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aperrywilliams · 26 days

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From Now On (Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader.

Summary: After faking his death for seven months, Spencer is back just to find out you’re eight months pregnant. After the initial commotion and your denial, you both step into the apartment you used to share. Things have changed and you must talk about it.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Talking about gunshots, blood, hospitals, faking death, pregnancy symptoms, potential abortion. If I missed something, let me know.

A/N: I’m back! I don't know for how long, but I needed to do something to fight my writer's block. This story can be read independently, but it is the second part of Seven Months.

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The cab ride to your apartment is mainly silent. Your head is tucked into Spencer's shoulder as he rubs your back from time to time. His nose is buried in your hair, inhaling your scent. God, he had missed it so much. He had missed you so much.

And he missed so much of your life in the past seven months. And that scares the shit out of him.

How would he fit into your life now? Does he have any right after faking his death and not telling you anything?

Rossi and Morgan told him you would understand eventually. That you would forgive him for doing this to you.

And maybe you are really considering. Maybe that’s why you went for him to Derek’s in the middle of the night.

Spencer wants that more than anything, but he feels like he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

Now you both are in front of your building complex. The one that used to be his too.

Spencer knows the concrete walls are the same, but they don't feel like they are.

It's a strange feeling. A feeling that gets stronger when you open the apartment door.

Stepping inside, he knows this is where he used to live, but it doesn't look the same.

The shelves are no longer full of his books. Gone is his globe and coins collection that usually laid over the desk. There are just a couple of pictures of him with you on the wall. The decoration is different. Did you paint the place? Spencer is almost sure of that because it looks brighter than he remembered.

He's silent, inspecting everything around him. The walls, the bookshelf, the furniture: all changed.

After you take off your coat and hang it on the rack, your eyes follow him.

You know what’s going on. You have known Spencer for so long. Even if you thought you lost him, you still can read him like a book.

“Hope isn’t look too bad. I needed to, you know, make some changes?” you explain, not sure how to put the last months in words. Spencer turns to look at you, guilt written over his face. He knows what your words imply and remorse eats him alive.

“I - I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sure it's not enough to erase the hell you have been through since he were gone. Since they told you he was dead.

“I know.” Your response is short but not because you don’t have things to say. It's because you don’t know how to start. “Uh. Would you like some tea?”

It's the safest path. The one you both usually have taken the times you had fought and then try to speak it off. It's different this time, though.

Spencer hesitates. In other circumstances, he would agree and sit on the couch to talk. But it's late, the day has been a rollercoaster and you are eight months pregnant. He knows you should be sleeping, or resting at the very least.

“Maybe it's better you go to bed? It's late and you must be tired,” he points, nervously fidgeting with his hands, his gaze shifts between your eyes and belly.

“Honestly? I don't think I could sleep tonight even if I try,” you confess, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle.

”I don't think I could sleep either,” he admits, following to the kitchen. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to look like an intruder in your space. A space that it’s not his anymore. Noticing Spencer doesn't know what to do with himself, you invited him to take a seat on the barstool.

“It will be ready in no time, don’t worry.”

You are the one who endured months of grief from your fiancee, carrying his child, and you are the one comforting him. Spencer thinks it's not fair.

In silence, he looks with raptor fascination at the way you move around the kitchen. It's delicate and calm. You have a glow that captivates him. You don’t realize his gaze until you turn to put the mugs over the counter.

“What?” you question softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, eyes entranced in you. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Come on, Spencer. I look like a mess. This belly reaches everything minutes before I can. It's huge! I can barely walk decently. Look at my hair! And my skin. It's sticky all the time.”

As you ramble about why isn’t accurate to call you beautiful, Spencer stands from the stool and rounds the kitchen counter to step in front of you. He wants to reach for your hands that you’re waving in the air to emphasize your point, but refrains. He’s still unsure about initiating physical contact. He rests his hands on the counter and clears his throat.

“I can certainly say it's not the way you are used to feeling. But the way I see you right now? I see beauty, power, and life. It's light what I see on you.”

You don’t know when tears started to roll down your cheeks. But hearing the adoration in Spencer’s words only spurs you to let out your emotions.

“You know my hormones have been doing a number on me, right? You’re not helping,” you complain, chuckling. After handing Spencer his tea, you take yours and walk to the living room.

You carefully sit on the couch and reach for the blanket in the back to cover your lower half. Spencer mimics your actions, sitting as well on the couch, but at a safe distance from you.

A silence envelops the room. Your hand plays with the strands at the end of the blanket, and your eyes scrutiny Spencer’s face. He looks tired, with prominent circles under his eyes, and stubble for days of no shaving.

He is analyzing you too. Even if your eyes denote exhaustion, he can see the strength that makes you look put together despite everything that has been going on.

He can see the protectiveness too. Rubbing your belly in soothing motions, shielding your non-born child from the unknown, the uncertain.

How much he would have given to be the one who could have protected you and the baby from the first minute.

“I guess you have questions,” you prompt. “But I have mine too, so if you don’t mind,” you trail off and Spencer understands what you want. He nods, preparing himself to answer whatever question you have. After a pause to collect your thoughts, you start to speak again.

“What really happened in that warehouse? Why you didn't let me go inside with you?”

You are talking about the day Spencer was shot and beaten for the unsub. The day he ended up at the hospital just to be declared dead hours after.

“I thought if we didn't split we could lose him. We were so close so many times. I thought it was our last chance. It never occurred to me it was a trap. That he wanted me there alone. I just didn't see it,” Spencer swallowed hard, remembering that day. You stayed in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“I heard his voice telling me he had you, and I panicked. So I ran to him. I let my guard down. When I realized he was lying it was too late.”

“But you launched at him. Why didn't you try to stall him first?” You asked, leaving your mug on the coffee table, feeling the suddenly urge to protect yourself with your arms around you. You never talked about what really happened with anyone. Not even to Hotch when he questioned you during the FBI investigation of the incident.

The way Spencer reacted with the unsub is something you never understood. The profile said the unsub was a guy who liked to show off, so trying to incite him to do that while waiting for backup would have been reasonable.

“The way he laughed. Maybe sounds stupid, but- I saw the resolve of an end game, and not like the typical bragging-end game, it was an evil-end game. He had the upper hand and he knew it. If I didn't do something first, he would have gone after you. And I couldn't let that happen. I didn't count on the hidden gun, though. Another mistake,” he breaths out.

You remember like it was yesterday rushing to the warehouse after hearing two gunshots. Once inside you saw Spencer lying on the floor, in a pool of blood.

“You were there and I didn't know what to do,” you recount your side of the story. “It was the worst nightmare. I screamed for help and it felt like an eternity before someone came to us. And your eyes-” You stop for a second, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “You - you were saying goodbye and I wasn’t ready.”

Your resolve from earlier seems to crumble as you revisit what happened in that warehouse. Tears are now rolling down your cheeks, and you bite your bottom lip to stop their quivering.

Spencer wants to hold you, but he’s afraid of how you would react, so tentatively rests his hand on your knee. You are shaking and he’s worried this conversation could do more harm than good.

“We can stop. You are not feeling okay,” he points out. But despite Spencer's apprehensions, this conversation must happen now.

“I need to get this out of my chest. Please, let me do this. I know you need it too.”

Spencer knows you are right. You both need this.

“Do you remember anything after the shots?” you ask, and Spencer thinks for a moment.

“I remember being there, the sharp pain in the chest and my ribs. But most of it is a blur. I remember seeing you there. Crying. God. I hated seeing you cry. I think you held my hand?”

You nodded. “I was so scared, but with you there, I wasn’t anymore. The last thing I remember it’s the guilt of not saying I love you for the last time. I really thought it was the end for me,” he admits, his own tears blurring his sight.

“It was for me, though,” you mumbled, a sad look in your eyes. “I mean, I still had hopes when you were moved to the hospital, but deep down I knew I shouldn’t have had them. And everything shattered when JJ came to the waiting room and told us you didn't make it.”

A heavy sigh escapes from Spencer’s lips. Neither JJ nor Hotch had told him how they let it know the team he was ‘gone.’

“I can’t even imagine - It was unfair to you. And I know no matter what I say it won’t make it better.”

Your thoughts wander to the moment after you heard JJ saying Spencer was dead.

Disbelief. Pain. Denial.

And then, days of numbness.

“You know. I just shut off. I have some flashbacks. Rossi hugging me; Hotch telling me to take all the time I needed; Morgan crying with me.”

It feels weird to recall those memories as yours, like an alternative universe that turned different at the end.

“Where did you go?” Spencer asks. The thought of you in the apartment alone after that breaks his heart.

“Emily took me to her place because I couldn't put a foot here. I stayed with her for a couple of days. She helped me a lot to get through this,” you recognize. And for that, you will always be grateful to her.

You also tell Spencer about how the whole team helped you to make it through the days. Some kind of relief washes over him knowing you didn't face it alone.

He can’t fathom how difficult it was for you, also knowing you were pregnant. And about that...

“When did you find out?” He asks, eyes darting to your belly. You follow his gaze trajectory and a little smile creps on your face.

“Almost a month later. I was feeling sick all the time. Emily pushed me to get checked. They took blood tests and stuff. When they told me I couldn't believe it. For me, it was a twisted joke,” you admit, hanging your head low.

Spencer dreads asking the next question but you already know what is, so you keep talking.

“Yes. I had thought about it. I didn't feel in a good place to be a mom, Spencer. I barely could make it through the days. And having a baby? Fuck, just thinking about it was too much.”

You tell him about how you cried your eyes out. How lost you felt for days. The doubts about the future, but above everything, the protectiveness that aroused in you once the idea settled. Yeah, you couldn’t keep Spencer safe, but you were determined to save the part of him growing in you.

“And seven months later, here I am. About to give birth to our baby,” you conclude, lovingly rubbing your belly.

“It’s weird, you know?” Spencer begins. “The last time I saw you and now. It feels like I lost time. And I know I lost it. It’s just - I never expected to see things so changed. I don’t know how I fit here. What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense right now-” he trails off, darting his gaze to the fidgeting hands on his lap.

He’s been holding back. You notice. Since you both crossed the threshold he has been afraid of invading your personal space, of touching you. Now it makes sense.

“That's why you have been keeping your distance from me?” you ask. Spencer’s eyes quickly flash to you. Guilt is written on his face.

“What?”

Your gaze soften seeing him so stressed by being caught. It's true the past months have been tough for you, but they have been tough for him too. And to see a before and an after so different probably has him reeling.

“Since we put a foot in this apartment you have kept a safe distance. I’m not judging you, I really don’t. I just want to know what’s on your mind right now,” you explain, shifting on the couch to change your position. With an eight-month belly is difficult to be comfy in any position.

Spencer sighs. There are so many things revolving inside his brain that it’s not easy to put them in words.

“When I woke up in a hospital bed in Bethesda, the first thing I looked for was if you were there. But I was alone. A strange feeling squeezed my chest. For a moment I thought -” he pauses to take a breath. “I thought everything had gone wrong and the unsub had hurt you or the team, or both. I was about to freak out when a marshal came and explained to me what happened.”

Spencer recounts how the agent told him about his new destination and how this assignment was for an undetermined time.

“Since then, not a single day passed without the urge to take a plane and come back. To you. But what if I messed up putting you at risk doing so? It was insane to know I was dead for you and I couldn't do anything to fix it.”

“That's why you wrote the letters?” Spencer nodded. In a notepad, he wrote a letter to you every single day since he landed in Paris. He handed you the notepad at the BAU this afternoon before you stormed out, completely shaken and confused.

“I needed to put in words each day without you. I needed to tell you I was there, even if you never could read it.”

His shaky breath forces him to take some seconds to compose himself. You took that as your cue. Shifting again, you scoot a bit closer to him and reach tentatively for his hand, and he clings to it as if his life depended on it.

“And I’m here right now. And so do you,” you squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’m as scared as you are, but we need to do something to get through this. If it is something you want to do,” you add. Spencer's glassy eyes find yours.

“It's all I want. Maybe it's hard for me to understand I can’t fix something like this, but I want a chance to make us work again. I know I can’t get back time, but if you let me I want to gain back the place I lost the day I gone.”

Spencer’s free hand flies to your cheek to wipe with his thumb the tears you haven’t noticed are falling.

“We can start with something,” you prompt, reaching for a folder resting at the coffee table. After opening it, you produce a bunch of ultrasound pictures and hand them to him. From the first appointment you had, to the last one from a week ago.

Spencer’s eyes sparkle with excitement, seeing every detail and the way the baby has grown in the past months.

Tears fall freely and there is pure emotion that fills his heart.

So many nights you both spent talking about what it would be like to have a baby. How wonderful it would be to see them grow. About what traits they would inherit from each of you.

You smile at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. It feels so good to see in him the same excitement you have. You both wanted this. And until today you thought only you would get the chance to experience it.

After inspecting and committing to memory each detail from each pic, Spencer’s eyes find yours again.

“Do you know the baby’s-” he trails off. He’s unsure, maybe you didn't want to know or want him to know.

You have known the baby’s gender for a while now but have not told to anyone. From the same folder, you extract an envelope you offer to him. With trembling hands, Spencer takes it and gets the paper from inside. Scanning the words he realizes it is the information of your baby’s gender.

“It's - it's a girl,” he reads aloud with a cracking voice and more tears in his eyes. You nod, your own tears clouding your vision.

“Yes. Do you remember when we talked about having a baby and you told me you wanted a girl? When I found out the gender, I thought about how happy you would have been,” you sniffle, and Spencer reaches for you, now wrapping you in a loving embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he repeats over and over, kissing your temple. You close your eyes, losing yourself in his chest, inhaling his scent.

You stay like this for a moment. Contently in each other arms. Spencer still can’t believe he got the chance to hold you again, and you are still assimilating the day’s events. It's unbelievable how everything changed in less than twenty-four hours.

“I love you,” he mumbles in your hair, a hand moving to rub your belly. “And I love you,” he says now, talking to your baby.

“We love you too, Spencer,” you respond, voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped, and we will never stop.”

Parting from your embrace, you get lost in each other's eyes. Communicating without words what this moment means to both of you. Cupping your face, Spencer leans to find your lips with his in a loving kiss. You kiss him back, pouring all your feelings.

It's a new promise of love.

After breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Will we be okay?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“From now on, we will be,” you assure him. It feels like you are telling this to yourself too. Maybe you do. Everything still looks messy right now, but life is giving you a second chance, and neither Spencer nor you is willing to let it go.

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

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angt #spencer reid hurt/comfort #seven months #from now on #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams

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lets-try-some-writing · 7 months

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The Secret of the Primacy: Emotional Exploration

With his secret out in the open, Optimus is left to flounder with the way the team are treating him. He's not used to it in any capacity, but he can't help but want to explore now that he isn't being suffocated by lies.

@wildlygay as per your request, here is more of this Au :)

Previous part here.

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With his secret out in the open, Optimus was ready to bolt at any moment. He had been warned countless times by the priests and by Alpha Trion that if anyone discovered what he was, he was doomed. He knew the various methods of gruesome execution common amidst Autobots and Decepticons for severe crimes. He had no desire to die deep beneath that duty that blanketed his every thought and action.

He fully expected to be treated poorly, abused perhaps, tortured if the team were angry enough despite the care Ratchet showed him. He was mentally preparing himself to be beaten half to death when he finally woke from his breakdown induced recharge cycle and met the optics of the team one by one. However against all the odds he predicted, the team did not even frown at him with malicious or angry emotional wavelengths in their fields. If anything, they were sorrowful. He didn't understand, but he quickly came to be confused above all else when the team adjusted the way they treated him.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he was treated gently, so much so that he started to both fear, love, and despise it. Ratchet's care was the most blatant and welcome for Optimus. The medic took every opportunity to shower Optimus with affection in his own gruff way. Optimus could be doing anything and suddenly Ratchet would be by his side, gently touching his arm and praising him for whatever he was trying to accomplish. Other times he could be quietly working on Iacon database files and Ratchet would slide over an energon cube, usually with a treat as well. Optimus had never been one for sweets usually, but they came from Ratchet and his foster Sire seemed to know how to make them in such a manner that they were only so sweet as to be enjoyable.

Ratchet stopped yelling as much too. When normally he would grumble and make a fuss, he quieted and kept his complaints to himself. It worried Optimus a great deal at first, that was until Ratchet made it clear that he refused to act like a sparkling when Optimus was in need of care. That part agitated the Prime to a degree considering all he'd gone through, but he couldn't deny that it was nice being able to try his best and actually be praised for his efforts instead of being regarded with grim appreciation.

Ratchet also took to establishing and actual routine for Optimus to follow, one that he both enjoyed and hated. The medic no longer tolerated his self destructive habits and instead made it law that he was to recharge for at least a groon per cycle. Cybertronians don't need to recharge often, in fact it is only required once a human month or so. Only sparklings required frequent recharge, and so the fact that Ratchet made a point to drag Optimus to his berth every night for recharge was both a welcome relief and a prod at his pride. He was mostly grown. Not even Bumblebee was subjected to such frequent recharge standards. Even still, Optimus obeyed his foster Sire. He quietly adored how Ratchet would guide him to his quarters, and without commenting then proceed to tuck him in, ensuring Optimus got at least one hug before he was left to rest.

Sometimes on bad days when Optimus fell back in on himself, trying to maintain the persona he crafted prior to the reveal, Ratchet would stay with him as he recharged. It was a comfort to know that his foster Sire was beside him, reading a datapad or filing a report of some sort even if a small part of Optimus was bitter over being handled in such a manner.

Compared to Ratchet's sudden shift in behavior, Bumblebee and Bulkhead were comparatively rather unchanged. The biggest differences in how they acted were merely in regards to how much work they left to Optimus. Where before Optimus would gladly take on mountains of work so that Bumblebee would have the chance to play and so that Bulkhead could spend time with Miko, his efforts were no longer allowed to fly. Bulkhead and Bee took their patrols far more seriously and went on them more frequently. Their reports came in on time and were detailed, with no need for Optimus to fill in blank spots or otherwise adjust their work. Not to mention the duo suddenly cared a great deal about actually fulfilling their chores at base. Before they would try and brush them off when possible, but seemingly overnight, both could be found doing any and all chores that normally fell to Ratchet and Optimus.

The Prime was thankful for the newfound dutifulness of his sparkling and brother in arms, but there were more than a few accidents due to Bulkhead attempting to mop and Bee trying and largely failing to dust with grace. In the end both were kindly asked to stop and focus their efforts more on the mission, to which there were quite a few sighs of relief. Despite that, both were quick to take up other work that Optimus normally handled. Bulkhead swiftly became Optimus's greatest obstacle when it came to his usual habit of working late at night. If Optimus tried to sneak out of his room after his appointed recharge time, Bulkhead would lay a servo on his shoulder, give him a look, and guide him back to his berth. It was bothersome and made Optimus feel small, but in the end the extra recharge time made him happier and more productive overall so he didn't fight the effort.

Bumblebee for his part simply became more affectionate. He regarded Optimus as his Sire without care for the truth of the matter. However, as he was now well aware of the delicate state of his Sire's mind, he went out of his way to show his appreciation when he could. Optimus was never particularly touchy in his raising of Bee, but he had a few habits that he kept, such as checking in on Bee when he did lay down to recharge roughly once a week. Bumblebee took that normal habit and used it to convince Optimus to rest alongside him. He would hug the Prime and ask for a song as if he were younger than he really were. And Optimus, wanting to feel needed and appreciated, never ceased to offer whatever affection Bee wanted. If Bee came to him asking for a hug, Optimus would give it. His sparkling almost never asked for such things, so the Prime gave them with glee. He very nearly cried whenever Bee would thank him of tell him he loved him. Deep down he was acutely aware of the fact that Bee was likely trying to tend to him like the rest of the team, but the desire to be needed overrode most of the dark concerns that lingered.

Compared to Ratchet's almost complete 180 regarding how he treated Optimus and Bee and Bulkhead's relative static nature, Arcee sat somewhere in the middle. She did not coddle Optimus like Ratchet did. She would still utter her grievances and treat Optimus as a proper warrior, offering him respect as her commander and trusting him to take care of himself in battle. But unlike Bumblebee and Bulkhead, she was more willing to show her normally hidden maternal nature. Ratchet couldn't be on watch all the time, and so when he was otherwise occupied, Arcee stepped up to the plate and took to getting Optimus into healthier habits. Her main mission was to get Optimus to deal with some of his mental issues. Ratchet tended to his health with far more dutifulness than Arcee could ever hope to replicate. And while she was no paragon of mental stability, she knew a few ways to get a mech to at least begin dealing with their issues.

She made it a point to try and get Optimus to do something aside from work or tend to others during his waking hours. Her efforts largely amounted to getting Optimus to assist her in certain recreational activities under the guise of needing assistance. It was not hard to get the Prime to sit down with her and try to sketch out things she required aid 'identifying'. It quickly became clear to her that Optimus actually enjoyed drawing after she attempted other activities with him. Thus she quietly spoke to Ratchet, and from there, Optimus developed a new habit that he kept from everyone.

He had no clue that Arcee's requests for him to help were underhanded. He simply enjoyed being needed and was pleased to sit down and assist her in drawing things she needed help figuring out. But from those drawings, he found a bit of a passion for the activity. Too many vorns of being denied any and all ability to act his age ensured he told no one of his interest, especially as he tried to improve and observed far more skilled artworks done by humans and Cybertronians alike. Often his inner voice demanded he quit his newfound recreational activity, but once he started, he was unable to stop.

Optimus told no one when he started taking sheets of scrap metal and engraving tools and hiding them away in his room. He told no one when after Ratchet tucked him in for the night, he proceeded to use said materials and carefully engrave things that he saw and envisioned. Over the course of weeks, his room was quickly filled with sheets of metal engraved with various depictions of things he enjoyed. These works he hid under his berth when he was finished with them due to his insecurity, but late at night he would look over them with a degree of joy. He loved engraving, especially engraving stories depicting his life, or rather Orion Pax's life. He loved drawing Orion, Ratchet, his team, the human children, and all others he knew well. It was his secret pleasure. He was a Prime, and thus he was not afforded the luxury of enjoying recreational things. As such he kept it close to his spark, telling no one up until one late night-

-When Ratchet walked in on him engraving.

His first response was sheer panic. He froze up like a deer in the headlights, his engraving tool dropping to the ground as he sat still as stone amidst his sea of artworks. Ratchet stood still for a long moment too, both of them locked in an odd dance of will until Ratchet took a step forward. Optimus in turn all but began to throw his engravings back into their hiding place up until Ratchet grabbed his arm to stop him. The Prime froze up again, expecting a reprimand or hit to come from his actions. Instead, Ratchet sat down beside him slowly and very tenderly began to look over Optimus's various works.

The Prime was two kliks from passing out in sheer terror when Ratchet oh so softly ran his digits along an engraving Optimus did of Orion working in the archives. Along the bottom he carved his Sire's name and a tender line. Ratchet looked to be near ready to cry as he read, and at that, Optimus feared the worst. And yet against all his fears, Ratchet did something he did not expect.

Ratchet: These are gorgeous Optimus.

Optimus: They are merely scribbles. I could be performing more vital tasks instead of dabbling in this craft-

Ratchet: No, you honor him with your work... He would be proud.

Optimus: ...

Ratchet: You were not intended, but I knew my friend Optimus. He would have been proud to know you are his creation.

Optimus: That cannot be true. I killed him. My creation led to his death.

Ratchet: He died so that you might live. He did not know that you were made from him, but I imagine that if he were here, he would be happy to know that his descendant is continuing the work he left behind.

Optimus: Leading a war? No, I do not believe he would take joy in knowing what I have done.

Ratchet: Perhaps. But he would know that you have done all you can. He was kind, I do not believe he would begrudge you for your choices. If anything, he would be pleased to see you fighting so hard despite all the obstacles in your way.

Optimus: ... It is just an engraving. It means nothing.

Ratchet: It means you are trying, that you are growing. By doing that, you bring honor to Orion's name.

Optimus: I...

Ratchet: These are wonderful Optimus. Do not doubt that, not ever. Continue this, I can see it brings you joy.

To say those words meant much to Optimus would be an understatement. He was still distraught, but after Ratchet saw and praised his work, he slowly began leaving engravings for the team and the children as gifts. He didn't know how to fully express his thanks, and so he offered that which brought him joy.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #ratchet #bumblebee #arcee #bulkhead #secret of the primacy au #fluff/angst #it has been *counts fingers*#seven months #yep long time since I got to this au #its actually one of my favs alongside AI optimus #surprised it took me this long to get back to it #annnnnnnnnnyway #here yall go!

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sensitivedead · 7 months

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i think 3 years of doom scrolling and consuming so much content has squashed my imagination a little

#its coming back but like #yknow how youll listen to music and just think but not actually think #youre like thinking of the song and riding it and the lyric and sometimes i get caught on one sound or one instrument and i get so lost in #thought #yeah i havent been able to do that the last like #seven months #i broke my brain fellas #i deleted tiktok and am NOT watching any short form esq videos like that #bc i actually am worried its like lol crushing my personality #i feel weird atm but a lot better. just been listening to music occasionally reading new articles on tumblr for sns and back to old routines #that are positive 🫶#shutup sensitive #LOL I WROTE PERSONALITY BUT i actually mean like dopamine receptors or smthn idk how true any of that is but im feeling something

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braaaannicole · 9 months

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Life is bliss. ✨

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embers-scheduled-disappointing · 3 months

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🎶Do you ever feel

Like a plastic bag🎶

Yes. Anyway it's always nice to be reminded that I've been doing cunt all for the past 7 months

#You feel useless because you haven't been doing much recently #Oh thank you for that fucking information #Anyway you haven't been doing anything forrrrrr #Seven months #Cheers you're really helpful #Now cab you listen to the other reasons I want to die please #Thank you peeps #ember's pwecious thoughts

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sonnyafternoon · 3 months

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Spurs doing charity again

#SEVEN MONTHS

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twisted-w0rds · 1 year

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#portishead #seven months #Spotify

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theblackestofsuns · 10 months

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"Seven Months"

Arzach & Other Fantasy Stories (1987)

Moebius

Epic Comics / Marvel Comics

#Arzach & Other Fantasy Stories #Moebius #Epic Comics #Marvel Comics #Great Comics #Great Comic Art #Seven Months

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badbadbuddy · 6 months

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SHES HERE DHES HOME IM GONNA EXPLODE

#ensemble stars #enstars #arashi narukami #f/oposting #IVE WAITED #SEVEN MONTHS #AND SHES FINALLY HOOOOOME #PAPA BLESS 🙏🙏🙏

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absentlyabbie · 2 months

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taking my life into my hands to resurrect this godawful hellpoll and let it run for a week this time

#tumblr polls #my polls #poll #rice v potato #let's see if we can avoid getting weirdly and vehemently racial with it this time!#i am making this choice while sick and brain muddle-y so let's hope i don't regret it #last attempt at this seven months ago managed to get over 6k votes in 24 hours #let's see if this will once again be rip my notifications

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aperrywilliams · 2 years

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Seven Months (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Nota my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: A field operation goes wrong, and you lose the most important person in your life. That's what you thought for seven months.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: A character’s death and mourning are mentioned and discussed. Pregnancy is shown and discussed. A mention of possible abortion (not actually happening). Strong words. A character faint and needs medical attention. Angst with a happy ending.

A/N: Hey, my loves! I wrote this one based on this request I got the past weekend. Are you familiar with Doyle’s arc? Here is, but it’s not Emily faking her death; it's Spencer. I enjoyed writing this one, although it was painful in some parts. You can send me requests! I would love to work on those.

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Your life has been pretty good, in your opinion. It's not like you haven't been through dark times for a few years, but once you grew up and followed your dreams, things got a lot better. You became a reputable FBI agent working at the BAU, one of the most elite groups in the bureau. You earned excellent colleagues who are also your friends and your family. And you met Spencer Reid, your fiancee, the man who can light up your days and rock your nights.

Yeah, life has been pretty good to you.

Until today.

Until that bastard stabbed your fiancee in a raid.

A bastard who managed to escape.

You blamed yourself. You should have burst into the warehouse with Spencer. You shouldn’t have left him alone.

The hours in the hospital seemed endless for you. The team’s faces weren’t better than yours. He has to make it. Right?

He’s the love of your life. You can’t lose him.

You tried to stay collected, thinking of good scenarios and Spencer's recovery.

Your thoughts stopped when JJ walked through the hospital doors that separated the wards from the waiting room. She had tears in her eyes.

“He never made it off the table.”

That was the moment your life was turned upside down forever.

A widow. That's what you were and how you felt.

Crying for Spencer's death became a full-time activity. How could it not? Everything in your shared apartment reminded you of the life you both had together. The plans, the dreams, the memories, all were there in every corner. It took you weeks to grab Spencer's coffee mug he left on the kitchen counter the last morning you ate breakfast together.

Going to work didn't make things easy. The looks, the pity, the talk behind your back. It was like everyone walked on eggshells around you.

Spencer’s death affected the team, not only emotionally; two weeks after Spencer's funeral, Strauss split the group, sending Hotch to missions out of the country and Rossi to support another task group in the FBI. JJ was called to assist in other divisions from time to time. Morgan was the present team leader, and Prentiss, Garcia, and you were the permanent team members.

In the lonely nights at your apartment, surrounded by your memories, sometimes your mind tricked you, thinking that Spencer could walk inside with open arms and smile brightly at you. Maybe you would go insane.

At moments like those, you ended up knocking on Emily’s door. She was emotionally stronger than you, holding you as you cried for hours.

You will always be grateful to her. You knew it was unfair to Emily because as the same time you mourned Spencer as your boyfriend, she mourned Spencer as her little brother.

You started to feel sick most of the time. Emotional and physically sick. Your head throbbed constantly; your stomach couldn't stand the food you forced yourself to eat, and it was common to wake up in the morning with nausea making you run to the bathroom to empty your guts into the toilet.

Two months passed, and you couldn't feel better. Emily advised you to go to the doctor.

“They will tell me that I’m depressed and send me home. I can’t be home, Em,” you argued.

“But you need to be checked. Depressed or not, being like this doesn't help you. Please, just let them see you.”

You did what Emily requested. At your doctor's appointment, she asked the trivial questions and ordered urine and blood tests. You could feel her pity look on you when you told her what happened with your fiancee.

You hated people looking at you like that.

In the next appointment, with the results on hand, she disclosed two things: one of them you already knew; the other felt like a cold bucket on your back. You were depressed and pregnant.

What the doctor told you after that was a blur to you. You didn't listen, your brain only filled with one word: pregnant.

Still shaking, you managed to get out of the doctor’s office and dialed Emily’s number.

As in the past weeks, she comforted you and offered her support all the way. Whatever your decision could be.

You spent days and nights thinking about what to do. You didn't feel in a good place to be a mother, but it was Spencer's child, the love of your life. It was part of your plan together. You both wanted kids, but he was gone now.

Could you be strong enough to raise a child?

One night, curling in bed with Spencer's shirt in your hands, smelling the faint scent of his cologne, you noticed there weren’t more tears in you. The pain still was there, but you couldn't cry anymore. Instead, you started rubbing your lower belly with one hand. At that moment, you made a choice.

Telling the team made it more real. You will have a baby. Spencer's baby. Everyone hugged you, offering all the support you could need. You didn't know why, but JJ looked more emotional that day. You guessed that she felt like the baby would be his friend's living legacy. You always knew how strong was JJ and Spencer's friendship. It was a terrible loss for her too.

Emily became your partner in all the baby’s appointments you got, and she asked about all your therapist’s sessions.

You needed to acknowledge that therapy helped. Every day you felt a little bit better. Maybe it was because you focused on the baby: you needed to be okay for them. You needed to stand again because now a human life depended on you.

Months went by, and your bump started to be noticeable. Looking at you in the mirror every morning, you could see how the baby has grown.

You made changes in the apartment. Morgan helped to adapt your and Spencer’s old office into a nursery. You changed the furniture in your bedroom too, settling a bassinet by your bed. It was time to decide what to do with Spencer's belongings. You packed his clothes in boxes and left them in the basement storage room. Some of his books ran the same luck. But most of them, you wanted to keep it so your child could see part of his father there.

And so seven months have passed since that fateful day. Seven months in which there were days when it was difficult to get up, but you kept going. The support of your friends was essential.

The job also helped you overcome the pain and make each day count.

Your belly was growing and growing, and without knowing it, the baby you were carrying became the BAU’s top priority. Your baby was still not born but was loved by everyone.

“Come on (Y/N)! Tell us! It’s a boy or a girl?” JJ insisted. She, Emily, and you were in the conference room. You already knew the gender, but you didn't want to tell anyone, not even Emily.

“My lips are sealed,” you informed, sipping your tea. JJ huffed.

“We can profile you to find out, you know?” Emily warned. You narrowed your eyes.

“You wouldn't dare...”

“To know if I’m having a godson or a goddaughter? Of course!” Emily pointed matter-of-factly.

You shook your head, clucking.

Then Derek and Garcia entered the room. A severe expression on their faces. You three noticed immediately.

Something important happened.

“We found him,” Derek announced.

Your jaw dropped to the floor. JJ and Prentiss looked at each other, not knowing what he was talking about.

“Found who?” JJ asked.

“The son of the bitch who killed Reid. Steven Harmon.”

Your throat tightened, and your hands started to shake.

On the day of Spencer's funeral, when Derek hugged you, he promised to catch the man who killed your fiancee. And after seven months, he succeeded. You knew he was tracking him with Garcia's help, but no one mentioned or talked about that until now.

“We need to move fast, though. I called Hotch and Rossi. We are going to get him.”

Although your protests, Morgan didn't let you participate in the field operation. You begged him; you needed to catch the guy, but Derek reminded you that it could be dangerous for you and the baby, and he never would forgive himself if something happened to you.

Two days after that, the entire team, minus Garcia and you, finally caught who killed the love of your life, your baby’s father.

You thought that after his arrest you would feel relieved. This was what you needed to bring justice and peace of mind to you. But why it didn’t feel like that? Why did you feel like something was off?

Hotch called everyone to the conference room the next morning. After asking you to sit down, he folded his arms over his chest and spoke—JJ by his side.

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you know, Spencer lost a lot of blood after his fight with Harmon. But the doctors were able to stabilize him. And he was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. His identity was strictly need-to-know. And he stayed there until he was well enough to travel. He was reassigned to Paris, where he was given several identities, none of which we had access to for his security.”

You took in Hotch’s words, but they seemed extracted from a movie, not from reality.

“His is alive?” Garcia mumbled.

“But we buried him!” Prentiss shouted.

By reflex, you pressed both hands to your belly. Your pulse quickened, as did your breathing.

“As I said, I take full responsability for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me,” Hotch informed. The same calm and stern voice with which he started speaking.

“Any issues? Yeah, I got issues!” Morgan growled.

Emily's eyes flicked from Hotch to you, back and forth. Had anyone cared about you before disclosing this news?

And then everyone turned to the door. He was there. Spencer stood awkwardly, looking at each team member, but especially at you. When your eyes and his locked, you felt like you couldn't breathe. You stood suddenly because your limbs were numb, and you didn't know if you were dreaming or awake. You clutched your bump to ground yourself. Spencer’s eyes widened when he noticed your belly.

He didn't know you were pregnant.

He didn't know anything.

You noticed how he looked at JJ as if he was asking why. She knew. Hotch knew. Who else lied to you all these months?

The silence in the room was suffocating. No one dared to say anything.

Spencer took a step ahead toward you, but you stepped back. He lied to you. Everyone lied to you.

“Don’t! Don’t come closer!” you whined.

“(Y/N)...” Spencer tried to talk to you, but you continued moving backward.

“I don’t want to know. You - you...”

The air left your lungs, and you felt dizzy. The room started to spin, and in a matter of seconds, you fainted. Emily and Derek were fast enough and caught you before falling to the floor. Derek took you in his arms to move you to the nearest couch so you could lay down as Emily called the paramedics to get you checked.

Spencer tried to reach you, but Hotch stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s move to my office,” Hotch instructed.

Spencer glared at his boss with a look that revealed how betrayed he felt. JJ intervened too.

“Spence. We need to talk.”

Reluctantly and with his gaze still on you, Spencer left the conference room, heading to Hotch’s office. Rossi and Garcia followed suit.

“Why on earth you didn't tell me she is pregnant?!” Spencer shouted to JJ once they were in the office.

“Because you would have done exactly what you shouldn't,” Hotch explained. “Wouldn't you have taken the next flight to DC?”

“Yeah! Maybe I would have. She needed me here!” Spencer spat to Hotch. “I thought you were my friend?” Spencer now directed his anger to JJ.

“You have no idea the times I was about to tell you! But Hotch is right. You would have blown your cover, and we could never have caught Harmon,” JJ defended herself.

Spencer rubbed his eyes with his palms. In all the months he was away he wondered how you were. It hurt him not being able to talk to you, to say anything. To you, the most important person in his life.

His look darted to Rossi and Penelope.

“I’m so sorry. You didn't deserve this. Any of this. I - I’m sorry,” Spencer sniffled. Rossi approached and patted his back.

“It was for your safety, kid. It's hard now, but everyone would understand, she would understand,” Rossi reassured him. “It’s good to have you back.”

“My turn,” Penelope demanded, wrapping Spencer in a tight embrace. “I can’t believe I can hug you again. Now I’ll hug you every day, and I don’t want complaints,” she declared.

Spencer chuckled, still sniffling a bit.

“I missed you guys, and I really want to tell you all about this, but I need to know about (Y/N); when did she tell you about the baby? How has her health been?”

Rossi, Hotch, JJ, and Penelope looked at him in a way that told Spencer everything he needed to know: you have been through hell in the past seven months.

How would he fix this now?

The paramedics checked on you, and said there was no need to go to the hospital. Your vitals were okay, and the baby was okay too. They only recommended you needed to rest.

Easier said than done, you thought.

Emily and Derek were in silence by your side. They didn't want to rush you or pressure you in any form. When the paramedics left, you looked at them with the question on the tip of your tongue.

“That - that was real? He - he is really alive?” You asked, voice cracking.

“Yes. He is,” Emily confirmed.

You closed your eyes for a moment to inhale and exhale.

“Did you know?” You asked again, looking at Emily and Derek.

Both shook their heads.

“What is supposed to happen now?” You asked, more to yourself than your friends.

“I don’t know,” Emily told you honestly. “I mean, I can understand the whole thing, but it's not easy to accept as if nothing happened.”

Derek was still in silence.

“Morgan, please say something,” you demanded.

“I’m sorry pretty girl, I wish I could have something to say to you, but I don't.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands over your belly.

It was evident that everyone was shocked, but Spencer was alive. That would be a reason to be happy. Right? So why you couldn't stand and run to hug him? Maybe because you already accepted that you lost him.

You didn't dare to leave the conference room during the entire day. Emily brought you snaks, and lunch, making you company for most of the hours. You told Morgan that it was okay for him to leave you there, that you were okay. The same you told Emily, who seemed more reluctant. You convinced her by telling her that you needed to be alone to think.

Eventually, Morgan and Emily went to talk to Hotch, JJ, and presumably Spencer. But you weren't ready yet.

More hours passed, and you didn't know what to do. You knew that you will have to talk to him at some point. You couldn’t avoid him all day.

Peeking through the blinds, you saw Spencer sitting alone at his desk.

It was real. He was real.

The man you mourned for months was alive and a few feet from you. Rubbing your bump, you asked yourself if life was giving you a second chance, or maybe it was a test to prove how stronger you were.

Either way, you needed to confront this.

You opened the conference room’s door, and Spencer's head snapped instantly in your direction. You didn't say anything, retracting to the office but leaving the door open. You assumed it was enough for him to understand.

Spencer quickly strolled where you were. Cautiously he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled, standing in front of you.

It was only then that you really noticed him. His hair was longer and his curls wilder than ever. He grew a little stubble and his dark circles seemed more prominent. His clothes looked different too: gray slacks, a black shirt, and a gray tie.

“Did you want to talk to me?” You asked him, your voice monotonous as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Yes,” he replied to you almost in a whisper. “I didn't come earlier; Emily warned me that I needed to wait until you wanted to see me,” he explained.

“She only told you that?” You asked.

“No. After punching me in the arm and cursing me for hurting you, she told me that,” Spencer corrected.

“That sounds more like Emily,” you mused.

“Yeah.” Spencer acknowledged, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Looking at you didn't make it easy.

He was in front of you, and the only idea that plagued his mind was how bad he wanted to hug you and kiss you. But he couldn't.

To you, he was like a ghost.

“I - I’m so sorry, (Y/N). But I had no choice. I had to do it. And there wasn’t a moment being away that I didn’t think about you. When I regained consciousness, I was flying to Bethesda. The only information I had was a note with my destination and the prohibition of talking to anyone because it could mean Harmon hurting some of you. I couldn't let that happen.”

Spencer's eyes got glassy, and his voice trembled.

“So the only solution was faking your death? I thought you were a genius, Spencer,” you huffed, disappointment written on your face.

“I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do it to prevent all of this. Believe me. It wasn’t easy for me either. To lose everything I had, not knowing if someday I could get it back? Trying to figure out how to solve this being miles and miles away. Away from you. It killed me day by day,” Spencer sighed, hands fidgeting with a notepad in his hands.

“Yeah? Big difference was that you knew we were here, alive. While we had to assume you were dead. We buried you! Do you know how hard it was? And do you want to know what it meant for me? Oh, God! To come back every day to an apartment full of your memories. Every night trying to sleep in a bed we used to share. It took me months to pack your things! Fuck you, Spencer!”

The rage and the pain mixed perfectly in your voice. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Spencer knew better. There wasn’t any word he could say to make that go away. So he was ready to take every stab coming from your mouth.

“I deserve all your anger. I deserve your cold shoulder, but please. Believe me when I tell you that this wasn’t how it should have happened.”

“No? Of course, because it was easier to trust JJ than me, uh? I was your fucking fiancee, Spencer!”

After you said that, Spencer noticed. You weren't using your engagement ring. Of course you weren’t. He was dead. You had the right to go on with your life.

“It wasn’t like that. I was trying to protect you,” he defended.

“Oh, please! Not that bullshit. What you did, what you all did, was the lowest thing I expected from you. Don’t ask me to be okay with it.”

“If I have known that you were...” Spencer trailed off, darting his eyes to your bump. Protectively you put your hands over.

“Pregnant? Would you have come back? I don't think so. Don’t lie to me, Spencer.”

You didn't believe him, and that broke Spencer.

“(Y/N)...” he wanted to argue, but you cut him off.

“I wasn't even sure if I wanted to keep it, you know? I was so depressed, in a hole that I didn't know how to get out of. But yeah, this baby symbolizes the love we shared at some point. It was something we both wanted. This baby gave me a reason to live when I thought I had lost everything!” you bawled, feeling your voice trembling.

Spencer couldn't help but sob, seeing you like that and hearing what you said. He had already lost too much of your life and pregnancy during those months, and the guilt was eating him alive.

Not having anything more to say, you grabbed your bag to leave. Spencer watched with horror how words failed him in an attempt to stop you. Before crossing the threshold, you turned one last time.

“(Y/N)... wait. Please,” he begged. You halted at the threshold, doubting if it was a good idea to turn around. But you did it anyway.

“Do you have anything else to say now?”

“No. But please, could you take this?” Spencer stretched his arm and offered you the notepad he had previously.

“What is this?” You asked cautiously.

“You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings, but I wrote them. I tried. Please, could you read it?” He pleaded. You noticed his hand shaking. You nodded, grabbing the notepad.

“I don’t know what you expect I find here,” you frowned, setting the item in your bag.

“My life in the past seven months. I know it couldn't be compared to what you went through, but I think you deserve to know,” Spencer hastened to say, his glassy eyes telling you it was important to him.

You didn't respond, but nodded instead.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Fixing your bag on your shoulder, you turned again and left the room.

Spencer stood there and contemplated through the window how you walked to the elevator and disappeared behind the metal doors.

The notepad begged you to be opened. You shoved it over the coffee table earlier, debating if it was a good idea. You were curious but afraid of what was written there.

After dinner, you sat on the couch with a mug of tea. Your eyes darted to the notepad again while your free hand flew to your belly.

“I know what you are thinking; your mom is a mess right now. And you’re right. Adults could be so complicated, my little peanut. Mom and dad are not exceptions. Yes, your dad. It happens that he is very much alive. Can you believe it? We should be happy. Right?”

You sighed. Leaving your mug on the coffee table, you grabbed the notepad and opened it. You couldn’t help but smile at the scratchy-messy Spencer's handwriting.

The first page seemed like a letter.

-&-

My love,

I’m writing this even if I can't actually send it to you. Right now, I’m sitting at a desk in my hotel room in Paris. My flight arrived three hours ago, and I’m settled here until I can have my documents. Then I can rent an apartment here. I wish I shouldn’t have to. I wish I could take the next flight to DC. I wish I could come back to be with you and tell you that everything is okay.

I’m sorry. You and the team are thinking I died on the table by now. I’m so sorry. I should have been faster than Harmon. I should have stopped him somehow. I failed. And now we are miles away.

My body hurts from the wounds but what hurts me more is knowing that I’m dead for you. And I’m here with my life suspended for an undetermined time.

Would you forgive me someday?

I love you, and I’ll love you forever.

No matter if someday you forget who I was.

-&-

Tears started to roll down. This was the first entrance in the notepad. The following pages were filled with more letters to you: 210 in total. He wrote a letter to you every day. Some were longer, others not. The first ones were filled with hope, the last ones with sadness and melancholy. But each letter showed how much he loved you, how much he missed you.

He wrote the last one on the plane to DC two days ago.

-&-

My love,

My heart is beating so fast right now. Hotch told me they caught Harmon and that I could come back. God, never did I pack a suitcase so quickly in my life. I’m so excited about coming back, but I’m terrified. They didn't tell me much about anything in the past months, even when I begged to know about you. Are you okay? Did you forget me yet?

I know this won’t be easy. And I wouldn't blame you if you hate me after this. But I have hopes. The hopes I was losing in the past months.

Just five hours and fifteen minutes more.

I love you. I love you. My body is shuddering, and I’m sure the old lady beside me must think I’m crazy because I’m mouthing the words as I write them.

Just a few hours more, my love.

-&-

The man in the letters was the man you loved. And the man you still love. You couldn’t deny that. Was it a messy situation? Yes. Were you still confused? Sure you do.

But this is your Spencer. And he is alive. And he loves you.

What he did could be reasonable or not for you, but it was done. Why prolong the agony? You both deserve happiness. Rebuild what you both lost in the past seven months.

That’s how you stood from the couch, grabbing your coat and keys. It didn't matter the time. Nothing else mattered.

You didn't remember much of the text you sent Emily asking where Spencer was staying. You didn’t remember much of the cab ride or how you were in front of Morgan’s door.

After knocking insistently, a confused Derek opened the door. You were a sight to see: slippers, pajama pants, an oversized sweater covering your pregnant belly, and a coat.

“I guess you are not here to see me,” he teased you. You rolled your eyes.

“Not now, Derek, please,” you begged.

“Come in. He is sleeping on the couch. Or he was.”

Stepping into Derek’s apartment, you immediately saw a pair of hazel eyes looking at you with confusion.

“(Y/N)...” he muttered. Then panic appeared in him. “Are you okay? The baby is okay?” He hastened to ask, standing from the couch and moving closer to you. Derek didn't bother to say anything; he left you both alone.

“Everything is okay. Or I hope it will,” you told Spencer, daring to step closer to him. You could feel how Spencer's breath hitched. His puppy eyes looking at you, trying to decipher why you were there at 2 AM. Then it hit him.

“Did you...” Spencer gestured in the air. He didn’t need to finish the question because you knew he was talking about the notepad.

“Yes. I read it,” you admitted, pursing your lips to conceal the quivering on them.

Spencer cleared his throat.

“Oh. Okay?”

He was frozen on the spot.

It was the time for a leap of faith and love. For you, for him, and the life growing inside you.

You closed the gap between the two of you, your hand reaching his cheek and stroking it tentatively. He leaned into your touch.

It was real.

He was real to you.

You were real to him.

You could see the tears pouring from Spencer's eyes. You didn't do it better, sobbing as your other hand explored his face, touching his eyes, jaw, forehead, and nose.

“I love you,” he whispered, using his hands to mimic your actions. He left a trail of feather touches on your cheeks, eyes, chin, and lips. Then his eyes lowered to your belly. He returned his eyes to yours, silently asking permission. You nodded.

He kneeled, and with both hands, he caressed your belly over your sweater. With the tears came the whimpers. You were both fully crying now. Spencer couldn't believe that he was touching where his baby lay since seven months ago.

“Hey there,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy, you know? Yeah, the asshole who made mommy upset all these months. Sure she mentioned to you that,” Spencer spoke, guilt in his voice.

“You both need to talk about that later,” you conceded, gently stroking Spencer's hair.

“I have to tell you something now, though. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here and won’t leave you or your mom ever again,” Spencer mumbled to the baby, planting a kiss on your belly.

“You promise? Because I can’t lose you again. Mourning you twice would destroy me,” you confessed, looking down to find his eyes.

Spencer stood and took your hands in his to kiss your knuckles not breaking eye contact.

“I’ll stay forever if you will have me. I promise,” he assured you, now cupping your cheeks with both hands. You got lost in those hazel eyes. The same eyes that made you fall in love years ago.

He leaned and kissed you. You felt butterflies in your stomach, like always when he kissed you. You didn't think twice and kissed him back, pouring all your feelings and longing into that kiss.

When you parted, he rested his forehead on yours.

“I love you. I love you both,” he mumbled.

“And we love you, Spencer.”

Those words flooded so naturally from your mouths.

But they had a new meaning now.

For Spencer, those words confirmed that his life wasn’t suspended anymore. He recovered your love and gained a new one.

For you, those words brought to existence what you thought you lost seven months ago: the love of your life and the father of your child.

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Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic

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