in which you and spencer reid just want to lay around in your room after a day at the beach. the team does not respect your privacy.
fluff (suggestive content)
warnings/tags: implied intimacy, someone knocks on the door as things r getting steamy, the team razzes u for getting it on hehehe
a/n: @mariasont spring break event was so good I was inspired to put the whole team in one air b and b!! She is the bau vacay blueprint!! do you guys remember me...... cause I missed u...... kisses smooches ily!!!!! yayayay summery happy fluff!! I can't believe I wrote this in like two days??? I've been praying for times like this
The air smells clean and too warm, like a laundry detergent that isn’t yours, underscored by the rich, herbal scent of conditioner in still-damp hair. A ceiling fan swirls the heat and dust around the room more than diffuses it—but you don’t mind. It still feels good on your sunned skin.
So too do the tips of Spencer’s fingers, as they drift up and down the softness of your thigh. It’s too hot for him to be pressed right against you, so he’s a little ways away—prone flat halfway down the mattress, whereas you’re sprawled out on too-firm pillows. The comforter has long been kicked to the ground.
Carefully, you push wet hair out of Spencer’s face. It gets richer in color, when he's just out of the shower like this. More a lustrous dark bronze than his usual chestnut. Everything is more vibrant in this light, including his nose, which smolders wildfire pinkish-red.
“You’re so burnt.”
“Hm?” he hums, turning his face up toward you languidly, blinking against the pooling gold. You soften. It’s possible you’ve never seen him this relaxed. This healthy looking, all the perpetual winter leached from his veins—cheeks glowing, eyes shining and satisfied and low.
“I’m worried about your nose.”
Spencer pulls your hand to his lips. Doesn’t exactly kiss—just holds it there. Lets his eyes flutter closed again. Mumbles, “I’ll be okay.”
“But… skin cancer.”
“Is very treatable.”
“You’re not worried enough.”
His response comes on autopilot. Eyes still closed. Words low and honeyed, one sliding into the next, like they’d melted in his head after so many hours under the sun.
“My body is responding to the cellular damage caused by UV rays via rapid immune response, which means increased blood flow to the dermis, which means more passive metabolic activity is required to maintain homeostasis, which means…”
It’s a cue to fill in the blank. You respond softly.
“You’re sleepy.”
“Mhm. Very.” He kisses the back of your hand in reward. “Too sleepy to be worried.”
“But it looks like it hurts. Maybe you should put aloe on it.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. He strokes over the delicate skin of your wrist with a thumb.
“Would it make you feel better if I put aloe on it?”
“I just don’t want you to hurt.”
“I don’t hurt, sweetness. But thank you for looking out for me.”
Your capitulation is careful and unsure. “Mhm.”
Distant crashing waves fight with the ceiling fan to fill in the silence, but only for a few seconds. You’re not relaxed. You’re emitting a frequency of your own, too low to be detected by anyone who is less attuned to you than Spencer is. You watch as he senses it, and blinks his eyes open once more. Chooses consciousness, rolling onto his side, pushing up to his elbow, and pressing a kiss to your knee before swiping it away with his thumb.
“This is new,” he murmurs, voice sanded by a rough grit into something almost smooth. Like salted driftwood.
“What is?”
A stray hand traverses all the way up the inside of your thigh and back down, briefly distracting.
“This freckle.”
You laugh. Eyes alight, he looks up in time to catch it.
“You’re making that up.”
Spencer tilts his head solely to give you an incredulous look. “You think I don’t know what your skin looks like? It wasn’t here this morning.”
“No, I’m not doubting your eidetic whatever, I’m just saying—I don’t believe that you paid enough attention to my knee this morning to remember that there wasn’t a freckle there, and to notice that now there is.”
“I don’t need the eidetic whatever to remember anything about you. I pay plenty of attention, and there was no freckle.”
“So you have every mark on my body catalogued?”
“All dermatological anomalies are thoroughly mapped.” He plants another kiss to the freckle. “And I am promising you with one hundred percent certainty that there wasn’t a freckle here this morning.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Spencer buries a smile against your skin. Kisses softly up your thigh and stomach—so softly you hold your breath. A breeze disturbs the drapery and you breakout in goosebumps.
“You know, if you’re so worried about skin cancer, you should be regularly examining your body for irregular markings.”
The words buzz, tickling. Traces of SPF and coconut chapstick stain your tongue as teeth worry at your bottom lip.
“I don’t think one new alleged freckle after spending the whole day in the sun means skin cancer.”
“No. But you should probably let me check for more.” A kiss lands suspiciously close to the waistband of your shorts. “Are you opposed to a quick scan?”
You aim for dry sarcasm. Miss by a few breathless centimeters. “Not opposed. But I’m pretty sure I was thoroughly scanned in the shower by my doctor.”
“It never hurts to be vigilant. And you shouldn’t shower with your doctor. That’s egregiously inappropriate.”
You let him hook his fingers into your shorts and tug down almost past the point of indecency, painting your hips with kisses—before a knock at the door startles both of you.
His displeasure comes as a slow breath against your skin, before he’s pulling your shorts back up into place and turning awkwardly over his shoulder to address the door. Which is locked, ideally. You can’t remember. “Yeah?”
The blatant irritation must be as obvious to whoever’s knocked as it is to you, because there’s a brief hesitation before they speak.
“Rossi made pasta. I was tasked with retrieving the two of you. If you’re not, uh, busy.”
Morgan. That burning feeling in your cheeks can’t be attributed to sun exposure as you throw your head back into the pillows and cringe.
“We’ll be right down.”
Retreating footsteps.
Spencer looks up at you from your hips, lips parted and pinker than ever. For a moment, there is only tense silence—then you can’t help but laugh and lace your fingers through his hair as he drops his head to rest against your stomach.
“That was…”
“It’s fine. At least it wasn’t your boss.”
“No, it was just the guy who doesn’t feel a professional obligation to refrain from commenting on my personal life. Explicitly and ad nauseum.”
“We weren’t even doing anything. We were napping, until, like, one minute ago.”
Spencer sits up, half-smiling and gaze trailing after his hands as they drag down your bare thighs. “I think I blew our cover when I snapped at him.”
You reach out for Spencer, and he lowers himself carefully atop you. The light coming in from the window is hotter up here. Onyx eyes catch the fire of the setting sun and turn molten amber, throwing light back at you in dazzling, liquid prisms.
“What if we don’t go downstairs?” you whisper, gaze flitting between either of his eyes, hard-pressed to pick just one.
He dots a kiss to your nose.
“I think we should probably make an appearance. Then we can retire early, no questions asked.”
“Deal.”
Mindful of his burn, you press a very careful kiss of your own to his nose. Spencer huffs, pleased and warm. Charmed by your gentle show of measured affection. His lips find yours. Just once. Just for a moment.
And then again.
And again.
And again.
His affections are considerably less restrained.
The two of you creep out onto the back deck twenty minutes late for dinner, in lambent and unmistakable disarray. Plates are mostly clean and eyebrows are very high, but nobody says anything as you squeeze yourselves into the remaining spots around the table. Spencer clears his throat awkwardly into a glass of lemon water. You serve yourself cold pasta and press your lips into a thin line, trying with all your might not to laugh.
“How was dinner?” Emily asks Spencer, breaking the silence. He nearly drops his glass, spluttering hopelessly as water goes down the wrong pipe.
“She was putting aloe on my nose,” he insists, wiping droplets from his chin as his entire face goes sunburn red.
Morgan claps him on the back. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”
Hii! I am in love with your writing! Specially the sunshine!reader x Spencer, I don’t know if you are taking new requests, if you aren’t feel free to completely ignore this, but I would love to see your take in one of the BAU member (maybe Emily) sort of call out Spencer in the “soft spot” he has for reader. And he’s all like I don’t???? But ofc they would notice this bc 1. They are profilers 2. They just know him. I can imagine Emily’s speech on how it’s ok to let people in and how she thinks they would be good for each other 🥰 or idk something better you can come up
Anyways I just want to thank you for sharing your writing with us 🤍✨
good — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: postprison!spencer so mentions of insecurities in regards to that
a/n: hiii !! this is such a wonderful idea <3 i wasnt entirely sure if you wanted post!prison spencer but i thought it fit your request best so i hope thats alright !! <33
Emily narrowed her eyes as she studied the scene unfolding before her. There you and Spencer were, sitting close together in the back of the jet.
Spencer was leaning in slightly, helping you solve a crossword puzzle. She watched as his fingers brushed yours gently when he took the pen from your hand, as he wrote the next answer. You glanced up at him, as if you weren't sure whether to be grateful or flustered. He’d practically solved the whole thing in the blink of an eye, but instead of simply finishing it, he waited for you to catch up, his gaze flickering to yours every so often with a small, encouraging smile.
Emily couldn’t help but shake her head as she looked out the window again.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen the two of you like this, closer than anyone else on the team. She could see it in Spencer’s eyes, he had a soft spot for you, no question. The way he took his time with you, how he tried to make you laugh or ease your stress, it was so different from how he interacted with the rest of them.
And as much as she had grown to appreciate the dynamic, Emily had to admit, she was getting tired of watching both of you dance around the obvious. Emily couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Spencer smile this much, this freely. It had been a long road since his release from prison, and though he was slowly piecing himself back together, it was clear that you played a significant role in his recovery. The way he would light up at the smallest of gestures from you, or the way he would seek out your company without hesitation, it was a refreshing change.
Her thoughts were interrupted by your laughter as Spencer cracked a joke about one of the crossword clues.
Emily’s eyes flicked to the two of you just in time to see your shoulder brush against his, your body language open, comfortable.
But it wasn’t just your laughter that caught Emily’s attention, it was the look Spencer gave you in that moment. His eyes lingered on you, soft and warm. Emily noticed the way his lips curled upward ever so slightly. She sighed inwardly, leaning her head against the seat. She wasn't sure what either of you were waiting for, but she hoped, for both of your sakes, that you would stop pretending like nothing was happening between you.
The next instance was when Emily had had enough.
The moment you and Spencer walked into the bullpen together, Emily's gaze immediately locked onto the way he had a hand resting casually on the small of your back. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She knew she wasn’t imagining it, there was no mistaking the way Spencer was always hovering just a little bit closer to you, the way his body seemed to naturally gravitate toward yours.
“Do you want some coffee?” Spencer asked you. You hesitated for a moment as you approached your desk, dropping your bag down with a soft sigh. You glanced at the stack of files waiting for you.
“Yes, I have like 20 files to get through,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m going to need that coffee.”
Spencer smiled. “I’ll make you one,” he said, his tone soft as he set his own bag down on his desk. He didn’t waste a moment before heading toward the break room, but not before he threw one last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll help you with some of your files later.”
He didn’t wait for your response, though Emily could already predict what it would have been, a quick “No, that’s fine.”
You didn’t want him to do too much for you, but Spencer had this way of offering help, and even though you would have rather tackled the work yourself, you knew it would have been pointless to argue with him. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to slip out as you watched him leave. You turned your attention back to the files, your hand instinctively covering your mouth to keep yourself from letting out the giggle that bubbled up in your chest.
Emily saw her opportunity and took it.
Without hesitation, she walked into the breakroom, where Spencer was carefully pulling two mugs from the cupboard.
One was your favorite, white with a print of Snoopy lying on his red doghouse. Spencer had gotten it for you on your birthday after overhearing you talk about how much you loved Snoopy as a kid. The other mug was his, bright yellow, with an image of Woodstock perched happily on a branch. That one had been your gift to him.
Emily still remembered the way Spencer had reacted when he unwrapped it, his fingers brushing over the design as realization dawned on his face.
“Snoopy and Woodstock have to stay together,” you had said with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement. For a moment, he had just stared at the mug, lips parted as if he couldn’t quite find the words. Then, without thinking, he had pulled you into a tight hug. You had stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, before melting into his embrace. Emily had caught the entire moment from across the room, sharing an exasperated look with JJ. The two of you were so painfully oblivious to what was right in front of you.
Now, standing in the breakroom, she cleared her throat.
“Morning, Spencer,” Emily greeted, reaching for a cup of her own.
Spencer, clearly lost in his own thoughts, blinked at her before nodding. “Morning, Emily.” He carefully poured coffee into the Snoopy mug first, taking his time, as if it was second nature to prepare yours before his own.
“Have a good weekend?” she asked casually, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity.
He glanced at her briefly before continuing his task. “Yeah. I was happy to have some days off,” he said with a small nod, carefully placing your cup aside before starting on his own. “You?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Emily replied, swirling her own coffee absentmindedly. She was biding her time, figuring out the best way to ease into the conversation she really wanted to have.
“Did you do anything fun?” she asked, the question innocent enough but leading somewhere more intentional.
Spencer shook his head. “Not really.”
Emily hummed. “You know, you should do something fun.”
Spencer finally glanced at her, a little suspicious now. He knew Emily too well to think she was just making small talk. She wasn’t one for casual, meaningless conversation. She didn’t say anything else right away, though. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes drifting through the breakroom window, settling on you.
You were sitting at your desk, chewing absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, clearly lost in thought. Your brows were furrowed as you studied whatever was in front of you, your lips pursed slightly. It was such a small, unconscious habit, but Spencer had noticed it long ago. He had seen you do it a dozen times when you were concentrating, and for some reason, it was something he always found himself captivated by.
Emily turned her gaze back to Spencer, and, just as she expected, his eyes were already on you.
And then, just as quickly as he had let himself get lost in the sight of you, he pulled himself away, dropping his gaze back to his coffee as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
Emily smirked. Gotcha.
“She’s good for you, you know,” Emily said, her voice softer now.
Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around the handle of his mug. He stared at her for a moment. Then, just as quickly, he looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.
Emily chuckled. “Spencer.”
He sighed, shaking his head, but Emily could tell he wasn’t annoyed. Just… hesitant.
“You should tell her,” she said, shrugging.
Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the counter. “It’s not that simple,” he finally admitted.
Emily tilted her head. “Why not?”
Spencer didn’t answer. Not immediately, anyway. But he didn’t have to. Emily already knew.
She knew Spencer was afraid. Afraid of ruining what he had with you. Afraid that you didn’t feel the same way. Afraid that, after everything he’d been through, he wasn’t allowed to have something good.
"She likes you too, you know that, right?"
Spencer stilled, the metal spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug as he hesitated. His grip on the spoon tightened slightly before he forced himself to continue stirring his coffee, feigning indifference.
“You don’t know that,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.
Emily huffed. “Spencer, you’re a genius. Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t noticed the way she looks at you? The way she leans into you when you talk, the way she lights up when you’re around?” She tilted her head, eyes sharp as she studied him. “She likes you, Spencer. And you like her. So why are you making this so complicated?”
Spencer swallowed, staring down into the dark liquid in his mug. “Because… because what if I ruin it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Emily heard him.
Her expression softened slightly. “You won’t.”
Spencer let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t know that either.”
Emily sighed. She could see it now, the self-doubt, the hesitation, the fear that had been planted deep within him after everything that had happened. After losing so much. He was afraid of getting too close, afraid that if he let himself have this, it would eventually be taken from him, just like everything else.
Her voice softened. “Spence, it’s okay to let her in.”
He glanced up at her then, his eyes conflicted, torn between hope and uncertainty.
“She’s already in,” Emily continued. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.”
Spencer exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly.
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let himself have this, have you. But that quiet voice in the back of his mind, kept telling him that if he did, he’d lose you too. Emily must have sensed his hesitation because she suddenly reached over and took the spoon from his hand, placing it on the counter.
“Talk to her,” she said simply. “Or don’t. But don’t sit here and pretend like this doesn’t exist. Because we both know it does.”
Spencer stared at her, then down at the two mugs once again.
Snoopy and Woodstock. A pair that was always meant to be together.
And then, before Emily could say anything else, he grabbed both mugs and walked out of the breakroom, straight toward you. Emily watched as Spencer placed the coffee in front of you. You barely even glanced at the mug before flashing him a wide, grateful smile as you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic.
Spencer’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary. Emily caught the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way he hesitated, as if debating something in his head. Then, as if gathering every ounce of courage he had, he took a deep breath.
And then, he said something.
Emily couldn’t hear it from where she stood, but whatever it was made you freeze. Your mouth dropped open slightly, eyes widening in surprise.
For a brief, agonizing second, Spencer looked like he regretted saying it, his expression shifting into something nervous, almost panicked. His fingers flexed at his sides, waiting for you to react.
Then, suddenly, your face broke into a huge smile. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. The kind that answered whatever question Spencer had just asked.
You nodded. Quickly. Eagerly. Almost as if you couldn’t believe it had taken this long.
And Spencer, who had been watching you anxiously, grinned. A wide, relieved, genuine grin. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his whole body seeming to relax. His fingers tapped lightly against his leg before he instinctively reached up to push his hair behind his ear, a nervous habit that Emily had seen a million times before.
Only this time, it was different. This time, he was happy.
He glanced at Emily from the side, as if checking to see if she had seen everything unfold. Emily, still watching, simply smirked and shot him a small, knowing smile.
summary: spencer’s been spending too much time with morgan and now he’s a flirt. reader had an interesting conversation with a fortune teller and now it seems everyone around her is plotting to make her fate come true.
c.warning: bau!reader x bold/flirty spencer. reader has their fortune teller on speed dial. tension. lots of it. suggestive content? maybe? nothing too serious and also barely descriptive. everyone knows you about spencer's and reader's mutual crush, and they're trying to give them a little push.
a/n: this literally came to me as i was brushing my teeth last night, so enjoy it!! reblogs are appreciated !! <3
“You’re kidding.” You huffed a laugh. Morgan, who was resting against your desk with his arms crossed and a cheeky smile on his lips, simply nodded. “That many?”
“Never underestimate the power of these, baby.”
“Ew, Morgan. Put those away.” You jokingly cover your eyes, as if the sight of Morgan's biceps was the scariest thing ever. “Don’t ever do that again. I mean it. It’s inappropriate.”
You hear a snort from the other side of the wall that separates your desk from Spencer's. His light and yours are the only ones still around you.
The rest of the team already headed out a while ago. Emily left the office in a rush; said she was done for the week and needed some alone time. Hotchner didn’t specify, just left with a king and stern goodbye. And Garcia made sure to let everyone know that she was going to spend the weekend with kevin. The way she had said it—plus the way she’d wiggled her eyebrows as she said it—was enough to know you shouldn’t ask any questions.
“Ha, ha. Funny.” He raised from your desk and picked up his stuff from his own. With his jacket hanging from his arm he turned to both you and Spencer, who was still working on some paperwork. “Anyway. If you'll excuse me, I have a date to attend to.”
“With which one of the twelve girls that gave you their numbers last night?” you asked, but he didn’t answer. He leaned down to murmur something to Spencer that sounded a lot like good luck, boy, and clapped his back before he started towards the elevator. Once inside, he winked at you just in time before the doors closed. “How the hell does he do it?”
Spencer raised his head from the stack of papers he’d been reading for the past ten minutes. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he said, “Well, he’s objectively attractive. Athletic. And he knows how to read people, which means that he knows what to do and what to say to appeal to them. I'd say he has the perfect combination of attributes to make him an excellent suitor.”
“Suitor, huh?” He shrugs. “So, what are your plans for tonight?”
You laid back on your chair, playing with the blue pen you were holding in your hands. Spencer watched as the small tube danced between your fingers, twirling clumsily before clattering against your wooden desk.
“I don't have any.”
“Really? You don’t have a never ending list of phone numbers to call when you need a date?”
He stared at you for a second, wondering if you were joking.
“No. No, I don't.”
You pouted. “That’s a shame.”
Why? he wanted to ask. Why would you care if he had dates or if his phone was full with numbers of random girls he met under even more random circumstances. But most importantly, he wanted to ask why you’d seemed so relieved when he’d said no.
“Do you?” he ventured. “Have a collection of phone numbers to hit on Friday nights, that is.”
“Oh, yeah. definitely.” You’d swear you could see him visibly cringe at your answer. “One of them is my favorite pizza place right around the corner from my apartment. The owner and I are already on a first name basis. I'd say that’s promising.” Spencer looked down to his stack of papers to hide a grin. “The other is the number of my personal fortune teller. I call her every three weeks to see what the stars have in store for me.”
Spencer huffed a laugh, feeling a heavy weight lift off his shoulders.
“You don’t actually believe in that, do you?” he asked.
“I'm not sure what I believe.” You shrugged. “I know I have fun talking to her, though.”
Before you could contain it, a laugh slipped past your lips at the thought of your last session with the fortune teller. Her read had been too off, so terribly wrong you’d jokingly threatened to sue her.
“What?” Spencer asked, smiling like a fool. That was the effect your laugh used to have on him. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I just remembered something the fortune teller told me some days ago.”
“What? Did she promise you’d be rich by the end of the month?” he joked.
You leaned over your desk, eyes staring straight into Spencer's. He noticed the vibrant spark in your eyes, the one that always let him know what you were about to say was going to crack him up, and he almost wiggled in his chair, all excited.
“Hey guys. What are you still doing here?” JJ came out of her office as she finished buttoning her coat.
“JJ, hey! what are you doing here?” you asked in return, confused. “I thought you’d left hours ago.”
“Oh, no. I was finishing up some papers for the upcoming week. And I was waiting for Will to come pick me up.” She walked down straight to your desks.
“Will's in town?” Spencer asked.
JJ nodded, smiling broadly. “He came over for the weekend. We were going out for dinner tonight.”
“That's awesome. have fun, you two.”
“Thanks.” She beamed at you and started walking to the elevator. Something made her stop in her tracks, though. “Actually… why don’t you guys come with us?”
That got Spencer's attention.
“Are you sure?” you asked, frowning. “You don’t think it could be weird?”
“Weird? no, no. It'll be fun. like a double date!”
That has you laughing. Not in mockery, but out of nervousness. You’ve never been on a double date. You haven’t even had that much experience with individual ones. You had dreamt about going out on dates to fancy restaurants, to beautiful parks and museums. and most of the time, your companion was a certain BAU agent known for his analytical mind and his tendency to yap in the most inconvenient of moments. But that’s not here nor there.
In your experience, dating has never been that fun. Talking with someone for hours just to realize with every passing minute that the person in front of you was simply not it. They were never the one. Because the one was probably sitting on his couch reading something written by an ancient philosopher or watching star trek—or whatever it was cute nerds like him liked to watch in their free time.
“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you said, tone faintly wavering.
At the same time, Spencer said “it could be a good idea.”
Your words seemed to surprise him, making him blink several times and readjust his glasses again. Just like his answer made your eyes open wide and look away from him.
“I mean… as we discussed, none of us have other plans for tonight. Besides, this could be a great moment to catch up with Will, right?” He turned to JJ for support. She smiled proudly at him before turning her eyes to you.
“Of course. It’ll be fun.”
She was smiling in a way that had you wondering if maybe your discreet glances towards your teammate hadn’t been all that discreet. She was looking at you like she knew why, all of the sudden, you were blushing and shaking like a teenager.
“Well, then. If it’s okay with you guys…”
JJ waved her hand around. “Oh, Will won’t mind it. Besides, he loves you two. He’ll be happy to see you again. He's actually waiting down in the lobby.”
And so Spencer and you started packing up your stuff. you could feel his gaze on you the whole time, like he was listening to all your tells. You prayed that he didn’t notice the way you almost dropped your bag twice because you were fumbling with the strap. Without needing to look at him, you could feel him standing right next to you, so close you could smell his cologne. You thought he was just walking up to the elevator, but then you heard him say, “JJ, you go ahead. I just remembered, we still have to finish something before we leave. it won’t take long, I promise.”
JJ nodded, a shadow of a mischievous smile on her lips. “Sure. I'll see you guys in a bit.”
You’d have swore your mind was playing tricks because you thought you saw JJ wink at you just like Morgan before as the metalic doors shut before her.
“Do you need help with that?” Spencer asked, seeing you struggle with the folder you’d been trying to fit into your bag.
“No, don’t worry. It's fine. See? done.” The paper is now all crumpled and the corners are folded inwards, but hey, at least it’s inside the bag.
There was a beat of silence and you felt him get closer, just barely. The points of his converse were merely an inch away from the side of your boot. With the back of his fingers and with so, so much care, Spencer lifted your chin up so you both were staring eye to eye. He looked confused, and excited, and maybe a bit hurt. And you wanted to punch yourself because you knew it was your fault, that it had been your words that made him feel like that.
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was soft, barely a whisper. you could only nod. “Why is the idea of you and me going on a date so ridiculous?”
You bit the inside of your lip, hating that you’d said that. But also extremely surprised at his boldness. Never before had he dared to get so close, to touch you like this, with such care and softness. He took another step, backing you up against your desk. His other hand landed on your hip, helping you keep balance.
you stared right into his eyes, wondering what exactly had happened for him to behave like this with you. He'd always been shy, quiet and reserved. choosing to hide his feelings behind longing stares and awkward smiles as he handed you files and takeaway cups of coffee. So why was he behaving like the lead in a romcom? Not that you were complaining, though. you were pretty much enjoying it, if the bubbly feeling in your belly meant anything.
“You need to stop hanging out with Morgan,” you whispered back. “He's turning you into a flirt, just like him.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Yes.” You wet your lips, eyes breaking apart from his.
“Why?” His voice was full of genuine confusion, his eyebrows knit in a soft frown.
“Because it makes me want to flirt back. That’s why.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Oh, definitely.” You grip the edge of your desk to refrain from holding onto him.
“Why’s that?” His thumb was now tracing the line of your jaw, walking a path up and down and getting dangerously close to your lower lip.
“Because you know what flirting leads to.”
“Dates? Double dates?”
You were thinking of way more private activities, the kind that didn’t involve fancy clothing—or any clothing at all—, but sure, his answer was also true.
“Mhm.” You nodded.
“And would that be so bad?”
Your eyes drop to his mouth out of their own volition. No, no it wouldn’t.
Suddenly, one of your phones started ringing, completely watering down the tiny spark lighting between you two. Spencer fished his phone out of his pocket and answered. And you take the opportunity to take a deep breath. He didn't move an inch, though. His body still pressed against yours, your legs pressed to the edge of your desk. His stare did not break away from yours while he spoke to JJ.
“Yeah, sorry. We’re heading down right now. Sorry.”
He put his phone back in his pocket and took a step back, offering you his hand. You didn’t consider it for longer than a second before taking it and starting towards the elevator with him right behind you. Once inside, giggling like a pair of teenagers, you rested your head against the metallic walls and looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. He stared at you like he’d never seen you before, or at least not like this: all flushed cheeks, excited giggles and sparkly eyes.
“Do you want to know what the fortune teller told me the last time I spoke to her?” he nodded. “that i had a great dating opportunity coming my way.”
With a lopsided smile that was so uncharacteristic of Spencer—and yet it looked so good on him—he hummed and said, “maybe we should start believing what this lady has to say.”
thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!
in which Spencer explains the facts behind love in a mildly suggestive way
cw: implied suggestive content, sfw. fem!reader. Spencer just yapping about biology and evolution teehee
a/n: this is fully self induldgent because i love to yap about biology. maybe you'll learn something from this, who knows? a very short piece of work while i create something longer. this has not been edited <3
w/c: 900 words
‘You know, for someone so rational, you get awfully sentimental sometimes,’ you tease, voice light but deliberate.
Spencer watches the smile tug at your lips, then (dramatically) removes your legs from his lap like he’s been wounded. Offended. Insulted. ‘Sentimental? Me? Never.’
You laugh as he gives a faux scoff, only to shift your legs right back where they were. He doesn’t protest. Just lets your calves drape over his thighs and settles his hands on bare skin, fingers tracing idle circles just above your knees.
‘I’m not sentimental,’ he insists, fingers tightening in mock warning, enough to make your breath catch. ‘Just… selectively emotional.’
‘Mm, of course,’ you murmur, clearly unconvinced. ‘You apologised to my dying fern today, Spencer. That’s not giving selective. That’s giving deeply emotional.’
‘She’s struggling!’ he says with a soft laugh, head tipping back slightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and your chest goes warm. ‘She needs care.’
‘She?’ you echo, tucking a soft brown curl behind his ear. His fingers still for a second at the gesture, then resume their lazy patterns.
‘It’s a fern,’ he replies with pretend indignation. ‘It’s not going to be a he.’
You tap his nose, smirking. ‘Sentimental,’ you conclude, and it’s like putting a period on the conversation.
He turns toward you more, shoulder pressing against yours, heat radiating from his skin. Closem warm. Subtle, but intentional. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t want to.
‘Fine,’ he concedes. ‘But that’s not down to me. It’s down to science. Evolution.’
‘Oh, here we go again,’ you say, throwing your arms up in fake dispear, grinning at him. ‘Love: just oxytocin and dopamine and whatever other scientific explanation you have for sentimentality that’s stored in your encyclopaedia-brain.’
He chuckles. Short, low, lips pressing into a crooked smile. ‘Love does exist because of oxytocin and dopamine. And evolution. And natural selection.’
You arch a brow, skeptical, but amused. ‘Romantic.’ Sarcasm. ‘Please, go on.’
He leans closer, close enough for the hem of his shirt to brush your side, for his breath to caress your cheek. His thighs shift, angling your hips more toward him. When he speaks again, its in a quiet and focused tone, almost reverent. The one he uses when explaining something complex, something fascinating.
‘Mutual investment theory,’ he begins, each syllable slow and deliberate. He says it like it’s the sexiest phrase on the planet. And maybe it is, coming from him. ‘Pair bonding kept early animals together. Emotional attachment increased cooperation – sharing food, dividing work, mutual protection. It wasn’t just about sex, but survival. And survival,’ he adds, eyes falling to your lips for a fleeting moment, ‘wasn’t easy in early hominid societies.’
He watches your response. Pure amusement combined with total perplexion. You blink, lips parting slightly.
‘So, what you’re saying,’ you pause, ‘is that biology wants us to… cuddle?’
‘Biology is insisting on it, actually.’
Another shift. His hands now; one slides around your waist, the other supporting your thigh as he pulls you on to his lap. Slow, fluid, sure. You go willingly, legs straddling his hips, hands automatically finding the sharp line of his shoulders.
‘You’re really trying to seduce me with natural selection?’ you ask, and he smiles at the way your voice is a shade more breathless than before.
‘Is it working?’ His hands settle on your back, one tracing beneath the fabric of your shirt. Up and down your spine, featherlight and teasing, feeling each dip and ridge of the bone.
There’s heat in that question. Intentional. Undeniable. Heavy. He dips his head, lips brushing beneath your jaw. It’s barely a kiss, more a breath against your skin. You hum in response, leaning into the contact. He lets his mouth linger there a second longer, then slides towards the hollow beneath your ear.
‘So,’ you whisper, ‘biologically speaking, your instincts think I’m a good mate?’
His lips pull away, but not far, letting out a soft huff.
‘Technically, it’s your instincts,’ he murmurs. His voice sounds like smooth honey. ‘Female mate choice is a primary driver of sexual selection. Females choose their partners based on traits, behaviours, physical indicators of health and intelligence…’
He trails off, another kiss pressed to your skin. You almost groan. Because only he could make Darwin sound like foreplay.
‘But,’ he adds, lifting his head to meet your eyes. ‘my instincts are screaming at me too, I suppose.’ His gaze is slightly glassy, pupils wider than normal in anticipation, but his voice remains impossibly steady.
Your hands slide from his shoulders to his neck, thumbs brushing the hinge of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. They thumbs maintain the gentle brushing movement as you continue, feeling the tension lingering beneath his skin.
‘Are they now? And what are they saying?’
His eyes flick to your mouth again. Then back up.
‘They’re telling me that you’re very good for my survival. In an evolutionary way, of course.’
Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between a laugh and something else. ‘That so?’
‘Mhm,’ he hums. Leans in. Brushes his lips to yours. Just a suggestion, not a kiss.
You attempt to chase it.
‘Well, I can’t argue with biology,’ you whisper back.
He kisses you properly, then. Slow and intentional. Like he’s testing a hypothesis he already knows the answer to. You’re just providing the evidence – for a theory that nature figured out long ago.
Summary: spencer regrets his words about not wanting kids. how can he not when he sees you with a baby?
Pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: spencer doesn’t want a baby (or does he?), talks about schizophrenia, kissing, babies, talks about pregnancy
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.
In retrospect, he should’ve known his words would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. Especially because they hadn’t been spoken in anger or frustration. No, Spencer had said it casually over takeout and an old documentary playing in the background.
“I just don’t think I want kids,” he’d said, chopsticks paused mid-air. “I mean, I just don’t think it would be fair to them, with our line of work and all. You know?”
You’d gone quiet then, your smile faltering for just a second before you recovered. You didn’t argue. You didn’t press. You just nodded, picked at your noodles, and changed the subject. “People around us will have kids,” you had said to him later, “you’re more important to me.”
And he’d believed you. Or at least, he’d convinced himself you meant it. Because you were always understanding, always willing to compromise. Spencer had taken that quiet acceptance and tucked it away, like an old piece of paper, pretending it didn’t ache to think about having kids with you.
It’s not that he doesn't want kids per se, because he does. He really, really does—and with you. But he’d spent so long convincing himself that it isn't a good idea, that it wouldn’t be safe, that he wouldn't be good enough, and there was a risk he would pass on the gene for schizophrenia. But all of that—the logic, the statistics, the what-ifs—starts to crumble the moment he saw you with a baby in your arms.
It had been an impromptu visit to JJ’s. A rare weekend with no case, no jet, just brunch on her back patio while Henry played in the yard. You’d offered to help with Michael, who was fussing, and within seconds you had him nestled against your shoulder, bouncing gently and humming something soft under your breath. Spencer had looked up from his plate, and everything in him stops.
But now, you weren't just holding JJ’s baby—you were glowing. Calm and natural and heartbreakingly beautiful as you whisper silly things to make him giggle. He sees your eyes soften when the baby grabs your finger, the way your lips curls into a secret little smile meant just for him. And that’s when something shifts. Like a dam inside his chest, like every carefully constructed wall of rationality and fear finally gave in to something far more powerful—want.
Not abstract or theoretical, not someday or maybe.
But real and immediate. Now.
It’s completely irrational, and irresponsible, and Spencer knows this. But the only thing he wants to do right now is to take you home and—well, to put it crudely, put a baby inside you—in the most gentlemanly way possible, of course. He doesn’t do it right away though, of course not! And he doesn’t say anything when Will asks him whether he’s fine, no. Not while you’re cradling Michael and smiling like that, like you were meant for it. He just watches you, heart thudding with the weight of a thousand unsaid things. He thinks about the future—the possible future where the two of you have a baby of your own.
He thinks about the scattered toys around the apartment, and lazy mornings where you all pile into bed together, your child nestled between the two of you, giggling as Spencer pretends to be asleep just so he can feel the weight of their tiny body crawling over him, demanding attention. He imagines late nights, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, warming up bottles while you rock the baby against your chest in one of his old FBI hoodies. He pictures your shared smiles when they take their first steps, say their first words, when their sleepy eyes blink up at him like he’s their whole world.
He thinks about it, and he thinks about it a lot. But he stays silent, knowing that once the words are out, there’s no taking them back. And for something this big—this life-altering—he needs to be sure. Not just that he wants it, but that you still do, too. That somewhere deep down, after all this time, after his half-hearted deflections and logic-laced excuses, you’re still holding onto that quiet hope.
So, he waits.
Waits until you are in the safe confine of your home. You're humming as you put away the leftovers from earlier, and Spencer leans against the doorframe, watching you with the kind of reverence that aches. It hits him again, the thought that this is what he wants every day, forever, with you.
He walks toward you slowly, almost hesitantly, as though afraid that moving too fast might make the fragile thing blooming inside him shatter. You glance up at him and smile. It’s so easy, so effortless, and he wonders if you even know what you do to him.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft, a little unsure.
You raise an eyebrow, catching the slight change in his tone. “Hey. You okay?” Spencer nods, but then shakes his head, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. “Is it your stomach? I told you to stay away from the dairy, Spence, you never listen to me—”
“I want kids,” he blurts, voice higher-pitched than intended, sharp enough to cut right through your sentence.
You freeze, a Tupperware lid still in your hand, eyes wide as you turn to face him. “Huh?”
“I—” He exhales shakily. “I know it sounds sudden. And maybe it is. But it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about today after seeing you with Micheal and I just thought about kids. Our kids.”
You blink, still not moving. “Kids. Like—plural?”
“I mean, I’d start with one,” he says, a little breathless, a touch desperate. “Just one. Though I guess twins do run in your family, so that means at least a fifteen percent chance of multiples, but that’s not the point—” He stops himself, clearly spiraling into statistics out of nerves, and drags a shaky hand through his hair. “What I mean is, yes. Plural. If you want. I just… I want this with you.”
The Tupperware clatters onto the counter as you slowly set it down, turning to face him fully. “Spence, you told me you didn’t want kids, remember?”
“I know,” he says, voice thick now, eyes wide with something raw. “And I meant it—at the time. Or I thought I did. I was scared. Scared of passing things on, of not being good enough, of loving them so much it would undo me. But you…” He takes a step closer. “You make it make sense. You make it feel possible and safe... right.” You swallow hard. It’s a lot. All of it. The past, the memory of that night he so casually shut the door on this dream. The quiet ache of acceptance that came afterward. And now—this. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he continues quickly, seeing the conflict flicker in your eyes. “This isn’t me asking you to decide right now, or even soon. I just needed to be honest. I needed you to know.” He stops a foot away from you, eyes searching yours. “Do you still want that? With me?”
The silence stretches for a moment. And then you reach for him, wordless, threading your fingers through his and placing his hand gently over your heart. “I always wanted that with you,” you whisper, and he releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Spencer leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay,” he breathes, soft and reverent. “Okay.”
“Yeah,” you laugh, a little breathless and a little teary. “Let’s do it. Let’s have a baby.”
Spencer exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. After a beat, he mumbles into your skin, “I still think it was the dairy, though.”
You snort. “Spencer.”
“What? I’m just saying, correlation isn’t causation.” His voice pitches higher as he tries to defend himself, making you smile into his shoulder.
You sigh in faux-exasperation. “God help our future child.”
“I’m a very fun fact at parties.” You laugh, as he grins, holding you tighter. Then, suddenly he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes soft but filled with something raw and hopeful. His hand cups your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every detail of you.
“What?” You ask, laughing softly.
“I love you,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “I just—really, really love you.”
“I love you too,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips, but it’s a smile full of so much more than just happiness.
It’s full of everything you’ve both been through, everything that’s led you to this moment, and everything that’s to come. And somehow, you think it’s perfect.
A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3
summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date
cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk
wc: 2.5k
A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.
He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?
You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.
But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.
The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.
Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.
He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.
Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?
Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!
Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.
You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling?
Spencer: Better now, how are you?
You: Better now ;)
Oh, you’re everything to him.
Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you?
You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop
He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.
Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again.
You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board.
Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me.
You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful.
Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.
It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.
Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.
He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.
While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.
Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something?
You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that.
Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise.
You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it.
Spencer: Are you free this Friday?
You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;)
Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7?
You: I’ll be waiting <333
He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.
Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”
He deflates. So close.
Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.
Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner?
You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?
He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.
Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.
You: Be safe out there please
Spencer: Always am.
You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job
Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me.
You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better.
Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful.
You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3
Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions.
You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid.
Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy.
Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon.
You: Bye handsome 💞
The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.
He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.
Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise
You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you.
Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon.
You: Promise?
Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything?
You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face.
Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital?
You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that.
Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself?
You: How are you going to do that?
Spencer: I have my ways.
You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it
Spencer: Maybe.
You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye.
Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this.
You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting?
Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay.
You: Ugh, you know me so well <3
To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.
The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.
Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.
It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.
Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures.
What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.
Ding!
But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.
And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.
Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.
The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.
The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you.
“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”
He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.
“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.
You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”
“In Maryland?”
“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”
God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”
He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”
“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”
The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”
You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.
“You were busy.”
“So were you.”
Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”
You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t.
You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”
“Always.”
It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.
It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.
It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”
To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”
in which you and spencer talk outside the bar on a night out with the bau
warnings: none :)
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
You stand outside the noisy bar, the nice music coming from inside and the breeze of fresh air brushing your cheek being enough to bring ease to you.
It would be a lie to say you´re a fan of this type of going out, but it is nice to spend some time with the team outside of work and you're more than happy to sit quietly and sip on your soda while they do shots.
But tonight the building feels louder than usual, too loud. Not really enough to make you feel anxious, but definitely enough to make you crave the fresh night air, away from all the sweaty bodies.
You see Spencer approaching you from the corner of your eyes, an awkward smile plastered on his lips. Warmth spreads across your chest, leaving you unable to stop the smile from appearing on your face too.
"Hey, can i join you?" He asks, sitting next to you as soon as you nod in agreement, "Here, i got this for you." He hands you the soda in his hand.
"Thank you." You reply quietly, hand grazing his for a moment longer than it should. You scan the paper cup that he's now holding between his hands, a frown etching your face once you realise what's on the inside.
"Spence, why are you drinking coffee at eleven pm?" You question with raised eyebrows.
"Oh- uhm- i just thought that since i'm usually in bed by this time and i want to drive you home i should make sure i'm very awake. You know, just to make sure." Spencer rambles, cheeks pink and head cast down in a way that makes you sure that he wasn't expecting you to notice.
“You really don’t have to do that for me, Spence.” Though your smile is really just grateful.
“I do.” He answers as if it’s the most obvious thing.
You're both silent for a moment, the same familiar and comfortable silence that you're sure he enjoys just as much as you. You can't help but subtly look to admire his enviable jaw, his nose the nicest shade of pink from the cold.
"Wait, you're actually freezing." You're too concentrated on the task at hand to notice he's reached to hold your hand in his, pulling away too quickly to start taking off his sweater. "Here, you should've told me."
"I don't want it- i mean i do, but you'll get cold too." It's hard to try and be calm when he's so close and the temptation to reach for the sweater that you know is very comfortable is very big.
"'Course not, my coffee will warm me up. Your soda is cold so you don't have that." It's a quite made on the spot excuse but it's also enough to convince you just a little bit.
"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works, S." Playing hard is fun when you get to see him flustered over the simplest thing.
"Just take it." Spencer practically shoves it in your arms, "Please?" And god, the baby doe eyes.
A huff escapes your mouth, a defeated one that makes his smile widen, mouthing a small 'thank you' to you. As if he's not the one doing something for you.
Spencer steps in front of you, helping you into the sweater without having to be asked to. You fight the urge to tell him he doesn't have to baby you as he untucks your hair, pulling it behind your ears before unfortunately siting back down.
He clears his throat, "I was thinking, do you want to spend the night at mine?" He continues before you get to answer, "I won't be able to sleep too soon, anyway. We could watch a movie- if you'd like, of course."
"Can we watch Juno?"
"Rewatch, you mean? And no, not happening." He teases.
"Oh, come on. You chose last time." You feign sadness, forcing a pout onto your lips and turning away to persuade him into having it your way
"Don't do that- we can rewatch it, i promise." He thinks before saying, "But you can't cry when Paulie visits Juno at the hospital again, okay? I really don't have any comforting methods left." Even though he knows he'd go to the ends of the world to find a way.
"And we can get a blueberry slushie on the way to your house?" Okay, maybe you really don't mind getting babied by him. It does feel selfish, Spencer isn't really your boyfriend. You're not sure what he is, neither of you are, but you can't exactly just call him your best friend either.
"And we can get a blueberry slushie on the way." He confirms, nudging your shoulder before pulling you closer to him and giving you the perfect excuse to rest your chin on his shoulder.
"You're very nice to me, S." You all but whisper.
"You're very easy to be nice to." Spencer replies, again like it's the most obvious thing. His lips ghost over your forehead, stopping at your temple to press a tentative kiss there.
"I'm gonna tell the other we'll get going, yes?" He says gently after a moment.
"Course." You smile, slightly hazy with a pounding heart.
It takes him a moment more than it should to let go of you, pretending to adjust his sweater that's now on you so that you're 'extra warm' before squeezing your shoulder and going into the bar in a hurry.
You nuzzle against the fabric of his sweater, the comforting sent making you forget all about the cold weather. And you definitely don't regret not bringing your coat outside.
When Spencer comes back with your bag and coat, he definitely doesn't make a fuss to get his sweater back either.
fucking love when I'm on a call with someone and they start to do a little errand or go somewhere else and they say "and you're coming with me" like. absolutely I am let's go on an adventure I've been spirited away
ooh ooh or when they accidentally drop the phone or something and go “i dropped you! :(“ like. that little glowing box you’re waving around does indeed house my soul!! it’s me!! you’re holding me!!!! and we’re going on a little trip together!!! delightful!!!!!!!!
i love the suggestion that the device they are holding is my corporeal form. very silly and whimsical
Summary: Spencer has a habit of leaving handwritten notes in the books you borrow from his personal collection. One day, you finally write back.
Pairing: Reader/Spencer Reid
Spencer Reid’s personal library was nothing short of magnificent. Towering shelves filled with well-loved books lined the walls of his apartment, their spines worn from years of eager reading. When you had first started borrowing from his collection, you had done so carefully, treating each volume like a fragile artifact. But what you hadn't expected to find—hidden between passages and prose—were his words.
The first time it happened, you had borrowed Pride and Prejudice. Nestled in the margins, in neat, slightly slanted handwriting, was a comment next to Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp-witted retort to Mr. Darcy.
“You remind me of Elizabeth—sharp, observant, and far too intelligent for the company you keep.”
You had stared at the note for minutes, heart pounding. Spencer had written this long before you borrowed the book, hadn’t he? It wasn’t meant for you, was it? The thought of confronting him about it seemed daunting. Instead, you traced his words with your fingertips, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.
That discovery led to another. And another.
In The Picture of Dorian Gray:
“You would never be swayed by vanity. Your soul is too kind.”
In Jane Eyre:
“If I were Rochester, I wouldn’t have kept secrets from you.”
Each annotation, each carefully placed comment, felt personal. They weren’t just general observations; they were thoughtful, tailored to you.
Days passed before you gathered the courage to respond. You chose one of the books Spencer often reread—The Great Gatsby. As you turned the familiar pages, you found a passage underlined in Spencer’s careful hand:
“He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity.”
And next to it, in his delicate handwriting:
“Longing is a difficult thing to master.”
You exhaled deeply, running your fingers over the ink. If Spencer had been leaving these notes for you, maybe he had been waiting for a response, just as you had been waiting for a sign. With a rush of courage, you picked up a pen and, in the same margin, wrote:
“I wouldn’t need a green light. You’ve always been within reach.”
When you returned the book, carefully placing it back on his desk at the BAU, you felt the weight of your silent confession settle in your chest. What if he never noticed? What if he saw it and said nothing? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but it was too late to take it back now.
The next day, Spencer found you in the bullpen, book in hand, his expression unreadable. Your heart leapt into your throat.
“You…” he started, voice soft, reverent almost, as he flipped open The Great Gatsby to the exact page where your response was written. His fingers traced your words like they were delicate, precious.
“I—” you faltered. “Was that okay?”
His eyes locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiled. Not just any smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles that lit up his entire face, the kind of smile that made your stomach flip.
“You wrote back.” His voice was breathless, in awe.
You swallowed hard. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
For a long moment, Spencer simply stared at you, the book clutched to his chest. It was as if he was processing every possibility at once, and you could almost see the thoughts racing in his brilliant mind. Then, before you could panic, he took a step closer.
“I—” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “I’ve been leaving those notes for you.”
Your breath caught. “You have?”
Spencer gave a short, nervous laugh. “For a while now. I didn’t know if you’d ever see them or if you’d—”
“I saw them,” you interrupted, a smile tugging at your lips. “And I loved them.”
His shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face. “Really?”
You nodded, warmth spreading through you. “Really.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Spencer exhaled, flipping the book open once more. “So… does this mean I can keep writing to you?”
You tilted your head playfully. “Only if I can write back.”
His smile widened, his fingers brushing against yours over the worn edges of the book. “I’d like that.”
From that day forward, every book exchanged between you contained more than just stories. Between the lines of famous literature, nestled in the margins of classic texts, you found something even more precious:
Love letters in ink, waiting to be read.
The notes continued, hidden within the pages of literature both of you adored. A stolen thought in Wuthering Heights, a whispered confession in Les Misérables. Each time Spencer handed you a book, your fingers would brush, lingering longer than necessary, and his eyes would search yours for recognition.
Then, one evening, as you flipped through Anna Karenina, you found a note in the final pages, underlining a passage about fate.
“Sometimes, love is written long before we even know it exists.”
And below it, in a nervous, yet determined script, Spencer had added:
“I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I realized.”
Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t just a passing thought, an intellectual observation. It was real.
Without hesitation, you reached for a pen and, with steady fingers, wrote beneath his words:
“Then it’s about time we stop reading between the lines.”
That night, when Spencer saw your response, he didn’t just smile.
He kissed you.
And for the first time, there were no more words left unwritten.
The notes continued, but they became something different now—love notes, secret confessions, playful teases. You wrote to him in the margins of history books, and he replied with riddles in the pages of mystery novels. The space between you had once been filled with unspoken words, but now it was a novel of its own, each sentence a promise, each underline a touch.
One day, Spencer handed you a book without a title on its cover. Puzzled, you flipped it open to the first page, where a single line was scrawled in his familiar handwriting:
i would love a spencer x bau reader that notices his headaches from season six and maybe goes into the bathroom after him and is trying to examine him or whatever and seaver goes to the bathroom and finds them and is flustered like oh damn i didn’t know you were.. and they are like NO as reader has a leg between spencers leaning onto him as he sits on the sink lol and seaver exists quickly and asks hotch if it’s okay to have interpersonal relationships and they all laugh after seeing spence and reader exit the bathroom yelling nothing happened (flustered babies)
misleading — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: mention of migraines and headaches , reader being concerned about spencer, but the rest is fluff
a/n: hii !! this is such a good idea i hope you like this <3
You pushed the bathroom door open, the quiet creak barely cutting through the sound of running water. Inside, Spencer stood hunched over the sink, cupping his hands to gather water before splashing it onto his face. He exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter.
Catching your reflection in the mirror, he straightened slightly but didn’t turn around right away.
Instead, he reached for the tissues, dabbing his face before finally turning to lean against the counter. His tired eyes met yours.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice softer than usual, as if he didn’t have the energy to put more strength behind it.
“Hi,” you responded just as gently, stepping closer. Your gaze traced over his features, noting the sharp definition of his cheekbones, more pronounced than usual. His normally unruly curls were an absolute mess—one stray strand falling onto his forehead, a telltale sign that he had been running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
Your brows knit together, concern evident in your expression as you searched his face for some kind of answer.
“Are you okay?” you asked, voice laced with worry.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His lips parted slightly as if he was about to speak, but then he hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter tighter.
Finally, with a quiet sigh, he relented. “Just a headache,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly—only to immediately wince at the motion.
His eyes squeezed shut for a brief second, brows furrowing as a sharp pang of pain flickered across his features. A quiet breath slipped from his lips as his hands lifted instinctively to cradle his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples.
You took a step closer. Then another.
Until you were standing between his legs. Gently, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrists, slowly easing his hands away from his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and for a brief moment, Spencer tensed—slightly surprised at the contact.
But he didn’t pull away.
Your fingertips brushed against his jaw as you cupped his face, thumbs ghosting over his cheekbones. His tired eyes fluttered open, hazel irises slightly glassy under the light. His body leaned into your touch.
“Have you seen a doctor?” you asked softly.
He exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a quiet chuckle. “I am a doctor,” he murmured, though there was no teasing behind his words—just weariness.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go. “You know what I mean, Spencer.”
He hesitated, glancing down for a second before finally shaking his head, much more carefully this time. “It’s just a migraine. It’ll pass.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced. “You’ve been squinting at everything all day, Spence. If it’s bad enough to bother you this much, you should at least lie down.”
He blinked at you, and for a moment, it was as if he was memorizing the way your concern softened your features, the way your touch was impossibly gentle against his skin.
“…You don’t have to worry about me,” he mumbled, though even he didn’t sound convinced by his own words.
You let out a quiet huff, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone in an absent-minded motion. “Too late for that.”
That’s when the door suddenly pushed open.
Both of you froze.
Standing in the doorway was Seaver, her eyes darting between you and Spencer, widening slightly at the sight before her. You, standing between his legs, hands gently cradling his face. Him, leaning into your touch, his expression soft in a way that wasn’t often seen.
Seaver blinked. “Oh—sorry,” she stammered, her voice almost nervous as she took a step back and immediately pulled the door shut behind her.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.
Slowly, his gaze flickered to yours, and that’s when the realization hit.
Meanwhile, in the conference room, Seaver had rejoined the rest of the team, her expression slightly dazed. Emily, who had been casually flipping through a case file, noticed the look immediately.
“What’s up?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly in curiosity.
Seaver hesitated, glancing between Emily and Hotch, before finally blurting out, “Are… relationships within the team allowed?”
That certainly got everyone’s attention.
Rossi and Derek, who had just walked into the room mid-conversation, both raised their eyebrows. A beat of silence followed before Morgan smirked, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, that depends,” he said, clearly amused. “Why? You got something to tell us, Seaver?”
Seaver shook her head quickly, but then gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “No, it’s just—” She hesitated. “In the bathroom, they were just—”
She didn’t even get the chance to finish her sentence.
Because at that moment, the door burst open and you and Spencer rushed into the room, slightly breathless.
“It’s not what it looked like!” you both blurted out at the same time.
There was a beat of silence.
And then—laughter.
Emily clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Morgan outright cackled, clapping Rossi on the back as if this was the best thing he had seen all day. Even Hotch’s lips twitched in what could almost be considered a smile.
“Seriously,” you tried again, looking at the team with wide eyes. “It wasn’t—”
Morgan just shook his head, still grinning. “No need to explain,” he said, winking at Spencer. “We totally believe you.”
Spencer let out a small, defeated sigh, and you could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.
Seaver, still looking slightly flustered, glanced toward Emily. “So…?”
Emily chuckled, tilting her head. “To answer your question, Seaver—technically, no rules are being broken.”
You and Spencer exchanged a look before sighing in unison.
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