hi to all the gorgeous girls reading this, if you're interested, please grab a cup of tea and stay a while!! i tag all my fics with the title so they're easy to search in the bar at the top–while i do have you though, i encourage you to regard my rec log, where i share with you some of my favorite fics on tumblr!! my taglist is a little new, but i hope to develop it further in the future! enjoy snooping around <3
mainly write r. spencer
just a heads up i write for every type of girl/woman;
regardless of age, race, height, etc
w ait, are you willing to listen? 😭 (sorry if it’s too much yapping) (ok its really A LOT dont feel forced to read it)
okay, so it starts in the near future, where the director of a famous tv show something like the vampire diaries dies. he commits suicide because a lot of the actors spoke out against him over allegations of abuse, harassment, and psychological/physical violence. female lead of the show gives an interview where she talks about the series from beginning to end. caroline lands a role in the show, which is based on a book, but it’s low-budget and nobody expects it to take off. she’s an unknown actress but she’s dreamed of this her whole life and needs the job.
her character’s love interest in the show is played by a much more famous actor son of an actor who has won many awards and is well-known and respected so oliver lowkey he has some daddy issues and doesn’t want to act, but his father threatens to cut him off financially if he doesn’t take a role so olliver trying to spite him picks the shittiest role he can find in the vampire series.
and when production starts they immediately don’t like each other. he’s lowkey a shitty person with way too much ego and they have zero chemistry. because caroline is a terrible actress, the producers want to replace her, and she panics because she’ll lose her job. meanwhile, he has a deal with his dad that he has to appear in a certain show by a certain time and recasting her would delay that, so he offers to help her with her acting (he doesn’t like acting but he’s good at it)
they start a fwb secret relationship that lasts through the 10 years of the show’s production, more like a long running situationship, because the series accidentally becomes a worldwide hit. they’re everywhere a lot of interviews, new roles, contracts. all the other actors are young, so there’s a lot of chaos like parties, drugs, scandals, drama, and relationships over the course of those ten years.
and in short, they go through a long journey and a lot of growth. caroline eventually realizes that acting isn’t actually her dream and becomes a screenwriter/author/director instead while oliver, on the other hand, discovers a real passion for acting and even wins an oscar. as for their relationship...hmm i haven’t decided how it ends yet. i also haven’t thought much about the side characters. sorry if this all seems chaotic or like too much explanation 😭 thanks if you read it 💖
summary: despite his genius intellect, spencer has no idea how to articulate his feelings. also known as, four times spencer reid injures himself to get your attention plus one time his plan fails (or does it?).
relationship: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: fluff
word count: 4.8k
tags: i know Nothing about first-aid so i apologize if this is both vague and incorrect, spencer burns his hand… and hits his head… and scrapes his knee (minor blood warning)... and tweaks his ankle… and nearly breaks his nose, there’s a track behind FBI headquarters because i needed there to be, the BAU being teasing little shits, crush confession (crushfession?)
a/n: my first time writing a 4+1 fic and i am OBSESSED!!! thank you thank you anon for this adorable idea <3
based on this request
1. The Coffee Incident
(January 5)
The first time was an accident.
Spencer hadn’t meant to cause a scene. He had merely been pouring his first cup of coffee for the day, but then the break room door had swung open, and you had entered. Spencer hadn’t seen you in almost a week because of the days off for New Year’s, and it had been the longest week of his life. To say he was excited to see you was an understatement.
Although Spencer’s memory was quite exceptional, it seemed to have betrayed him. The mental image of your beauty did no justice to convey how spectacular it felt to see you in-person. As soon as he laid eyes on you, the rest of the world faded away. Well, momentarily, at least.
You smiled at him, and he smiled at you, but his goofy grin was quickly replaced by a grimace as his mug overflowed and piping hot coffee poured all over his hand. Instinctively, he pulled away, hissing in pain and flailing his hand about as if he could shake away the discomfort.
“Reid!” you exclaimed with concern, quickly crossing the room and planting your feet right in front of him. You held out your hands to him, beckoning him to let you examine his burns. At first, he was reluctant to be doted on, but then he realized that his injury was a blessing in disguise.
Although his hand was in yours for the sole purpose of you offering him medical attention, he considered it an intimate moment. He had always wondered if your hands were as soft as they looked, and now he knew: they were.
The moment was fleeting, just a few minutes of you utilizing your superior first-aid knowledge to care for him, but it inspired him. Spencer began to wonder how else he could capture your attention under the guise of “medical assistance.”
Desperate to feel your touch once more, Spencer began scheming. Soon, incident no. 2 was born.
2. The Filing Cabinet Incident
(January 16)
The second time was kind of an accident.
For much of the past week or so, Spencer had been contemplating his next move. If he were a more confident man, he could just tell you that he thought you were wildly attractive, but alas, he was not. Confident, that is. So instead?
He nearly got a concussion.
Now, it’s worth noting here that Spencer did not intentionally slam his head into a filing cabinet. Rather, he was bent over, rummaging through the bottom drawer, when you called out to him. At the sound of your melodic, lilting tone—okay, to anyone else it just sounded like you were casually greeting him as you entered the room—his heart leapt, and so did he. He hadn’t heard you come in, but of course, he had left the door open, so that was his own fault, really.
A solid bang practically echoed through the room as the back of his head connected with the bottom of the top drawer. Evidently, it had slid open while he was distractedly searching for the file he needed.
A bit embarrassing? Yeah. Exactly what he needed? Also yes.
Honestly, he was barely dazed by the contact. However, your presence seemed to reduce Spencer to childish tactics. Much like how a toddler only starts wailing over a scraped knee once their parent panics, Spencer turned on the theatrics when he heard you gasp.
“Jeez, are you okay?” you asked, joining him beside the filing cabinet. As he straightened to his full height, he made a snap decision to lift a hand to the back of his head and gingerly hold his “injury”. It was hardly even tender, but he winced for good measure as he looked at you.
“I’m fine,” he promised. It was the honest-to-God truth, but you knew he had a tendency to downplay his pain, so you figured he was just feigning nonchalance. He did have a grimace on his face—more out of guilt for stretching the truth than anything—which you interpreted as being pained. He wasn’t about to correct you; he was officially committed to the bit.
You reached for his arm, pulling his hand away from the back of his head. It was purely platonic, but Spencer felt his skin heat under your touch regardless. He hoped you didn’t notice, hoped that his cardigan sleeve was doing enough to spare him that embarrassment.
“Let’s get you some ice,” you said softly. You started to pull away and head toward the break room, then thought better of leaving Spencer to trail behind you. You stepped back to his side, carefully grabbing his arm once more. Bless your heart, you really thought he was concussed. In defense of his lying ass, he was a bit dizzy now that you were touching him, even something as simple as holding his wrist to guide him to the break room.
His steps were heavy and uneven for the few feet required to cross the hall, but you noticed, clicking your tongue and shaking your head.
“Poor hon,” you murmured, and Spencer nearly tripped. You were a ridiculously affectionate person; it was no secret that you were the sweetheart of the team. You regularly referred to Garcia as “love” and showered Prentiss in unprompted hugs, but your terms of endearment never failed to give Spencer heart palpitations when they were directed at him. He was powerless to resist his mind wandering, wondering what it would be like to wake up beside you, your hands carding through his hair as you called him “hon” and snuggled up against him.
Oh God, where was he?
“Sit,” you commanded in that sweet, worried tone of yours. Spencer blinked, realizing that his feet had somehow carried him to the break room while he had been fantasizing. Wordlessly, he sunk onto the sofa, watching you bustle around the kitchenette. You procured some ice cubes from the freezer, packing them into a plastic bag before wrapping the bag in a towel. Then, you brought the towel over to him and held it out. He accepted it with a shaky hand, not needing to be told to hold it against the back of his head.
As he iced his not-so-injured-injury, you pulled up a chair in front of him and sat so close to him that your knees were brushing against each other’s. He was confused at first what you were doing; he had assumed that you would just grab him some ice and call it a day, but you were, apparently, in full Caretaker Mode.
You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and turned on the flashlight, directing it at his eyes one at a time to watch how his pupils reacted. Spencer vaguely wondered if it really would look like he was concussed, considering how much his pupils undoubtedly dilated when he saw you. Yet, you hummed approvingly and pocketed your phone.
“No concussion,” you declared confidently. “I have seen symptoms develop a few hours after impact, though. Rare, but not impossible. If you have a worsening headache or any confusion today, let me know, but you should be just fine.” In some strange way, this news almost disappointed him. If he had been concussed, that would be all the more reason for you to dote on him. Despite his initial begrudging acceptance of your help with his burned hand, he had quickly come to realize that your Mother Hen demeanor was adorable, and made him that much more obsessed with you. So he wanted to be fawned over. Sue him.
You stood, returning your chair to its home before turning back to Spencer, offering him a sympathetic smile. You placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it gently before exiting the room, returning to whatever task you had been in the middle of when you had spoken to him in the first place. Your absence left Spencer even more enamored than the last time, and his mind immediately started reeling, plotting his next excuse to have you close again.
3. The Track Incident
(January 28)
The third time was poorly planned, but intentional nonetheless.
Spencer and Penelope’s physical fitness assessment was approaching. Garcia had proposed that they do some training outside on a particularly warm winter day, and Spencer had reluctantly agreed. He wasn’t too keen on running laps or jumping hurdles or whatever Garcia had planned, especially since he was considering looking into just getting the whole thing waived.
However, there was one appeal to doing some physical activity, and that was the fact that it was the perfect environment to stage an injury.
Hotch had given them permission to leave early that day to do some training, so they had made their way outside to the track and field. As Spencer rounded the track, he looked around, making sure there was no one watching in case his performance was less than Oscar-worthy. Garcia was hustling a few feet ahead of him, and he concluded that there was nobody else around, so with that in mind, he threw himself on the ground.
Hearing him hit the floor, Garcia whipped around.
“Reid!” she shrieked, staring at him sprawled on the ground. “Are you okay?”
Spencer had intentionally stumbled in a way that had made his legs slam into the ground, and he had to hide his satisfied grin when he sat back and saw the scrape on his left knee. He knew it was disturbing to be so excited to see tiny specks of blood blooming across his marred skin, but it was a minor sacrifice, really. It’s not like he would ever go so far as to break an arm in order to talk to you. Even he had some dignity.
“Fine,” he grunted, pulling himself off the track.
“You’re bleeding,” Garcia said pointedly, eyebrows furrowed in worry.
“Barely,” Spencer responded with a shrug. Then, because he did not want Garcia to be privy to his self-injurious plotting, he planned his escape. “I’m gonna go clean up.”
“Okay,” Garcia nodded. “I can walk with you, if you want.”
“It’s alright,” Spencer declined. “I’ll be right back.”
“Right back” meaning “after I make a point to hobble past my crush’s desk so that she checks on me”.
All according to plan, Spencer exaggeratedly limped through the bullpen, and you stopped him.
“What happened?” you questioned, eyes widening when you looked down and saw the tiny dots of blood dotting his leg.
“I fell, no big deal,” Spencer shrugged, moving to go grab the first-aid kit from the supply closet. Of course, you rose from your chair and put a hand on his shoulder, effectively halting him. He turned to look at you, feeling a pang of guilt when he saw the concern in your expression.
If only he could just tell you how he felt without making you worry. For a genius, this entire ordeal was incredibly stupid. He knew it, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had some dumb fantasy that maybe caring for him would make you realize that you really did care for him, and then you could both just admit to your feelings and live happily ever after and blah blah blah. He realized how much his daydream read like a ridiculous romantic comedy, but the heart wants what it wants.
You ushered him into your chair and hurried away to grab the first-aid kit yourself. While you were gone, Morgan noticed Spencer’s condition and raised a knowing eyebrow before blowing him kisses across the bullpen. Spencer rolled his eyes, returning his focus to you. You emerged from the hallway, dropping the first-aid kit on your desk before kneeling in front of him.
Well, if that didn’t throw his mind right into the gutter.
Spencer watched as you disinfected the scrape, barely even registering the sting over the pounding of his racing heart. Your brows were furrowed in concentration, and your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth. He didn’t think that there was anything about bandaging a knee that required such unsullied attention, but he appreciated the way that you were so devoted to aiding him.
His eyes threatened to flutter shut as your fingertips barely danced across his skin. It was maddening, how the tiniest contact from you could feel so good. You were merely sticking a Band-Aid on his knee, for Christ’s sake. Why did he feel like he was in heaven?
After applying the bandage, you patted the edges to make sure it was secure. You sat back on your heels, about to stand up, when Morgan called from across the room.
“Kiss it better!” he teased. Spencer was grateful that you were too distracted shooting Morgan a perplexed—and slightly annoyed—look to notice how Spencer flushed. His cheeks burned bright red, and he practically ran away, thanking you over his shoulder as he headed back outside.
Spencer knew that Morgan’s joking would only become more relentless if he didn’t just man up and talk to you, and God, did he want to. Today, though? Today, he was not feeling brave enough.
Maybe next time.
4. The “Treadmill” Incident
(February 5)
The fourth time was a stroke of genius. Well, as genius as this whole absurdly stupid ordeal could get.
After sustaining a very real—minor, but real—injury the week before, Spencer decided to give himself a break. Not a break from yearning; that would be damn near impossible. A break from bleeding, though? That he could manage.
One morning, Spencer decided to fake a limp. He figured his upcoming fitness test was the perfect ruse; he could pretend he had tweaked his ankle while training. He entered the bullpen right on time, careful to keep more weight on his left leg than his right. He tried to keep his movements just subtle enough that they would be noticeable but not overly dramatic.
After Morgan had gossiped to the entire team about last week’s events, everyone (except you) was well aware that Spencer was full of shit. As he walked to his desk, Rossi noticed his act and let out a loud huff of amused laughter. Spencer narrowed his eyes at the older man, silently commanding him to not say a word. Rossi held up his hands in surrender and wandered off, seemingly disengaging. However, his blinds were open, and it was quite obvious that Rossi was settling in to watch the next few minutes unfold from the comfort of his office.
Spencer reached his desk, dropping his messenger bag beside him and settling into his chair. From your position across from him, you cleared your throat, and Spencer fought to keep a smug smile off his face, knowing his plan had been set into motion.
He looked up at you with mock innocence.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“What’s wrong?” you replied, nodding toward his “bad” ankle.
“Oh, nothing,” he shrugged. “Just tweaked it.”
“Doing what?” you asked with an adorable tilt of your head.
“Running,” Spencer answered, the lie rolling off his tongue exactly as he had practiced. “Treadmill.”
“You don’t run,” you said pointedly, narrowing your eyes skeptically. “You literally faceplanted on the track just last week trying to do laps.”
“I did not faceplant,” Spencer retorted defensively. “I… knee… planted.”
“Point being,” you continued adamantly, “you don’t run.”
“I’ve taken it up,” Spencer argued, skin starting to crawl under your suspicion. Oh God, had someone snitched to you? He was betting it was JJ. If anyone were going to rat his ass out for lying to you, it would be her.
Evidently, his momentary panic had been for nothing. You leaned over your desk, whispering conspiratorily to him, “You know you can waive the fitness test, right?”
You were so cute. Not only were you aware of his strong aversion to cardio, but you were helping him get out of the exam altogether. Of course, he did know that it could be waived; he had already submitted the proper paperwork, but nobody needed to know that right now. For all intents and purposes, he was a dedicated athlete, preparing to pass this physical with flying colors.
“Damn. I wish you had told me sooner,” Spencer huffed with faux surprise. You winced, eyes trailing down to his ankle once more.
“Sorry,” you muttered, staring at his Converse as if you could assess his alleged injury with X-ray vision.
He was such an ass. Here he was, making you feel guilty for withholding information from him, information that could have prevented him from ending up in a position to sprain his ankle. Little did you know, he had not been running this morning. In fact, he had snoozed his alarm twice, leaving little time to do much of anything besides change and hit the road.
“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you. Then, because he was getting a bit antsy to receive your assistance, he asked, “Any chance you know how to tape it up?”
You looked mildly insulted by his question, squinting at him.
“Of course I do,” you said flatly, before abandoning the pretense and perking back up. “BRB.”
A few minutes later, you were perched on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged with his foot propped in your lap.
“I just have to anchor it here,” you explained, lightly tapping a spot above his ankle before wrapping the tape around his foot, preparing to place the last few pieces. As you worked, Prentiss approached, freezing in place when she saw you sitting on the ground.
“Well, what weird fetish thing is happening here?” she inquired with a broad grin.
“Stop!” you squealed indignantly, looking at her with exaggerated offense. “I do not have a thing for feet. Reid hurt his ankle this morning.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Prentiss replied. Spencer gulped nervously, anticipating that she would spill his secret. You either didn’t pick up on Emily’s sarcasm or were too focused on finishing your tape job, placing the last piece and patting his ankle comfortingly.
“How’s that feel?” you asked, looking up at Spencer with big, concerned eyes.
“Good,” he said with a jerky nod, feeling Prentiss’s eyes on the two of you. Considering the fact that his ankle was perfectly fine, the tape felt a bit uncomfortable, but he obviously couldn’t tell you that. “Good” would have to suffice.
“Yeah, I’m sure it does,” Prentiss jeered, returning to her desk across the room. You shook your head disapprovingly, ever the empath. You were always quick to come to anyone’s defense when they were being teased by the rest of the team, and Spencer was no exception. It made him adore you that much more, even though he was currently completely undeserving of your loyalty.
As you rose from the floor, Spencer leaned over to pull on his sock. As he shoved his foot back into his shoe, he spoke sincerely.
“Thanks for all your help,” he said quietly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. Once his shoe was tied again, he met your gaze and added, “I really appreciate it.”
Understatement of the year.
“It’s no problem,” you replied, waving a hand casually and smiling brightly. “That’s what friends are for.”
Right. Friends.
Spencer offered you a tight-lipped smile, trying not to cringe. Of course you merely thought of him as a friend. It’s not like he’d ever had the guts to tell you that he wanted anything more. If only he could find the words, maybe there was a chance that he could feel more than just a fleeting touch from you.
He really wanted to find out, but he wasn’t sure what to do.
So he did what he did best, and planned his next injury.
5. The… Derek Morgan Incident?
(February 13)
The fifth time was just plain stupid.
Since Morgan had known about Spencer’s crush for some time now, Spencer decided to enlist some help. Understandably, Morgan was a bit taken aback by his request.
“You want me to what?” he asked, gaping at Spencer.
“Punch me in the face!” Spencer repeated for the umpteenth time. Morgan groaned.
“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel? Like a normal person?” Morgan questioned.
“I will!” Spencer insisted. Then, in a much quieter, much more unsure voice, he added, “Eventually.”
“But first, you want me to give you a shiner,” Morgan said flatly.
“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed impatiently. He had already explained his plan several times. Was it insane? Yes. Should it have been this hard to grasp, though? He didn’t think so.
“Oh my God,” Morgan sighed exaggeratedly. Then, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at Spencer. “This feels like a weird thing to say when you’re about to give someone a black eye, but you owe me.”
With that, Morgan took up a fighting stance, preparing to sock his beloved coworker in the face. He held his hands in front of his face, balling them into fists. Spencer scrunched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for impact.
“Jesus!”
Your voice broke the tense silence. Unfortunately, you had entered the room a millisecond too late; Morgan’s fist was already flying through the air. To add insult to injury (no pun intended), your voice surprised Spencer, and he opened his eyes and angled his head toward the sound, causing Morgan’s punch to land squarely in the side of his nose.
You gasped, clapping your hands over your mouth in shock.
“What the hell, Morgan?” you shrieked, racing over to them. Morgan held up his hands, proclaiming his innocence and taking a step back as you assessed Spencer’s injury. Spencer was groaning in pain, holding his hands up to his nose. When you coaxed his hands away from his face, you saw that his nose was bleeding. Luckily, it didn’t look to be broken; it would likely only bruise. At the sight, you turned over your shoulder and shot daggers at Morgan. He ignored you, addressing Spencer directly.
“I told you it was a stupid idea,” he chided. After reaching the same conclusion as you and determining that Spencer’s wound was nothing dire, Morgan stalked out of the room, shaking his head and muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
At Morgan’s remark, you turned back to Spencer, confusion washing over your features.
“What idea?” you asked, gesturing for Spencer to sit as you wetted some paper towels. You sat in front of him, gently blotting at the blood that had trickled from his nose. Fortunately, the bleeding was minimal, and had already stopped. As you cleaned him up, you watched him expectantly, and Spencer squirmed under your scrutinizing gaze.
“Um…” he mumbled.
“Spence,” you coaxed, gingerly swiping the paper towel under his nose. Once the blood had been washed away, you offered him the towel and leaned back, crossing your arms. He blew his nose and cleared his throat before meeting your eyes.
“It was kind of stupid,” Spencer conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. He sighed, embarrassed to confess, but knowing that this conversation would happen eventually. “I, uh… asked him to hit me.”
“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Why would you do that? It’s not, like, a form of self-harm or something, is it? Well, I guess it’s not really self-harm if he’s punching you in the face, but if it was your idea—Do I need to report you? I don’t know when the last time was that you had a psych eval, but this is pretty—”
“I don’t need a psych eval,” Spencer interjected. “I’m fine, I just…” He sighed again, bracing himself for the rejection that would surely follow his admission. “I wanted your help.”
“My help?” you parroted, confused.
“Yeah,” Spencer nodded. “I… I like when you help me. When I’m hurt, I mean. I know it sounds crazy to get injured on purpose just so you’ll pay attention to me or whatever, but… I don’t know.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, assessing him with a distressed look. He thought you were about to have him involuntarily committed somewhere, but then you spoke.
“You know there’s other ways to get my attention, right?” you asked.
“I… well, yes,” Spencer admitted, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t know how to talk to you, I guess. I just… well, I burned my hand and you were so attentive and sweet and I got this dumb idea in my head that you would only ever care about me if you were helping me and—”
“I care about you,” you stated, “but, wait. You burned your hand over a month ago. You’ve been faking it ever since?”
“Not exactly?” Spencer responded, scratching the back of his neck. “I really did hit my head.”
“The track?” you questioned.
“I might have tripped,” Spencer paused, “on purpose.”
“And… do you even own a treadmill?” you continued.
“...No,” Spencer confessed.
“And you asked Morgan to… break your nose,” you said, sounding purely baffled.
“No! That was an accident,” Spencer clarified. “I just… asked him to punch me in the face. I was hoping for a black eye, at most.”
You blinked.
“I don’t think that sounds much better,” you stated.
“It’s not, really,” Spencer sighed, his shoulders slumping. God, he felt so stupid. He had done all of this, for what? For you to look at him like he had two heads? Surprisingly, your expression softened, and you began to look a bit amused.
“And you did that… so I would help?” you asked.
“Yeah…” Spencer affirmed, feeling absolutely ridiculous now that he had admitted it.
“If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask,” you mused, starting to look more flattered than appalled.
“Yeah, I just… I’m not very good at that,” Spencer confessed quietly. “It’s kind of hard.”
“Talking is hard?” you giggled. “It’s easier than getting punched in the face!”
“In your opinion!” Spencer retorted defensively. “But you’re… you! You’re bubbly and extroverted and sweet and—”
“Do you need me to ask you out?” you offered, and Spencer blanched. Holy shit, were you actually offering?
“I mean… would you? If I needed it,” Spencer questioned, eyes wide with astonishment. You nodded like the answer was obvious, so he continued, “I… might need that.” Then, he started to question himself. Would you think he was less of a man if he didn’t make the first move? “Unless, I… no, I can ask. You probably want me to ask. You don’t have to ask. Um… how should I ask?”
You giggled again, but it sounded more like an “aw, how cute!” kind of laugh and less like a “Spencer’s a gigantic idiot and clearly making a fool of himself” kind of laugh. He much preferred the former.
“Coffee,” you stated simply. Confidently. He wondered how it was so easy for you. “You ask if I want to get coffee sometime.”
Spencer blinked, eyes darting to the coffee machine in the kitchenette. He wanted to point out that a coffee date would be silly, that the BAU had perfectly good coffee here, but then he thought about how fulfilling it would feel to buy you a fancy latte with oat milk and vanilla syrup or whatever it was that you preferred, and he nodded at you. He didn’t have to take things so literally. Coffee was good.
“O-okay,” he nodded again. “Do you want to get coffee sometime, maybe? W-with me, if that wasn’t obvious. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t think you would understand my implication, I just wanted to be clear and—sorry. I’m nervous.”
“That’s okay,” you assured him with a bright smile. “Yes, I would like to get coffee. With you.”
“Great,” Spencer said, sighing with relief. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then you spoke.
“So… I taped your foot for nothing?” you inquired. Spencer blushed harder.
“I’m sorry for lying,” he promised.
“Oh, big deal. It’s the fact that I was the brunt of a foot fetish joke that’s the problem here!” you replied with mock indignation.
“I’m sorry about that, too,” Spencer said. “But Prentiss knew I was faking it. I think the joke was more directed at me, anyway.”
As if summoned by the mere first letter of his name, Hotch appeared in the doorway, eyeing them with his usual unimpressed stare.
“Reid, if you’re done scheming for her affection, you have a report due before lunch.”
Spencer’s head whipped around to face his boss.
“Oh. Um, yes, sir,” he stammered, nodding like a bobblehead. As quickly as he had arrived, Hotch disappeared. Spencer turned back to you, swallowing thickly.
babe why are u subjecting urself to the wattpad horrors
very good question i wonder that myself! but mostly i’m just craving a story about y/n or some sky melanie or whatever, not being like other girls, which is why her favorite celebrity falls for her and of course it has 70 chapters where the author barely remembers what happened in the previous ones and it’s full of stupid drama all the background characters exist just to make them interact, and it ends with an unexpected pregnancy
we’ll miss you very much queen. any other blogs of yours for us to follow?
also i’m afraid to ask, but is this the official end of diva reader?
i do have a blog, but it’s way too private and very theme-specific to share if i ever make something more multifandom/books /seriesfocused maybe then <33sadly diva reader and spencer reid are going to the grave with matilda with no proper ending 😭
we’ll miss you very much queen. any other blogs of yours for us to follow?
also i’m afraid to ask, but is this the official end of diva reader?
i do have a blog, but it’s way too private and very theme-specific to share if i ever make something more multifandom/books /seriesfocused maybe then <33sadly diva reader and spencer reid are going to the grave with matilda with no proper ending 😭
