G4rvez-r3id - Mya

Silver Springs : Prologue

Summary: It’s your best friend’s wedding day, a last minute wedding planned and you’re supposed to be happy for him. But you aren’t. And you aren’t the only one.

Category: Angst

Warnings: brief spoilers for 7x24 “Run”, reader is lowkey down bad for will, lowkey Love, Rosie reference, some tension between everyone tbh, wedding themes, wedding speeches, drinking champagne, addictions/alcoholism mention if you squint? unrequited love RAHHH

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! here is the prologue hehe😋 special thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @thegloryofliterature for proofreading this and correcting my mistakes because i didn’t notice them (sick brain is no bueno) i love you both so much <3 anyways yes the prologue is taking place in s7– sue the fuck out of me🤷‍♀️ every chapter is lowkey taking place in a different season (still working out logistics here) real ones know i actually posted this fic on wattpad and didn’t know what the fuck to do with it oops anyways sorry here it is hopefully more soon!

You could be my silver spring

Your mother would've scolded you by now. Your mother would've scolded you for a lot of issues at this wedding. Having your mother's voice in the back of your head, you looked down at your lap, your thumbs fiddle together as you place your hands down into your lap. It was something you did when you were stressed. And you were stressed often.

But how on Earth could you be stressed at your own childhood best friend's wedding? This was the happiest day of his life and it may as well have been yours.

Maybe because of the fact that this was a last minute wedding? Maybe because you had prior to this — pulled Will into a different room and told him that he was making a mistake and revealed your undying love for him an hour ago before the reception?

No, certainly, not.

You watch from a distance at the happy bride and groom sitting with one another at the table. Will could barely look at you, he had kept eyes on his wife. Of course, how could he not?

Jennifer Jareau was the epitome of gorgeous. And you were not jealous, no. You loved JJ, she was perfect for Will. They worked out together. Of course, in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't help but feel sad and numb whenever you’d seen them together. As pathetic as it sounded.

You would think that after years of them being together, that sinking feeling would've gone away. You would think that maybe you would've moved on by now since they'd already been together and had a child together. Of course, you couldn't blame your godson for this mess that you were currently in. Only yourself.

Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut? You thought to yourself as you brought your head into your hands. Now, he hates you and thinks that you hate the fact that he's married now! You looked over at the couple again, the pit in your stomach making your face drop low as you felt your heart burn in dismay.

Spencer was watching, too. He watched the married couple as he took another swig of the champagne glass in his hands. He didn’t drink often, only on special occasions. He knew you did too, but he knew your history. You didn’t drink unless you were stressed.

It was bound to happen. Jennifer Jareau and Will Lamontagne Jr., even their names sounded good together. He knew that he never stood a chance. Did he fully believe that he and Jennifer were true twin flames? A twin flame involves two people who share the same soul, of course. Once these twin flames meet, this results in an intense, magnetic attraction and connection. These individuals share similar past experiences and trauma. The answer was yes, he did.

Spencer had gotten over this crush years ago, but there was a part of him that longed for a future with JJ. And now that was done. He could no longer pine for her. This was something that he had to move on from. The wedding guaranteed that.

The man's eyes then trailed over to the woman who also stared. Of course, you were there, staring at the two sadly, something you’d done so often, it was a habit by now. You probably hadn’t even realized it.

There was something about you that intrigued Spencer Reid when you were around. The fact that you’d spent years in love with the groom and when he thought you were finally over it — here you were, in the same position you’d often found yourself in. Or that he’d find you in. It nearly irritated him, almost. How could you do this to yourself? Over and over again and expect a different outcome? I mean, what did you expect? Truly. That Will was gonna drop everything for you?

But he couldn't blame you. In ways, he'd often understood and thought that you holding on was admirable. You never gave up. It was something he lacked when it came to relationships he cared about the most. It’s not like he did it on purpose, he just wasn’t as connected as you were. You’d known Will since childhood.

Your eyes locked with Will’s. And they lingered for a moment, and before you could even question if he was thinking of you, his eyes immediately snapped back to the blonde woman next to him, his bride, his everything, the love of his life.

You didn't know what to think now. You should've backed off. What did you think Will was going to do with that kind of information? Drop everything for you? Leave his bride and child? What did you expect?

Foolish, you were...

But not as foolish as you were being in this very moment as you stood up from your seat with your heart in your hands.

Spencer noticed this before anyone else had. He noticed how you smoothed your silk green dress down with your red polished nails that you were previously picking at before and as you picked up your half-full champagne glass and a fork as you tried receiving the attention from those at the wedding to deliver a speech.

Before this mess started, you had promised Will that you would say something at the wedding. You had promised the speech so who were you to deny that at your best friend's wedding? Even in your rough patch with him at the moment, you’d be his biggest supporter.

You plastered on a fake smile as you stood in front of everybody, after finally gaining their attention. You looked at your paper that you had sitting on the table, a splotch of wine from earlier still remained stained on the corner of the paper. "Hello, everyone!" You spoke, cheerfully to the best of your ability.

Great, now you were a deer in headlights as everyone stared at you. You could tell that some knew who you were, while some didn't. "Um, for those of you that don't know me... my name is Y/n L/n…" You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and looked down at the paper in front of you and could barely maintain eye contact with the groom.

"I want to start this off by saying that... this..." You gesture to the wedding itself. "... has got to be one of the happiest days of my life."

Spencer watched you carefully as you spoke. He could read the fake smile from a mile away. In the time he'd known you, he knew when you were genuinely happy and when you weren’t.

Your eyes were drooped down, it was evident you were crying earlier. There was a wine stain on the bottom of your dress that you had tried to wipe off with a paper towel and failed. A person from a far, far distance could notice that you were a wreck. And at your best friend's wedding of all places.

The bride and groom didn't notice, obviously enraptured in one another.

You looked down at the paper in front of you before you continued to read and reminisce on the actions that led you here. Maybe if you had changed something, maybe if you had done something different. Maybe if you admitted your feelings that night Will stayed over, could this have been your outcome? Your wedding?

It wasn't.

The traitor watched as you, the one person he loved like a little sister — up on her feet and falsely smiling down at her paper.

Once looking up at him, Will, the traitor – you took a deep breath and your smile faded away again. Spencer noticed as your breath hitched in that moment. Will always made you anxious, especially now more than ever.

All eyes were on you but you looked right at Will, with guilt in your eyes, and wondered how the hell you two had gotten yourselves in this position?

some of y’all can’t take constructive criticism and it shows 😬

me in math class :

boards for my ocs on wattpad :)

I Lived x Dead Fictional Characters

whatever lana del Rey say in cola ꪆৎ

crying brb (why is he not real 😞)

all those dreams where you’re my wife

gif by @reidgif

inside your mind - the 1975

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

summary: coming down from the highs of sex, Spencer and Reader talk about his brain and its thoughts.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 2.1K

warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, this is an old piece of writing.

masterlist!

Panting softly, your breath mingled with his, your chest rising and falling in tandem with Spencer’s. Your body felt weightless, the afterglow of your shared passion wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sweat clung to your skin, and the soft hum of his heartbeat echoed in your ear where your head rested against his shoulder. The intimacy of the moment felt sacred, a shared silence that spoke volumes without words.

Spencer was unusually quiet. Not that his silence was uncommon—he often retreated into his mind after moments like this, his thoughts working in overdrive as if the endorphins had unlocked new pathways in his brilliant brain. He’d once explained to you that post-coital clarity often helped him connect dots he’d never considered before. You’d always found it endearing, a quirk that made him uniquely Spencer.

But tonight, something was different. His quiet wasn’t contemplative—it felt heavier, like the weight of his thoughts pressed down on both of you. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers hesitated as they traced lazy circles on your back, the way his chest rose with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“What’s wrong, handsome?” you murmured softly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze. His chin, which had been resting lightly against the crown of your head, shifted as he tilted his face toward you. His eyes, usually warm and filled with an endless stream of curiosity, now held a flicker of something else—something guarded.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as if he were weighing his words. You could see the gears turning in his mind, the way he struggled to reconcile his thoughts with the honesty that had always been the cornerstone of your relationship.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice soft but unconvincing.

It was a lie—a glaring, obvious lie. Spencer was many things: a genius, a profiler, a man who could recall entire books word for word. But a liar? Never. You knew him too well, knew the way his eyes darted away for just a fraction of a second when he was trying to mask the truth. He knew you knew, too, which made his attempt at deception almost endearing.

You propped yourself up on your elbow, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his damp forehead. “Spence,” you said gently, your tone a mix of affection and concern. “You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them. Talk to me.”

His lips parted as if to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He sighed again, this one deeper, as though the act of holding everything inside was physically exhausting. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t scare me,” you replied, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

He let out a breath, his gaze darting away for a moment before returning to yours. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

You frowned, leaning closer. “Try me,” you said softly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. Just tell me what you’re feeling.”

His hand moved softly, almost reverently, to the back of your head. His fingers threaded through your hair with a gentleness that sent shivers down your spine, pausing now and then as though he were mapping the curve of your skull. There was something purposeful in the way he touched you, something that felt more like exploration than comfort.

“I wish I could know you the way you know yourself,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His fingers continued their journey, tracing invisible patterns that only he could see. “I want to be able to have your brain all laid out in front of me, every thought, every memory, every piece of you.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, his voice soft but steady as he continued, almost to himself. “The back of your head is at the front of my mind.”

He fell silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to untangle the thoughts swirling in his mind. His hand didn’t stop moving, the gentle rhythm of his touch grounding both of you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice tinged with hesitation. “Sometimes, when you’re asleep, I’ll just… watch you breathe.” His eyes flickered toward you, searching your face as though bracing for judgment, but his hand never faltered.

“I’ll watch the way your breathing slows, the way it evens out. It’s like… proof. Proof that you’re real, that you’re here with me. And then I start to wonder…” His voice trailed off, but the weight of his thoughts lingered in the air.

His fingers stilled briefly before resuming their gentle path, tracing the base of your skull as though it held the answers he was searching for. “I wonder what you’re dreaming about,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost fragile. “I wonder if you dream of me, or of the things you love, or the things you want in life. And I can’t help but think about how much I want to know every part of you. What makes you happy, what makes you sad, what you think about when no one’s watching.”

His other hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. His gaze was intense, those wide, earnest eyes searching yours for understanding. There was no shame in his vulnerability, only a raw, unfiltered need to be known and to know you in return.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re the most important person in my life, and sometimes it terrifies me how much I feel for you. Like… like I’ll never be able to express it the way I want to.”

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His hand lingered on your cheek, the other still cradling the back of your head as though he could hold your thoughts in his palm.

He let out a soft, shaky breath, his forehead lowering until it rested against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, the words almost too quiet to hear.

For a moment, he stayed like that, his eyes closed, his breathing syncing with yours. His hands stayed gentle, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. And then he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation that spoke of a love too big for words.

In the quiet that followed, his touch said everything he couldn’t, and you let it.

In the gentle quiet of the room, Spencer’s voice broke through like a fragile thread, hesitant yet determined. “I mainly watch you sleep because I’m terrified of my mind,” he admitted, his tone a mix of vulnerability and unease. He hesitated, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as if debating whether to pull the veil back on his inner torment.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his breath catching slightly as he continued. “When I sleep…” he started, the words trembling on the edge of his lips. “I dream that you’ve been taken. It’s always the same. I’m helpless, paralyzed—every step I take feels like wading through quicksand, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach you.”

His voice grew quieter, a raw edge creeping into it, but he forced himself to keep going. “By the time I finally get to you, it’s too late. You’re lying there…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, as though the very memory of the dream clawed at his throat. “You’re lying on the ground in a pool of your own blood. And the only thing I can see, the thing that haunts me even after I wake up, is the ring on your finger.” The room seemed to close in on you, the silence heavy and suffocating. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to such a confession. You’d never talked about marriage—not explicitly, at least—but there had always been an unspoken understanding between you two. You both wanted it, you both felt it in your bones, but life had never given you the time to explore that possibility.

But hearing Spencer speak of the ring, of the symbol of everything you meant to him, in such a terrifying, haunting context—it shook you. The dream wasn’t just about losing you; it was about him failing you. About the one thing that represented his commitment, his love for you, now twisted into something horrific, something he couldn’t escape.

Your mind raced, trying to process the weight of his words, the depth of his fear. You could see it now—the desperation in his eyes, the vulnerability in the way he held himself. Spencer was afraid. Afraid of losing you, fearful of not being able to protect you.

In that moment, the love between you felt both fragile and immense. You reached out to him, your hand finding his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in the storm of his emotions. You didn’t need to say anything—he already knew how much you cared. But still, you squeezed his hand, hoping to convey everything that words couldn’t.

Spencer finally looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s supposed to be a symbol of everything good, everything I’ve ever wanted to give you. But in that moment, it feels like a mockery—a cruel reminder that I couldn’t protect you. That I failed you.”

The room fell silent, his words lingering in the air like a fragile echo. He looked at you then, his gaze pleading for understanding, for some assurance that the horrors of his subconscious didn’t define him.

“Spencer Reid, you could never fail me, not ever. Don’t ever think that,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of the weight of everything you felt. Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his cheeks gently, guiding his gaze to meet yours. You could see the self-doubt in his eyes, the fear that had taken root there, and it made your heart ache.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you pressed your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to hear you, to understand. “You’ve given me so much in this life, Spencer,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, but every word carried the depth of your emotions. “So much that I never thought I deserved, but you showed me that I do. You showed me that I’m worthy of love, of happiness. That I’m worthy of you.”

You could feel the weight of your words sink in as Spencer’s breath caught, his eyes flickering with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. It wasn’t just the love you had for him—it was everything he had done for you, everything he had helped you realize about yourself.

You gently pulled one of your hands away from his face, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for his hand, placing it over your chest, just above your heart. “This…” you said, your voice catching in your throat as you pressed his hand against the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. “This is because of you. Every beat, every breath—it’s because of the love you’ve given me. You make me feel alive in a way I never thought was possible.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested against your chest. The quiet intensity of the moment wrapped around both of you, and you could feel the weight of everything he was carrying—the fear, the guilt, the love—and you wanted to lift it off him, even if only for a moment.

You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against his forehead in a soft, lingering kiss, a silent promise that you were there, that you always would be. Then, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, you whispered, “Spencer, you don’t ever need to worry about failing me. You’re everything I’ve ever needed. And I’ll never let you forget that.”

Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, and without thinking, he leaned in to kiss you, his lips gentle against yours, a kiss that spoke of gratitude and love, a kiss that grounded you both in the present moment. When he pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheek.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. And before you could respond, you kissed him again, this time deeper, letting the weight of everything you had just shared hang in the air between you like a promise, unspoken but undeniable.

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the people have spoken! smut it is 🙈