#and like im not even sure the doctor realises the extent of like the behind the scenes of the masters small fires | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastanest · 1 year

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @dreatine - thanks so much!! ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

Secret Admirer

He really doesnt know how you dont notice. The way he laughs at any joke you make, how his eyes follow you around the room wherever you go, how nothing can possibly distract him from you because he’s distracted by you constantly. Doctor Spencer Reid, 99% of the time the highest IQ in any room he walks into, and you have him completely baffled.

He doesnt even need to look up to know it’s you that’s just walked in. It could be you or Derek since you are the only two not yet at work, but some part of Spencer has a sixth sense for you, and his eyes immediately abandon the pages of the book in front of him. There you are, strolling in like a goddess, that same gorgeous smile on your face that you greet all your coworkers with. He waits just a few seconds, and that very smile falls on him.

“Good morning Spencie!” You call out.

He grins back at you and lets go of his book with one hand to wave at you. Spencie. People have referred to him as Spence before, but Spencie? That was something entirely unique to you. For a while, Derek and Rossi made fun of it and referred to him as “Spencie”, too. It was no discredit to you, it was purely because Spencer was never embarrassed to hear you call him that, which all his professional profiling friends knew meant one thing: he liked it, and that was cause for some light bullying. At first, Spencer was mildy irritated by it, but they never made the jokes when you were around, and because you were never given the chance to potentially take offence, it didnt take long for him to discard all negative reactions, and his friends realised his positive feelings towards you were stronger than they thought.

Of course the entire team knew. Did he really think a room filled with profilers wasnt going to pickup on his big fat whopping crush? Spencer knew they’d figure it out eventually. What shocked him most was your obliviousness. He made no real effort to hide his feelings towards you, he couldnt. He gave you at least one compliment a day, whether it related to something you said on a case, remembering someone’s coffee order when they didnt even ask you to get them a coffee, or regarding a new hairstyle you’d tried out. He got very protective of you whenever a case turned dangerous and you were at risk. Spencer knows you are trained and can take care of yourself, but that doesnt mean he wont fear for your safety. The only way he could make his feelings more obvious would be to walk up to you and tell you he’s in love with you, which he couldnt possibly do. He’d rather get shot. Again.

“You should do something for her on Valentine’s Day.” A quiet voice speaks from behind him, Emily.

Spencer tears his gaze from you and clears his throat, staring back down at his book. Even though the entire team knew, he wasnt just going to admit it.

“I dont know what you’re talking about.” He says.

Emily sighs. “Sure you dont. All Im saying is, the tradition of being something synonymous with confidential adorer, might be your best shot at figuring out if she’s interested without just asking her out.”

Emily walks away from Spencer before he has the chance to reply, even though he probably wouldnt have, given that his mind has been blown by what she just told him. Something synonymous with confidential adorer...secret admirer! That might not be a bad idea! And with a week until Valentine’s, he has plenty of time to plan this one out.

Despite Spencer Reid’s brain being a working miracle, he decided to note down his plans, just to make sure he didnt forget anything. Even though it is literally impossible for him to forget anything, unless it traumatises him to the extent of needing a hypnotist to unlock memories for him. But that was years ago.

Red roses. Those were on the list, but he couldnt buy them in bulk. He would have to buy the first ones individually for his first idea, the final dozen were the last part of the plan.

For the next week, everyday when you walked into work, there was a single red rose waiting on your desk. On the first day, you laughed and picked up the rose, looking around and asking who was pranking you. When nobody joined in your laughter, you realised that someone had left you a rose with intent, and that everyone on the team knew that. Spencer analysed the reason behind your laugh, and based on previous conversations with you in which you admitted you’d never been anyone’s Valentine, he concluded that you didnt believe anyone could have enough of an interest in you to treat you that way, because it had never happened. On the second day, you were shocked and silent, blushing and quietly sitting down at your desk, twirling the rose gently around your fingers. On the third day, you walked in and just grinned from ear to ear the moment you saw another rose waiting at your desk. On the fourth day, the team was called in at 4am, and you ran in, hoping to catch out the mysterious rose-deliverer, but even then there was a rose waiting. Your tired eyes teared up at that. On the fifth day, you squealed and jumped around everyone’s desks, clutching the rose and running to Penelope’s office to show it to her. On the sixth day, your entire being lit up at the sight of the small piece of paper sitting next to the rose. Spencer studied how you immediately attached yourself to his words, the fact you hadnt received a note with any of the previous roses put so much weight on the few words.

You are the most beautiful person in the world, to me, and to everyone that has ever met you.

Your back was to him when you read the note, but he heard you sniffle, then take a deep breath and hold the note to your chest, before you tucked it away carefully in your bag. Though you got plenty of work done that day, your eyes drifted to the rose beside you every minute or so.

On the seventh day, Valentine’s Day, you walk into the office slowly, almost hesitantly. When you see the rose there waiting, you smile sadly. Spencer frowns as you pick it up and hold it to your chest.

“The last one.” You chuckle, and Spencer understands. You think that‘s it, it‘s over. He smiles to himself and glances back down at the files on his desk, reassuring himself that later on today, that sadness will disappear. Or in fact, in a few seconds.

This time, the note is in an envelope, which you gently tear open, as though even the envelope is precious because it’s from the rose-sender.

Happy Valentine’s Day, gorgeous.

Instead of making everybody else a coffee, why dont you just make yourself one?

You freeze, and Spencer can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. In seconds, you speed over to the coffee machine, and sure enough there’s another note.

We’ve worked on many cases, some were a botch, but if you really want to know who I am, maybe you should ask…

“HOTCH! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” You shout as you sprint to his office door.

Aaron laughs and opens his door, handing you another note with a smile.

Although you’re only finding out about this now, my affections for you have lived far longer than a year. If you want to find out more, visit the person whose surname rhymes with “year” (but only if you pronounce “year” with a British accent).

He admits those poems are not of the highest quality, but he was nervous! Not to mention, he wasnt exactly worried about iambic pentameter, more so making sure you could figure out what he was saying.

You burst out laughing. “PENELOPE GARCIA I AM ON MY WAY!” And then you’re running to her office.

Spencer cant see your reaction to his next note from where he’s sitting, he cant make it obvious that he’s the culprit so he has to stay in his seat. However, when you return to your desk with a pouty face, Rossi asks what’s wrong before Spencer gets the chance to. You show him the note you got from Penelope.

Im afraid that when it comes to being confronted by you in the daylight, Im a vampire. But trust that you will see me soon. In fact, you’ve already seen me, countless times.

“How can I trust them when I dont know who they are?” You ask the group as they form a circle around you.

JJ wraps an arm around you reassuringly. “Whoever it is, you know them and you trust them, you know that, you just havent linked their personality to these events.”

You nod slowly. “I guess you’re right, it just sucks. I want to know who it is so bad, it’s keeping me up at night!”

Thankfully, the rest of that day is spent writing up reports and filing, nobody has called the team and demanded they get on a flight to wherever. These days arent common, but they’re possible, and Spencer couldnt be happier that one of them has arrived today. He cant help thinking luck might be on his side, or maybe Hotch has somehow scheduled this perfectly for him. Either way, he’s very grateful.

But the end of the day comes sooner than expected, and he finds himself packing up his stuff with shaking hands. You’re distracted, in the middle of a conversation with Rossi, thank goodness. Spencer darts out of the building, getting everything in place in exactly the amount of time he’d predicted he could do this in. 23 seconds. By the time he’s hidden himself, you’re just pushing the building doors open.

You approach your car, eyes immediately locking onto the envelope on your windshield. Now your hands are shaking just like his. You reach for it, opening it so slowly it’s painful for Spencer to watch. Once it’s open, you unfold the page in your hands and start to read.

(Y/N),

You captured my heart from the moment you first smiled at me. You introduced yourself with bubbliness that I was so sure wouldnt survive in this job, but you proved me so wrong. Every single day, you walk into work with the brightest smile on your face. You make it your mission to improve the lives of every person you meet, I dont even think you try, it comes naturally to you. Trying to resist falling for you was futile, and so instead, I revel in it. My feelings for you are not hidden, everybody else can see them. You wouldnt believe the amount of people we’ve met on cases who have pulled me aside and told me to just ask you out. You are the sunshine of the BAU, not the crown jewel, but the crown itself, because without you none of us would make it. And seeing you light up everyday this week because of a simple gesture like a rose, it brings me more joy and pride than anything else ever could. Though you arent aware that my heart is yours, you handle it with such care, and if my only way of returning that favour is to make you smile with roses, I’ll deliver them everyday, until my last breath.

I didnt want to come up with rhymes for Derek, David, JJ or Emily, and send you on an unnecessarily long goose chase, so I suppose all that’s left to say is...hello, it’s me, your secret admirer.

“A-Are you here?” You ask without turning around.

“Yes.” Spencer replies, and he notices your body beginning to tremble as you slowly turn to face him.

“Spencer.” You breathe, your hands immediately covering your mouth as though his name is new to your lips. You had never suspected it was him, but now you see it couldnt have been anyone else.

Spencer steps out of the shadows, a bouquet of a dozen red roses in his hands. He holds them out to you, and you slowly take them, before launching yourself at him. To avoid crushing the flowers, you hold them in one hand and keep that hand at his back as you hug him, crying into his shirt. Spencer wraps his arms around you in a state of shock, feeling his heart swell in his chest.

“Th-Thank you!” You sob, and Spencer shushes you quietly.

“You dont need to thank me, you deserve romantic gestures like this and so much more.” He coos.

You pull away from him to wipe your eyes with your free hand, and Spencer cant help noticing how adorable you look, smiling through your happy tears.

“You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever known, Spencie.” You tell him, and he beams at you.

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

Your eyes widen. “I have something for you!”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as you awkwardly fish through your bag with your free hand, until you retrieve a piece of paper of your own. You pass it to him, and he’s about to open it, but your phone beeps.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan in frustration, throwing your head back dramatically.

“What is it?” Spencer asks.

You shake your head and put your phone away. “I love Hotch, but Im about to disembowl him for this timing. Wheels up in 30, come on!” You grab Spencer’s arm and drag him back into the building.

As much as Aaron may have tried to avoid a case on Valentine’s Day, this one couldnt be avoided. It was one of those “this is so urgent I’ll brief you on the jet” cases. By the time the brief is over, the team all but collapse from exhaustion. The flight is a few hours, people can afford to have a nap. Spencer, though, is wide awake. You’re curled up in the seat beside him, the blanket you always bring on the jet is shielding the entirety of you, apart from your head, which is resting on Spencer’s shoulder as you sleep soundly. Not wasting another second, he takes your note from his pocket and unfolds it, his curiosity has been eating him alive for so long he feels like a skeleton.

I honestly dont even know where to begin with this. I have no idea who you are, but I hope. Because if it isnt who I hope it is, this cant go anywhere, I’ll have to let down anyone that isnt him. And it cant be him, can it? The impossible man, the genius with a heart of gold, the encyclopaedia of endlessly fascinating facts that I could listen to forever. I dont make a habit of putting people on pedestals, but him? How could I not? He’s an angel of a man. And as much as I dont think Im worthy of his affection, it would be an honour to be loved by him, and for that, I hope. I hope, because Spencer, if it isnt you, I wont know what to do. But hey, just in case it is, maybe I should keep this with me if you ever reveal yourself? Jeez, look at me, living on nothing but hopes. But for you? If hope’s all I’ve got, even that is a dream.

Spencer blinks away the tears in his eyes. Of all people, you only hoped for him. And the way you described him, you adore him in the same way he adores you. He looks down at your face, sleeping peacefully on his shoulder with a delicate smile. Without tearing his gaze from you, he folds the note back up and slides it in his pocket. Spencer smiles down at you, lifting his hand to ever so gently tuck some stray strands of hair behind your ear, before leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you for letting me be your secret admirer.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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ask your destiny to dance [6] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“What are you doing here?” Ash’s voice is hostile, and Roger waits with his snare in his arms, just around the corner of the building. He’s not following her, or at least, he didn’t mean to; he’s just packing up his drums, like he did after every show. Sure he was a bit earlier than usual but that didn’t mean anything.

“Sweet girl, I wanted to see you.” The voice is teasing, like she should have know this already, masculine, low, and it makes Roger nauseous. Finally he peers around the edge of the building and catches a better glimpse of the man from the bar, who is now standing less than a foot from a tense and confused Ash who leans against the door to the bar.

“You- why?” Already her voice has softened, but it seems he still makes her uncertain, if the tense set of her shoulders is anything to go by. But then the man’s reaching out, resting his hands on her upper arms. “You’re not mad at me?” She asks, relaxing under his touch, looking up at him with her big, brown eyes. Something in Roger’s gut twists at the sight.

“Of course not, baby girl.” He’s got her accent, Roger realises, and something in his chest tightens as the man places his hands on her shoulders coaxing her away from the door so he can wrap her up in a hug. Roger can see her trembling as she hugs him back, a soft confusion written all over face. “I’ve missed you.” He tells her, voice a murmur, but in the crisp, night air, it’s loud enough that even Roger hears.

“Why are you here, Gus?” Ash is the one who steps back, out of his grip, leaning back against the door. Roger can see her hands shake when she pulls half a cigarette from her breast pocket.

“I wanted to see you again, make sure you’re okay.” And the man, Gus, takes her hands, gently taking the cigarette stub and throwing it away before he laces his fingers with hers. She doesn’t even protest.

“And Kira?” She’d asked, voice so soft that Roger almost didn’t catch it, and the man in question shook his head with a smile as he leaned in, murmuring something that only she could hear, pressing kiss to her cheek.

“Oh, my sweet girl, you look so good.” He mused, voice growing a little louder, stepping back to admire her, and though Roger wants to gag at his tone, syrupy and full of obviously fake revere. Ash actually giggles, and not insincerely. “As beautiful as the day I met you.”

“You think so?” Voice uncharacteristically young and hopeful, it’s so unlike her that Roger’s pushed to the end of his patience, and rounds the corner with his drum in hand, not even acknowledging the pair as he heads for his van, though the way Ash jumps back from the man as if he’d burned her, it does little to ease the discomfort in Roger’s chest.

“Hi!” Suddenly flustered, Ash moves around Gus to stand between him and Roger. He’s not really sure why she’s bothered, there’s so much distance between the back door and the van, but he thinks it might be so that they look less suspicious. It’s not working.

“Hey.” Roger says, tone clipped as he says it, fumbling for his keys as he opens the back doors of the van.

“This is, uh, August.” She’s aware of how strange it sounds, how guilty her words come out, and when Roger’s sat his drum inside the van, he finally turns to get a good look at the man. The man with a hand on Ash’s shoulder, making direct, unflinching eye contact with Roger, smirking.

“August, this is Roger, he’s in the band.” There’s a waiver to her voice that Roger doesn’t like, and he can’t bring himself to smile at her. Everything feels so wrong, and Ash looks so guilty, like she’s been caught red handed.

He’s handsome by any definition, but not by Ash’s usual one. High cheek bones, hair gelled up into a neat quiff with a few sparing grey strands running through it that only served to make him look more distinguished, as did the dark, well groomed stubble on his jaw. He looks to be in his late 40s, in a pressed, well tailored suit, and shoes that Roger would consider too formal for even an explicitly formal event, so out of place in the dingy, pub setting. And his hand is still on Ash’s shoulder.

Roger doesn’t want to think about why it puts him on edge, just knows that it does. August takes long, deliberate strides before he reaches Roger, holding out his hand.

“August Reid.” His smile was sharp, and when Roger took his hand, he held it a little too tight, a show of dominance. “You guys played very well.” It’s the least sincere compliment Roger’s ever received; he wants nothing more than to punch August in his smug face.

“Roger.” After a beat, he leaned against the edge of the van, crossing his arms. “So how do you know Ash?”

“Ashley.” August correct automatically, and Roger can see the way Ash flinches out the corner of his eye, still looking a little mortified, avoiding looking at both of them. August doesn’t see it, his smile widens just a little bit, all sharp teeth. “I taught her back at Saint Andrew’s, I thought I’d stop in while I was in town.”

“He was my Art History professor.” Ash confirms from behind him, and Roger freezes where he’s looking at her. He’s never seen her like this before, demure, shy; she’s always consciously made an effort to appear larger than life, to compensate for her size and sweet looks, but now she looks so young. She can’t even bring herself to meet his gaze, but he can tell she doesn’t know he saw their earlier exchange, if she did know, he thinks she probably wouldn’t be so honest about that.

“Oh,” is all Roger can say, before he snaps out of it, moving past where August is trying to be intimidating, up to Ash who’s leaning against the back door, “Rocket, can you move, I’m trying to pack up.” She doesn’t even fight him on it, tell he can walk around the front the same way as he got here. With the door opens, he hesitates, reaches out to touch her arm, and when she looks at him her expression is surprised as he tilts his head in a silent question, asking if she’s okay.

“What?” She snaps, frowning and shifting out of his grip, a spark of her old fire returning. Roger’s moment of softness receded with his eye roll and he lets the door slam closed behind him. Part of him knows that August was watching the exchange. By the time he’s pulled down the rest of his equipment and is ready to haul it out, Ash is behind the bar, cheery as ever, and August is nowhere to be found.

“I thought you were studying fashion.” Brian muses into the balmy night air. The band had stayed until last call, intrigued about the newcomer, waiting until Ash was taking out the trash for the night to ask her, the four of them chatting around the van, Mary looking quite tired and leaning against Freddie, but enjoying their company..

“I am.” Ash agreed, seemingly back to her old self now that August had left, grinning like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This isn’t my first go at uni.” She admitted, and Freddie nodded, passing Mary his lit cigarette.

“I thought he was a talent scout or something; he’s well dressed.” Brian half smiled, and Ash chuckled, shaking her head at him, smile bright. "What was his name?” He asked, and Ash looked a little shocked, looking to Roger, who was suddenly avoiding her gaze.

“Rog didn’t tell you guys?” She asked, smile fading a little into confusion, and Roger snorted out a laugh.

“Told them he seemed like a prick.” He scoffed around his cigarette, and Ash flushed, frowning at him.

“Oi, don’t be mean, Rog! It’s just how he is, he’s always been a bit of a-” and for the barest moments they lock eyes and Ash turns a hilarious shade of pink, they both somehow know what she was about to say, he’s always been a bit of a dominant one, but she can’t bring herself to say those words out loud. She doesn’t want to say it for how it would sound, how it would make the others suspicious, but she knows Roger already is, even if she doesn’t know the full extent; it would be funny if the implication didn’t make Roger’s stomach turn, “a bit of an alpha male, you know.” After a beat, she clears her throat. “But yeah, Doctor Reid is my old Art History professor.”

It doesn’t escape Roger the way she doesn’t say his first name.

“What made you change your mind?” Mary yawns, passing the cigarette back to Freddie, and Ash fixes her with a fond smile. Since Freddie had introduced the women, they’d become fast friends, and Roger had never seen anyone as ready to fight as Ash when the dudes start leering at Mary.

“This was the only place that I could do what I wanted to.” And it sounds so honest that Roger’s tempted to believe it, if not for the memory that surfaces.

It’s her, a few months ago, bathed in moonlight, her head on his chest and his arm around her, ‘I was kicked out of uni once before, you know?’ her voice is thoughtful and he laughs, a little incredulous, asks how, but she’s grinning at him with that wicked smile of hers, and does a good enough job of distracting him that he doesn’t even realise she doesn’t give an answer.

“I’m surprised you even remember his last name,” Freddie laughs, “she couldn’t name a single lecturer on our timetable this semester.” And the others laugh, but Ash just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t want to know their names, it’s not like we’re gonna be friends,” but she does concede after she turns to head inside, “Doctor Reid is a friend of my dad’s, I’ve known him since I was sixteen.” And she smiles so blithely it somehow takes some of the shock out of her statement for Roger, who chokes on the smoke of his cigarette.

“How did he know you were here?” John’s question cuts through Roger’s spluttering, and Ash stops in her tracks.

“What?” She asked, suddenly confused, a little defensive, as she turns back.

“How did he know you’d be here?” He asks again, so calm and unflinching, not looking away from the sudden flicker of doubt that cross Ash’s face.

“It was coincidence, Deaky; just luck is all.” She says, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She heads back inside.

The next time they play there, he’s back, and Ash is a sweet, flustered mess, and the dichotomy of this, and who Roger knows her as, is a little shocking. Even Maureen seems concerned, though she doesn’t say anything.

“He’s too old for you.” Roger makes it out the back before Ash does during her usual post-gig break. August went home halfway through the night, and Ash had returned to her normal bright, if a little sultry, bar-persona.

“Excuse me?” She snapped as the door slammed closed, and she looked to where Roger was sitting on her usual milk crate.

“You heard me.” Roger responded, something easing in his chest at the comfort of hearing the hostility in her voice that she’d used when they’d first met. It also hurts a little, to think how he’d prefer the hostility to the cute, blushy mess that August brings out in her. “I saw how he looked at you.”

“Watch your accusations.” She snapped, but there was actual anger in her words, which surprised Roger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She growled, and it was cold hostility; it wouldn’t lead anywhere fun, and Roger didn’t know how to face this. “I’m an adult, dickhead, so don’t think I can’t make my own decisions.” And her accent’s a little stronger, but her words take a moment to process. “He’s a friend-”

“He calls you baby.”

That shocks her into silence, and after a moment, a cruel, cold smile spread over her face. They both know, now, that Roger knows exactly what’s going on between her and August. He’d never been good at anything apart from blurting out exactly what was bothering him, and this time was no different.

“Are you jealous? Were you eavesdropping on us? What the fuck?” And there’s no warmth in her harsh laughter. “This is why I don’t do casual.” She spits, and Roger’s whole face lights up with shock, and he barks out a laugh.

“Jealous? Oh Ashley,” and when he says it, she flinches again, and he regrets using the name almost immediately, but he can’t help digging himself deeper, “no, I’m just interested in what a goddamn doctor, who’s almost fifty, mind you, is doing being interested in a girl like you.”

He watches as she actually has to take a step back, her mouth falling open in shock, eyes suddenly shiny with tears, and he knows he’s fucked up.

“A girl like me...” She whispers it with a laugh, smiling sadly, before finally meeting his gaze. “He... he likes me, Roger.” And fuck, she sounds so vulnerable it’s like a punch to the gut. “After everything I’ve done, he fucking likes me.” And after a beat, she stepped forward. “He still thinks I’m good, and that’s all that matters.”

She cuts her own break short, slamming the door as she heads back inside, leaving Roger to the silence of the car park.

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#roger taylor #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #queen #queen imagines #ask your destiny to dance fic #the angry lizard writes

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