, despite being fewer in number, control the market entirely. Anyway, this is the best day of my life, and I love you so much.

He still has the good sense to not say all that.

“Are you having contractions?” he asks instead.

In the front, JJ’s eyes widen, and Luke mutters, “Shit.”

The car’s headlights illuminate a dirt road lined by wooden fences. A weather worn sign that says “Walker Family Farm” swings in the wind.

One mile.

“Yes, but they’re not that strong.”

“When did they start?”

“Like. A few hours ago, but—”

“A few hours ago?!”

“But it’s still just early labor! They’re not even—” You cut yourself off again. “—Oooh my goooood,” you groan tightly.

“Go to the hospital!”

“It’s—it’s fine! First time births usually have pretty long labors, so—”

They pass the farm’s visitor’s center.

He says your name again, urgently, desperately. “Please.”

“I know. I just—” Your voice wavers. “I’m… scared. I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t think I can.”

Spencer swallows. “I’ll be there.”

“But—”

“I have to go. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up, because Luke has reached the end of the road, and there isn’t time to say everything that he wants to say.

The car crunches to a stop on the gravel drive, headlights cutting through the dark. Beyond them, the dairy farm sprawls in eerie silence—barn doors yawning open, cattle stalls ghostly under fluorescents that still flicker despite the farm’s abandonment. Behind the silo, the creamery hums with electricity.

JJ looks back at him. “Spence, are you—”

“I looked at the blueprints back at the station. The creamery has two ground level entrances on the north and south walls and a cellar door in the middle of the east wall. We’ll cover ground faster and draw less attention if we split up,” he says. “I’ll cover the north entrance.”

He doesn’t let either of them get a word in before he’s running out of the vehicle.

Inside the creamery, the temperature rises, a sharp contrast to the frigid January air, and the air is perfumed by something sour, rotten. Between pasteurization vats are piles of rusted equipment jutting out like broken ribs, metal piping half-submerged in the shadows. As he makes his way through the labyrinth, he sees a still functional pressure gauge on one of the vats twitching into the yellow zone.

That faint mechanical hum runs through the building—generators still keeping something alive. The pipes running along the walls, between vats, rattle.

Then—a soft, muffled sob.

Spencer takes a right and his flashlight illuminates James Walker standing behind his daughter, Millie, one hand clapped over her mouth, the other, holding a skinning knife to her throat.

“Let her go, James,” Spencer says, revolver aimed straight ahead.

James takes a labored breath. The blade at Millie’s throat glints, a thin reflection of light dancing along the steel.

“I don’t think so,” James responds.

“James,” Spencer tries again, taking a careful step forward. “I understand you’re angry. They took your livelihood—”

“No—no.” James’ hand tightens on the hilt, and Maggie sobs. “They took my life!”

Spencer has seen grief manifest in hundreds of ways throughout his career. Some men turn it inward to let it hollow them out. Others forge it into righteous indignation and wield it like a blade. And James, hands shaking, eyes wild with devoted fervor, is the latter.

This isn’t about work. It isn’t even about family or betrayal or revenge.

This is about legacy, something passed through blood and dirt, roots sprawling deep beneath the earth to last centuries.

Cut down a tree, and it will grow again.

Dig it out by the roots, and the ground caves in, leaving only a hollow, a scar in the earth easily paved over, as if nothing had grown there at all.

But legacy is more than roots—it’s the seeds carried away by the wind, shaped by their origin, but still meant to grow into something new.

James doesn’t see that, and now, he’s willing to cut down his own future to avenge his past, ready to sacrifice his daughter at the altar of his loss rather than let her become something beyond him.

As if she is not his legacy, too.

Spencer knows that he’s supposed to deescalate first, but that takes time, time he’s not willing to spend on James Walker.

He has his own legacy to think about—his family.

Somewhere else in the creamery, something clangs against a vat. It draws James’ attention for half a second, and when it does, Spencer shifts his aim and fires.

The bullet slams into a pipe running behind James’s head.

Steam erupts, shrieking into the air, and James jerks away, raising his arm against the blast.

Millie wrenches free, stumbling, gasping, and suddenly, JJ is there pulling her to safety.

James reels and turns to Spencer with his blade raised, but before he can even take a step, Luke surges forward and pries the blade from his grasp.

By the time they’re escorting him out of the creamery, the rest of the team and local PD finally arrive.

Half an hour later, he’s back on the jet, staring out the window, counting the stars that seem to pale in comparison to the one guiding him home.

When Spencer rushes into the hospital room, you’re standing, gripping the bed rail like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. The moment you see him—breathless, wide-eyed, and grinning (asshole)—you grit out, “What the fuck took so long?”

Spencer, to his credit, takes a second to reassess.

He stops short beside you, hands slightly outstretched but clearly trying to determine if you want to be touched.

You do not.

“It—we had to—” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here. I love you.”

“I love you, too, obviously.” You glare up at him from beneath your sweat beaded brow. “But If you ever hang up the phone while I’m in labor again, I swear on my life, I will become a serial killer out of spite.”

“Noted.” His expression softens. “What can I do?”

“Um—” You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. “You want to do this instead? Do a seahorse-type thing?”

“If I had a brood pouch, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

You laugh—breathy and high pitched. “A what?”

“A brood pouch! That’s where male seahorses fertilize and incubate the eggs after the female deposits them. It’s actually—”

Another contraction rips through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the rail even tighter as you let out a quiet groan. When it passes, you pant and open your eyes.

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

Spencer scans the screen with your vitals. “That was sixty-two seconds. How often—”

“Four minutes,” you hiss.

“Okay, have you spoken to the anesthesiologist about the epidu—”

“Not doing that.”

He pauses and blinks. “Are you sure? I thought you wanted to—”

“Changed my mind.” You keep your eyes on your fists clenched around the guard rail. “It’s—it’s fine.”

Spencer pauses again, and you can feel him assessing you. “I just want to make sure—”

“It’s a giant fucking needle in my spine,” you rush out.

“Technically the needle itself doesn’t stay in your spine.”

He’s the love of your life. He’s also, apparently, your greatest adversary. You glare at him and hope he telepathically gets that message.

“The risk of complications is extremely rare!” he says. “Paralysis is only one in a million, and permanent nerve damage is one in 23,500 to 50,000!”

“Oh, well, thank god for that! No!”

Spencer’s mouth opens. Then closes.

You groan softly and lean down, resting your head against the cool metal of the guard rail. “I would rather calculate the gravitational pull of a black hole on a rogue planet with nothing but a notebook and a pen than do this right now.”

You expect Spencer to comment on it, say something upbeat, like what an interesting challenge—however impossible—that would be.

Instead, he just brushes your hair away from your forehead and says, “You could do it if you wanted to. And you can do this, too.”

You keep your head down to hide the quiver in your bottom lip.

After twenty minutes, you decide that your crippling fear of needles isn’t so crippling, afterall.

And then, it’s a waiting game.

Until—

She arrives with the sun, and nothing else matters anymore.

Nothing.

Not the pain, or the frustration of waiting, or the fear. Not even the terrifying, all-consuming weight of your official parenthood.

Maia—impossibly tiny, infinitesimally small Maia, just a speck in the grand expanse of the universe, and yet, she’s everything.

When she’s bundled and settled on your chest, you and Spencer just stare at her. He sits in a chair beside your bed but rests his head next to yours.

“She’s so wrinkly,” you whisper, voice horse. “Like a little alien.”

Spencer huffs a laugh through his nose. “Don’t call her an alien.”

“Can’t help it. She’s straight stardust. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen—the legacy of ancient supernovae.” You run a finger down her cheek, and she coos in her sleep. “The universe spent billions of years making her,” you murmur.

Spencer’s quiet for several moments. Then, he tilts his head to kiss your cheek. “She was worth the wait.”

You blink, throat tightening. “Everything’s going to be different now,” you whisper. “Our lives are… Do you… will we be okay at this?”

You expect a statistic, a comforting fact, in response.

Instead, Spencer murmurs. “I don’t know. I think we can only try.”

The gravitational orbits of two celestial bodies are easy to predict. Introduce a third, and the system unravels into chaos—unpredictable, unknowable, its future mapped only by imperfect simulations that can never quite capture reality.

It’s a delicate dance on the edge of collapse.

But here, now, it has never felt so fragile.

Or so precious.

“Our very own three-body problem,” you muse.

Spencer breathes a laugh. “There’s no closed-form solution to parenting, is there?”

“Nerd,” you whisper.

He doesn’t argue. He just squeezes your arm, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against your skin.

For all the unknowns still to come, for all the unpredictable forces pulling at your lives, you know at least one thing will remain constant—her, this, your family.

And somehow, even without a closed-form solution, the math still works out.

Tags

spencer reid criminal minds spencer reid fluff

2K notes View Post

love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 week ago

I need more fics like this

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 0.2k

the phone buzzes at 3:07 a.m.

you answer on instinct, heart thudding like a warning—but the moment you hear the low crackle of distant static, your chest eases.

"si?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"told you i'd call."

his voice is gravel, dulled by poor signal and fatigue. but it’s him.

"you okay?"

"fine," he says. it's automatic. a soldier's answer. then quieter, "can't sleep."

you sit up against the headboard, brushing hair from your face. "where are you?"

a silence and then, his answer.

"nowhere good."

he never tells you, not really. you stopped asking a long time ago.

there's a pause. you hear him breathe.

"is she awake?" his question makes you smile for a moment.

"she had a nightmare an hour ago. i rocked her back down, but she’s been babbling since. talking to the ceiling fan, i think.” you explain softly, sitting at the bed.

he huffs something close to a laugh.

"i'll put you on speaker."

in the dim nightlight, your daughter—grace, as he was gifted to call her, lies in her crib, blanket half-kicked off, tiny fists waving at nothing.

simon listens. on the other end of the world, he's crouched in some half-shelled out building, rifle at his side, bone-weary—but when his daughter coos into the line, high and breathy and nonsense-sweet, his eyes close.

"bah-bah. da-da-da-da."

he bites down the ache.

"daa,"she says again, louder, like she knows.

his voice breaks low over the line. "that's me, sweetheart."

as the line keeps up, you smile with your eyes closed. tiny moments, as you called them. tiny moments where simon could feel happy even if he was crossing the whole world.

a/n: simon would have a daughter fight me

Tags

cod x reader simon riley x reader simon riley x you simon ghost riley x reader

8K notes View Post

love-actually-is-all-around-us

2 weeks ago

I LOVE jealous Spencer

ummm can i request jealous spencer? like reader has a boyfriend or spencer thinks she has a boyfriend and he gets all pouty. and then ... soft confession/kisses :)

feel free to ignore if it's not your cup of tea!

btw my criminal minds themed blog is @sweetheartspence !! but alas i cannot send asks from a side blog </3

thank u in advance! hope u have a wonderful day/night

Oh! This is definitely my cup of tea I love love love jealous Spencer 😋

BYR(b4 u Reid): Jealous & mean Spencer Reid :0, teasing, and a bit of fluff toward the end, along w a cute little kiss scene hehe

Jealousy | Spencer Reid

Ummm Can I Request Jealous Spencer? Like Reader Has A Boyfriend Or Spencer Thinks She Has A Boyfriend

It had been a week. A week since Spencer started noticing the shift in your behavior.

You were… happier. Lighter. More willing to do things for your coworkers than before.

Staying late without complaint, grabbing an extra coffee for someone, taking an extra file without the usual dramatic sigh.

You used to roll your eyes when Morgan pawned off paperwork on you, now you just did it. No protest. No banter.

And then there were the little changes. The way you started painting your nails, the extra time you took with your makeup.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume someone was catching your attention, and truthfully he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hey.” He called, catching you before you could leave the bullpen. “There’s a movie playing tonight, it’s based in the fifties, and about a serial killer who’d eat his victims. It’s supposed to be really good. Want to come with me?”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “Aw, Spence, that does sound fun, but I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Oh.” His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening. “No, that’s fine. What are you doing?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Just… something with a friend.” You said vaguely, offering him a small smile.

A friend.

He nodded, forcing a smile. “Nice. Okay. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah.” You agreed before walking away, leaving him standing there.

And it wasn’t just him noticing the change anymore, it was the whole team.

The way you were always texting, checking your phone like you were waiting for something. For someone.

Morgan noticed first, of course.

“Someone seems pretty occupied.” His voice was laced with amusement as he watched your fingers fly over your screen.

You glanced up, blinking. “Yeah, sorry.” You muttered, locking your phone and setting it down.

“Important stuff?” Spencer asks, trying to sound casual.

You shook your head. “No not important at all.”

Morgan snorted. “Right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” He said, smirking as he leaned back in his seat.

You didn’t buy it, but you let it go, getting up from your spot on the jet and heading toward the restroom.

The second you were gone, Morgan turned toward Spencer, grinning. “That girl is definitely hiding something.”

Spencer’s head snapped to Derek. “Yeah? Like what?” His brows raised, eyes wide.

Morgan’s smirk only grew more. “Woah. Eager, aren’t you, pretty boy?”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m just curious. Does it seem like she’s acting different? Like… someone is causing her to be like this?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried.”

“Worried?” Spencer scoffed. “About what?”

“That she might be seeing someone.”

Spencer sat up straighter. “I’m not worried.” He said quickly, too quickly. “Just curious. She’s my friend. Don’t you want to know?”

“Yeah, but only because I’m nosey. You, on the other hand…” Morgan tilted his head. “You want to know because you’re scared of losing her.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Losing her? How would I lose her?”

Morgan shrugged, still grinning. “No more movie nights, no more friendly dinners, and definitely no more sleepovers. Your girl is gonna be busy with someone else.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, looking away. “She’s just my friend.”

Morgan let out a low chuckle. “Sure, pretty boy. Keep telling yourself that.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lunch with Spencer had become a routine, quiet escape from the chaos of the BAU. Your usual spot, the same table by the window. Everything felt the same, except Spencer.

He was distracted. Off.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut, the one that told him something was going on with you. Something you weren’t telling him. The past week had been filled with too many smiles at your phone, to many whispered conversations with the girls, and too many times you’d turn him down.

So he had to pry a little bit.

“So, uh…how’s everything been?” He tried to keep his voice even, but there was a nervous edge to it.

You furrowed your brows. “How’s what been?”

“Uh, life?”

You smiled, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “Oh, good. Nothing much outside of work. Just busy.” You paused. “Why?”

Spencer shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just wondering if anything has changed in your life.”

You eyed him for a second, suspicious. “Oh…okay. Well no. Not really. You?”

“No. The same. Work and home. That’s about it.”

“Nice.” You said simply

There was a beat of silence before Spencer tried again. “Can I come over tonight? I’ve been wanting to play this new game I got.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, my house? It’s kind of a mess. Maybe we can do it at yours instead?”

His grip on his fork tightened. A mess? That was the excuse? Since when did you care if he saw your place like that? Unless… you were hiding something? Someone?

Had the person you were seeing already moved in?

The thought sent a sharp, unwelcoming sting through his chest.

“Yes.” He said, a little too quickly. “My house is good. Is eight okay with you?”

You nodded, smiling. “Perfect.”

Then your phone buzzed, and before he could say anything else, you grabbed it. You didn’t just check it, you smiled at it. A real, genuine smile.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek.

Something burned in his stomach. Jealously.

It was stupid. Irrational. He had not right to be upset. You weren’t his.

But he was upset.

“We should go back now.” He said abruptly.

You glanced at the time. “We still have some time, though.”

He clears his throat. “I’m not really feeling good.”

Your brows knit tighter in concern. “Oh. Okay.”

You don’t question it. And that made him feel worse.

Back at the office, he watched as you practically sprinted to JJ, Emily, and Penelope. The four of you huddled together, whispering, giggling.

Spencer tried to listen, straining to hear past the office noise, but all he caught were Penelope’s dramatic gasps and high-pitched “oh my gods.”

And then-

“We need to meet him.” JJ says.

Spencer could’ve fainted right there.

Meet who?

Why did they get to know, and he didn’t? He thought you were closer than that.

“Maybe Friday night?” You suggested. “We can all get together. He’d love to meet the team.”

Spencer’s stomach twisted. He.

Who the hell was he?

He felt sick.

But no one noticed the way his face fell, the way his fingers dug into his palm as he clenched his fists.

“Yes, Friday!” Penelope clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll tell the guys! Derek loves a night out at the bar.”

“Alright, I’ll let him know.” You said, smiling at the girls before heading back to your desk.

Spencer, however, turned on his heel and walked straight to the restroom, locking himself in a stall to breathe.

By the end of the workday, he’d barely spoken to you. He wasn’t even sure he could without his feelings slipping out in some pathetic, embarrassing way.

But then you ran into him on your way out.

“Hey.” You greeted, smiling up at him. “Still up for that game?”

Spencer hesitated, shifting on his feet. His emotions were too raw, too tangled. The thought of sitting alone with you tonight, knowing Friday he was probably going to have to come face to face with that guy, made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I, umm…” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m still not feeling good. Maybe next time.”

Your face fell slightly, and it made his chest ache. “I can still come over and make you some soup? Or we can watch a movie?”

For a brief second, he melted. Your voice was so soft, so you. Sincere. You cared about him. But then reality him, maybe you were like this with him, too. Maybe you were sending him sweet messages, making him laugh, offering him soup when he wasn’t feeling well.

The thought made his stomach turn.

“Uh, no.” He said, voice flat. “I want to be alone.”

Something flickered across your face, something confused and a little hurt. “Oh. Okay. Well… get better. Let me know if you do want my company. I’d love to stop by.”

Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah.”

Then he turned and walked away before you could see just how much he hated this.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

By Friday everyone had noticed, Spencer was off.

His usual, quiet, awkward charm had been replaced by something sharper, something angry. He was short with everyone, but mostly with you.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” You finally asked, cautiously approaching his desk.

His eyes lifted from the case file in front of him, sharp and unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You frowned. “You’ve just been…I don’t know. Different.”

Spencer let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Me? Different?” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “Right. I’m different.”

Your brows knit together. “Did I do something?”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do. I need to focus.” His tone was clipped, dismissive.

Morgan appeared behind you, catching enough of the conversation to raise an eyebrow. “Hey man. just chill.”

“I am chill.” Spencer snapped, jaw tight. “Just both of you. Go.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re acting like a child, but fine. I’ll go.”

Morgan watched you walk off before turning back to Spencer with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Man, you’re scaring her off.”

“Why should I care?” Spencer muttered, flipping a page in his file like it didn’t matter. “She’s taken.”

Morgan scoffed. “Because she’s your friend, and she cares about you. You’re treating her like garbage.”

Spencer didn’t answer. Just clenched his jaw and stared at the file like it could somehow fix what was wrong with him.

Morgan sighed. “You’re gonna regret this, kid.” Then he walked off, leaving Spencer alone with the gnawing, unbearable feeling twisting in his gut.

Later, in the break room, Emily found you pouring yourself a coffee.

“Hey! Have you asked Spencer if he’s coming tonight?”

You sighed. “No. Honestly, I’m kind of scared to talk to him right now. He seems off.”

Emily’s lips pressed together. “Yeah, I’ve noticed too.”

“I’ll try again.” You said, exhaling “maybe he just needs time to cool off.”

Emily nodded. “Hope it goes well.”

With your coffee in hand, you made your way back through the bullpen. You passed Spencer’s desk, and once again, found the same hard expression on his face. He didn’t even look at you.

But you weren’t giving up on him.

Two hours later, you decided to try again.

You walked over and casually perched yourself on his desk, something you’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Spencer tensed. Like he wanted you off.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

His eyes flicked up. “Hey.”

“Are you coming to the bar tonight? I’d love it if you came.”

Spencer swallowed. “I—I don’t know. Bars aren’t really my thing. You know that.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know, but someone really important is coming, and I’d love for you to meet him.”

Spencer inhaled sharply.

Important. You had to say it like that? Right to his face?

His fingers twitched against his desk. “Yeah, I-I don’t think so.”

You pouted. “Spencer, please. He’s so funny, so cool. The girls already love him, and I know you guys would. He’s such a good guy, you need to meet him.”

His entire body went rigid.

He wanted to snap. He wanted to yell. But instead, he just clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“No.” His voice was sharp, and final.

You gave him those wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” You sighed, standing up. “Well, if you change your mind, it’s at Rudy’s. I really want you there.”

Before leaving, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His breath hitched.

“I’m here if you need to talk.” You murmured. Then you walked away.

And Spencer ?

He dropped his head into his hands, exhaling sharply.

He felt awful.

Why was he like this? He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control his jealousy, the anger, the way his emotions spiraled out of control every time he thought about you with someone else.

And worst of all?

He knew he was hurting you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bar was packed, the energy high. Everyone laughed, letting loose after a long exhausting week.

You were happy, smiling, surrounded by your team. But still, you couldn’t help but miss the one person who wasn’t there.

“He’s not coming.” JJ said gently, watching the way your smile faltered.

You sighed. “He hates me. And I don’t even know why.”

JJ shook her head. “He could never hate you. That boy practically worships the ground you walk on.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Then why does it feel like there’s nothing left for us? I should've made a move when things were good. Now it’s like… he's a different person. And I'm scared he doesn't want me.”

“Just give him time.” JJ said, squeezing your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

You gave her a small smile before heading to the bar, sipping your drink.

Then.

“Can I sit?”

Your head snapped up. And there he was.

Spencer.

Your heart leapt. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

He shrugged, slipping into the seat beside you. “I changed my mind, I guess.”

“Good.” You beamed. “I’m so happy.”

His eyes softened. “Uh, so where’s that guy?”

“Oh, Brian? He’s running a bit late, should be here soon through.”

Spencer exhaled, forcing a nod.

“Come on, let’s sit with the group.”

Before he could process it, you grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the booth where the team sat. His pulse kicked up at the contact.

As soon as the team saw him, a cheer erupted.

“Look who finally decided to have a life!” Penelope teased.

Spencer forced a smile, sliding into the booth beside you.

For awhile, things felt normal. Drinks flowed, conversations bounced between cases, childhood memories, and ridiculous office gossip. It was the kind of night that made you all feel less like FBI agents and more like lifelong friends.

Until.

“So, this guy we’re meeting…” Rossi drawled sipping his whiskey with an amused smile.

Spencer tensed.

You lit up. “Yes! His name is Brian! I’ve told him all about you guys, and he cannot wait to meet all of you.”

Spencer swallowed hard.

“He’s amazing.”

Spencer rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice his reaction.

Then, your name was called.

Spencer’s stomach dropped, this was the moment he had to come face to face with his fears.

You turned, your entire face brightening as you ran into the arms of some guy. You hugged him tightly. Held on to him like he was the best part of your night.

Spencer was sick.

“Guys, this is Brian, my best friend.” You introduced him, glancing around the group. But when your eyes landed on Spencer’s empty seat, your heart sank. He was gone. A knot formed in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

The team greeted Brian warmly, and soon, conversation flowed easily. It didn’t take long for everyone to love him, he was energetic, kind, and full of the craziest stories that had the group laughing.

“So, Brian, what made you want to move here?” Emily asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Well,” Brian grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “This girl right here told me there was a lot of cute guys out here, so I figured, why not? Hot guys and my best friend? Seemed like a no-brainer.”

He smirked, blatantly eyeing Hotch and Derek.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Derek had managed to slip away from the group, and go with Spencer who was at the bar, nursing a drink that seemed like it hadn’t been sipped on.

“Alright, pretty boy. What’s your deal?”

Spencer didn’t even look at him. “I can’t watch her be with him.”

Derek let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “Look, man, you’re spiraling. You need to go talk to your girl. Seriously.”

“She isn’t my girl, she has a boyfriend.”

Derek rubbed his face like Spencer was exhausting him. “Quit your pouting and go talk to her. Before the night ends.”

Spencer didn’t respond.

Derek groaned and walked off, leaving Spencer with his own miserable thoughts.

He turned toward the booth again, watching you.

You were smiling and having fun but he knew when it was genuine and when it wasn’t, and right now it wasn’t.

A weight settled in his chest.

So he made his choice.

Pushing off the bar, he crossed the room, weaving through the crowd until he was in front of you.

You looked up, surprised, but your expression softened. “Spencer, you’re back.”

His voice was low. “Can we talk?”

You studied his face, concern flickering across your features before you nodded.

Without another word, he took your hand and led you somewhere quieter, somewhere just for the two of you.

You both sat down, the buzz of the teams laughter and music muffled by the distance. There was a silencer between you, not uncomfortable. You didn't say anything. You were waiting... For him.

Spencer was thinking. If the man had steam coming out of his ears, you wouldn't even be surprised.

Finally, his eyes met yours. “I’m sorry.” he said softly.

He gave your hand that was still in his a gentle squeeze, you should've pulled away because truthfully, he didn't deserve to hold it, but you couldn't.

“I’m sorry I was being a-”

“An ass?” you filled in, no hesitation.

His jaw dropped slightly at your bluntness before he sighed in surrender. “Yeah… I deserved that.”

You nodded. “You did.”

Then your voice lowered, a little more vulnerable. “What did I do, Spencer?”

His shoulders sank under the weight of your words, he couldn’t believe he made you feel like it was all your fault. “Nothing. God, you didn’t do anything.” He said. He couldn’t even look at you.

You followed his gaze and it was on Brian, so it all clicked together for you.

“Be honest.” You urged gently.

His eyes flicked to you, guilt written all over his face. “I was jealous.”

“By who?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from him.

“Brian.” He muttered, looking down at his shoes like they might offer an escape. You tilted your head. “Brian?”

You could’ve teased him. Let him stew a little more, just for the hell of it. But he already looked like he’d been spiraling all week, and the truth was, you didn’t want to see him in pain, not when you cared about him this much.

“Spencer, Brian’s not into me.” You said. His head snapped up. “How?” He asked, baffled. “You’re- you’re perfect.”

You chuckled, shoulders lifting in a little shrug. “I’m not his type.” You glanced toward the booth where Brian was now leaned in, laughing at something Derek was saying. “But I think Derek might be.”

Spencer tracked your gaze, eyes narrowing in that profiler way of his. One second. Two. He blinked.

“Oh.”

The air left his lungs in a rush, like someone had cut the string pulling his jealousy tight.

But then his brows furrowed again. “Then why have you been different lately? Happier. Dressing up. You stopped inviting me over…”

You smirked. “Didn’t know you were paying so much attention, Dr. Reid.”

He flushed.

“Brian and I moved in together. That’s why I’ve been in a better mood, I guess. It’s nice having my best friend from home close. And yeah, I’ve been putting more effort in… but that’s because I’ve been trying to get the attention of this one genius loser I work with.”

Spencer blinked. That trademark genius brain of his clearly went offline.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You, Spence. It’s you.”

His lips parted, like the words were there but stuck. “I-I just didn’t want to assume.”

You gave him a playful look. “Right.”

He looked lighter now, like the guilt and confusion he’d been carrying and finally lifted.

“I really like you.” He said, voice more confident now. He leaned in a little. “And I-I want to make everything up to you.”

You raised brow. “Oh yeah? How?”

He smiled nervously. “Can I take you to dinner?”

You nodded slowly, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “I’d like that…and?”

He bit his lip, thinking. “Movies…and then we can go back to my place and play that game I was telling you about?”

You nodded. “Not bad. It’ll be perfect if you also take on a couple of my files for a month.”

He groaned but smiled. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Your guys eyes locked on each others, and you weren’t sure who leaned in first. It didn’t matter.

The moment your lips met, it was soft, hesitant, but warm. Then Spencer deepened the kiss, one hand rising to cup your jaw, his other still holding you hand tightly like he couldn’t let go. His tongue slid across your lips, and you let him in.

You guys moved in sync, like you were perfect for each other.

And like this is where you guys were supposed to be.

You kissed until the need for air pulled you apart. Both of you stared, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“I was supposed to be mad at you a little longer.” You teased, he grinned smug. “Can I kiss you again so you won’t?”

You giggled. “Maybe.”

He leaned in again. This kiss was sweeter and gentler like he had gotten all the desperate need for you out with the first kiss. Now, he just wanted to continue feeling your lips on his, even if it was just a peck.

“I can do this all night.” You tell him

“I can too.”

And with that, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s company for the rest of the night. The team didn’t interrupt or tease, they simply let you be, giving you the space to enjoy the quiet warmth between you. It was easy, comfortable, like everything had finally fallen into place…

@beeintheskies Hope you love this<3 it was so fun to write, thank you for your request!

Divider from @hyuneskkami

Tags

spencer reid spencer reid imagine spencer reid x reader

574 notes View Post

love-actually-is-all-around-us

1 month ago

So cuteee 🤍

helloo🫧🫧

omg i just got this idea! what about rafe getting jealous bc a little boy is flirting with kook!reader like he telling her shes really pretty and to be her gf, and rafe is laughing at first but when the little boy get more attention of reader than him he just 🤨 and he gets all protective bc of a LITTLE BOY. Idk i think is funny do whatever you feel comfortable <3333

hii!! this was sooo fun to write!!

𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉

you and rafe were spending the afternoon at the country club, lounging by the pool when a little boy—probably no older than six—wandered up to you with a determined look. rafe barely noticed at first, too busy scrolling through his phone, but when the kid cleared his throat and tugged on your chair, you looked down with a soft smile.

“you’re really pretty,” the boy announced, crossing his arms.

rafe glanced up, smirking. oh, this is gonna be funny.

“aw, thank you!” you beamed, playfully ruffling the kid’s hair.

the boy huffed, clearly on a mission. “you should be my girlfriend.”

rafe let out a laugh, shaking his head. “alright, kid, relax.”

but the boy ignored him completely, stepping closer to you. “i’ll take you on a date. we can get ice cream. my mom says girls like when boys buy them stuff.”

your heart melted at how serious he was, and you giggled, playing along. “that sounds like a sweet date!”

meanwhile, rafe was watching the exchange with his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowing. at first, he was entertained—but now? not so much. his jaw clenched when you leaned in, actually giving this tiny threat more attention than him.

“alright, buddy,” rafe cut in, voice sharp but amused. “think you should go find your mom now.”

the kid barely blinked. “no. i’m talking to my girlfriend.”

rafe’s smirk dropped. “your what now?”

“you heard me,” the little boy challenged, puffing his chest like he was really about to square up with a six-foot-something kook prince.

you tried to stifle your laughter, but rafe shot you a glare.

“listen, little man,” rafe said, leaning forward with an almost condescending smirk. “she’s mine. so, unless you can drive, pay for actual dates, and fight off anyone who looks at her wrong, i’d say you’re outta luck.”

the kid squinted at him. “my dad fights people all the time.”

rafe scoffed. “yeah? what’s he do?”

“he’s a lawyer.”

rafe sat back, exhaling sharply through his nose. “right. of course, he is.”

you lost it, full-on laughing now. “okay, okay,” you said, patting the little boy’s head. “you’re very sweet, but I think my boyfriend’s getting jealous.”

“i am not jealous,” rafe immediately shot back, crossing his arms tighter.

the little boy just shrugged, utterly unfazed. “i’ll come back when you break up.” and with that, he strutted away like he hadn’t just ruined rafe’s entire day.

you turned to rafe, still giggling, and poked his arm. “you so were jealous.”

“of a six-year-old?” rafe scoffed. “please.” but the way he pulled you into his lap, gripping your waist just a little tighter than usual? yeah. he was totally jealous.

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