can you write Spencer Reid and his secret girlfriend that's a nurse/doctor, when the team comes back from a mission and reid is injured they all go to the hospital and they see them two flirting and figure it out
(sorry idk how to phrase it)
also can you tag me when it's out?
Kiss It Better
Spencer Reid x Nurse Reader
WORD COUNT:
Summary: Spencer gets injured on a case. Imagine his teams surprise when they come to see him and find his nurse flirting with him.
Content Warning: hospitals, Spencer got hurt on a case, probably a whole lot of medical inaccuracies, stitches and needles
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
Spencer sits on the edge of the hospital bed, his button-up shirt and cardigan draped over the back of a chair, leaving his undershirt rolled up past his elbow. His thighs are parted so you can stand between them, cleaning the small gash on his arm, your gloved fingers brushing over his skin with the gentlest touch.
"You know," you begin, your tone lightly teasing, "for someone with your IQ, you're really bad at stay out of trouble."
Spencer chuckles softly, though his ears turn a shade of pink. "It's not exactly something I plan for," he defends quietly, good arm wrapped loosely around your waist. "Besides, statistically, my injury rate is relatively low for the kind of work I do."
You glance up at him, a brow raised. "Spencer, you've been here three times in the last two months. At this rate, I should really just set up a reserved bed for you."
"Maybe I just like the company," he quips, and now it's your turn to blush slightly.
"Flirting isn't gonna get you out of a lecture about taking better care of yourself," you reply, tying off the final stitch and cutting the rest of the thread off. "There we are. Good as new."
Spencer watches as you peel off your gloves and toss them into the bin. Everything you do seems to catch him off guard, even after months of... well, whatever this thing between you two has become.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he murmurs.
You laugh lightly, shaking your head. "I just stitched up a cut. Pretty sure that doesn't qualify as amazing."
"To me, it does," he counters, his gaze soft as he watches you walk around the room. "You're brilliant and kind and—"
"—And wondering why you're still sitting here," you cut him off with a grin, moving back to your previous spot between his thighs and holding the back of your hand to his forehead. "Don't you have a team to get back to?"
As if on cue, the door swings open, and a group of people spills into the room, their voices a mix of concern and exhaustion.
"Reid, how's—" a man with a shaved head starts, but immediately stops again, his eyes narrowing slightly as they dart between the two of you.
The room grown awkwardly silent as they take in the scene: you standing between Spencer's legs—closer than any medical professional should be with their patients, his unbandaged arm hung loosely around your waist.
"Oh," says a woman with dark hair and a wicked smirk. "This is interesting."
Spencer shifts uncomfortable but doesn't quite move away. "Guys, this is—uh—this is Doctor L/N. She was just... patching me up."
"Patching you up, huh?" the man from before drawls, a teasing lilt in his voice, his grin widening. "Looks like a little more than that to me."
You straighten and take a step back, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite the heat crawling up your neck. "Doctor Reid is in good shape now. He'll need to keep the stitches dry for a few days, but the cut wasn't too deep."
The blonde woman in the back raises an eyebrow, clearly biting back a smile. "Thank you, Doctor L/N," she says politely before her attention shifts to Spencer. "Though I have to admit, considering his arm got cut open, this is the first time we've seen him quite so... comfortable."
Spencer groans, his head falling slightly forward. "Can we not do this here? Please?"
"Oh, we're doing this," the dark-haired woman says, crossing her arms. "How long has this been going on?"
"Emily," Spencer pleads, his voice laced with something somewhere in-between exasperation and resignation.
You glance between then, suddenly feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. "I'll just—uh—leave you all to it," you say quickly, stepping toward the door.
Spencer's hand shoots out, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. "Wait—"
But you shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. "It seems you've got enough explaining to do without me making it harder."
As you slip out and shut the door, you hear the inevitable teasing start.
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
The hallways is surprisingly quiet compared to the chaos inside, and you take a moment to collect yourself. You've grown used to Spencer's shy smiles and occasional compliments, but seeing him surrounded by his team—people who clearly adore him and who are incredibly perceptive—feels like stepping into a spotlight you hadn't anticipated.
You're about to head back to the nurses' station when the door opens again, and Spencer emerges, wearing all his clothes and his cheeks still faintly red.
"They're never going to let this go," he says, running a hand through his hair.
You bite back a laugh. "I can see why. You should've warned me they'd be so observant."
"I was trying to keep things simple," he admits, stepping closer, "but apparently, we weren't as subtle as I thought."
"Subtle?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "You were practically glowing in there, Spencer! You were quite literally holding onto me."
He grins sheepishly. "I can't help it. You make me happy. I like being close to you."
Your heart does a little flip at his words, but you roll your eyes for his benefit. "Well, now that they know, I'm sure the rest of your team will, so I guess our secret's out."
"They'll adjust to the idea," he says lightly. "And for what it's worth, I don't mind them knowing. I'm proud to be with you."
You smile, reaching out to brush your fingertips against his. "I'm proud to be with you, too. Even if it means getting interrogated by the Behavioral Analysis Unit."
Spencer laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "They'll get over it. Probably."
"Probably?" you echo, laughing with him as you start walking back to the nurses' station.
He shrugs, his hand brushing against yours as he keeps pace. "I think Morgan might take longer. But that's okay. I'm not in any hurry."
Just a reminder that Reid is not helpless in the face of authority. This is a man who told Strauss to her face that she was taking the easy way before saying ‘the problem is I have an eidetic memory, and that’s not what happened.’ This is the man who told an entire station of police officers that they could’ve prevented a death before sarcastically yelling at Hotch ‘oh you’re punishing me?.’ This man sat slouched in his seat whilst his team were all sat pin straight in front of a board of people who wanted them all fired and said ‘this is calm and it’s doctor.’ He looked Linda Barnes in the eyes whilst she was in the process of trying to destroy the team and said ‘if you’re going I’m not.’ This man does not care about authority.
Pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x gen-z!reader Warnings: basically crack fic, dialogue heavy, this is so unserious, not beta-d, canon typical violence, no gendered pronouns but fem!coded and bi!coded, age gap (spencer in his 40s, reader in mid 20s), mention of lila archer but for like, a sentence, copaganda like the whole show, a lot of inaccuracies, mention of Spencer's addiction
main masterlist / misadventures masterlist
summary: emily took your smartphone because you made the internet thirst over two of her agents. (marking the official end of my break i will get to those fics and requests!!)
“She can't be serious.”
“You can't be serious.”
“I am being very serious.”
“She's being serious.”
“Thank you, Penelope, I can hear her actively punishing me.”
“But why?” Penelope exclaims, throwing her hands up in devastation. “My sweet angel baby Buttercup didn't do anything wrong!”
Emily crosses her arms, “Buttercup’s phone kept going off during that meeting with the MPD chief this morning.”
Penelope opens her mouth, “Only because—”
“And instead of sending me a link to the presentation, Buttercup sent me a link to an edit of Luke—”
“It was a fancam!” You defend. “You told me to come up with a social media propo to get more public approval for the BAU.”
“I meant like proper advertisement material!” Emily sighs. “Showcasing our work, telling the public about our achievements, not pictures of Luke Alvez with heart filters and Megan Thee Stallion music.”
“Hey, it's not my fault that your fascist organization doesn't have a high public approval rating because OC and counterterrorism kept screwing people over!”
Emily presses her eyes together, fingers twitching like she is longing for a cig. “Point is, you're going to be using that phone for work purposes during work hours for the next week.”
You hold up the chunky flip Motorola. “This is a brick! How am I supposed to type with this?”
“Just have to press the keypad the amount of time to get the letter, here,” Emily shows you how to type your own name, which takes longer than you have the patience for.
“That's barbaric,” you whisper. “What about a picture? Internet? What about Spotify?”
Penelope's arms wrap around you, chin resting against the top of your head for comfort. “Em, I think this is too far. This is—this is torture. You can at least give Buttercup a Palm Treo.”
“What the fuck is a Palm Treo?”
The Section Chief rolls her eyes, “The kid will survive.”
“Survive what?” JJ asks, as she walks into the conference room, followed by the rest of the team.
“Medieval tech,” you grumble, then points at Spencer who's about to go on a corrective tangent. “I know, I know, Dr. Reid. It's called a hyperbole.”
“Oh sweet,” Tara says, taking a seat next to you, inspecting your new gadget. “Haven't seen that in ages.”
“Is this because of the TikTok fancam?” Luke asks, a teasing smile on his face. “I told you to be careful, kiddo.”
JJ shrugs. “I don't know, I heard from Public Affairs that your little campaign is working.”
“Absolutely,” Penelope takes a tablet off the table, pulling up the said fancam and all the instances it has been shared across social media. “This one has over one million views on Twitter. I mean, X.”
“A hundred and fifty thousand likes on TikTok,” you say proudly.
Penelope pulls up your burner TikTok account, which only has two videos uploaded. The first one is Luke's fancam, which had over two million views, and the other, with over two and a half million views—
“Is that me?” Spencer asks, pointing to the second video.
Sure enough, when Penelope plays the video, pictures and small snippets of videos of Spencer plays, edited in such a way that made people jaw dropped.
Penelope scrolls down to the comments, JJ takes it upon herself to read out some specifically hilarious ones.
“Arrest me sir Mr. FBI,” JJ reads, holding in her laughter. “I will gladly take on more student loans for him.”
“I'm foaming at the mouth,” Tara reads. “Jesus, people are horny.”
“I only used publicly available, JJ-approved, Public Affairs cleared, footage,” You shrug, smug. “What can I say? People love a hot daddy edit to Sabrina Carpenter’s Juno.”
Spencer's eyebrows furrowed. “I am not a dad.”
“Oh, Dr. Reid,” you coo. “It's more like a state of being.”
Spencer scrunches up his nose in distaste. “Just for that, I fully support Emily's punishment for you.”
“Sorry for making you look hot!”
“Pen,” Emily cuts off, exasperated. “The case?”
You play with the device as Penelope presents the upcoming case, not that it has much of a function. The flip phone contains the team's contact number, with Emily's and Penelope's set in the emergency dial. No cameras, no music, no earphone jacks, just calls and texts.
You try to go to its settings, wanting to customize the phone as best as you could because you'll be damned if you didn't make this phone yours somehow. A loud ring cuts through the room, making you jump. Emily snorts in amusement, Penelope looks at you with pity.
“Sorry,” you say, sheepish.
“How will you ever survive?” Penelope sniffs.
You shrug, “Hey, I can survive five hours per day for five days without a smartphone. As long as I have access to a laptop, I think I'm set.”
“Not so fast, sweetie,” JJ giggles. “I saw your name in the jet's manifest for today.”
“What?” You gape, turning to Emily.
“You're coming with us,” your Section Chief says.
“Where?”
Spencer points to the screen, “Los Angeles.”
Your eyes widen, body frozen like you're in a state of shock. Penelope gives you soft pats on your head, watching as tears clouds your eyes.
“Am I being too cruel?” Emily asks, whispering to Tara.
“Probably,” she replies. “It means we don't have to listen to that's that me Espresso every two minutes or learn another popular dance.”
You sigh, head slumping on the table. “I'll be in Los Angeles and I can't even use Raya.”
Spencer furrows his eyebrows. “What the hell is—”
“I'll see famous people and I can't even take a picture with them.”
Luke reasons, “Well, we'll spend most of our time with the LA—”
“I have to work with the LAPD!”
JJ stands up from her chair, wraps her arms around your shoulders, and gently pulls you to a hug. “Okay, come on, big baby. I'll get you ice cream when we get there.”
You scoop another bite of hojicha red bean ice cream as you follow Spencer to the M.E. office. JJ’s promise of ‘ice cream when we get there’ turns into ‘everyone gets you ice cream after lunch so you won't complain about not having internet’. Today is Spencer's turn.
In his defense, he tries everything to keep you stimulated. He taught you how to play chess on the plane, resulting in you questioning the entire concept of chess, and him giving an impromptu history lecture. Luke even busted out the UNOs but quickly regretted it when you became so competitive even the jet’s pilot was begging you to stop.
It's the second day you've been in LA, with the case showing no clear signs of being solved any time soon. It doesn't help that Spencer's phone keeps ringing incessantly.
“Just put your phone on silent,” you whisper, following his lead into the maze that is the M.E. office.
“What if there's an emergency?” He whispers back, putting his phone in his pocket. He frowns. “Is that why you barely pick up your phone? Emily has to text you half an hour before she actually needs you because you kept your phone on silent?”
“I have not heard my own ringtone since nine-eleven.”
“What the fu—”
“Agents!” The old man in scrubs interrupts, beckoning you both to a double door. “Doctor Reid, good to see you.”
“Doctor Raynor,” Spencer greets. “This is—”
“Buttercup's fine,” you say, nodding at the medical examiner.
“Okay, well,” Doctor Raynor moves inside, gesturing the two bodies on the separate slab. You quickly put on a surgical mask from the box by the door, hoping to hell you did it quickly enough to avoid the smell.
While the morgue is sterile, smelling like disinfectant, you don't want to take any chances.
“I just don't see the connection between the victims,” Dr. Raynor says. “They all died from different causes. First victim was killed with multiple blunt force trauma to the head, the second was paralyzed, and the third had liver failure like I've never seen before.”
“And the latest one?” Spencer asks.
“I haven't gotten the chance to do a full autopsy yet,” he explains. “But preliminary blood work shows a high level of calcium.”
“What about the tox panel for the first three victims?” You interject.
“We found nothing out of the ordinary through the routine tox screen.”
You purse your lips, brain working, spinning. “When was the estimated time of death of the third victim?”
“Around forty eight hours,” Dr. Raynor answers.
Spencer turns to you. “Are you thinking—”
“Yeah,” your gloved finger points to the first victim's mouth. “I saw these same blisters when I was interviewing cashew pickers for my undergrad thesis. This is caused by urushiol. I think the bad guy might be forcing poison into this poor guy, but urushiol kills you slower than you might think.”
“So the unsub got impatient and—” Spencer mimics the motion of swinging a bat down over and over again. You nod in agreement.
“Based on the liver failure, I think we should look for amatoxins for the third victim, we should be able to find traces of it from urine or feces samples,” you suggest. “And I’d suggest looking specifically for batrachotoxin on the second victim. As for the fourth victim—”
“High level of cytosolic calcium ions can mean—”
“Maitotoxin,” Dr. Raynor finishes, smiling grimly. “Well, the lab is sure going to have a field day with these requests.”
Spencer sits across from you now, the next day, glancing back and forth between you and the map of Los Angeles. You're diligently coloring the pages JJ gave you earlier, after taking away your Switch. You're antsy, foot tapping, shaking up and down in an attempt to quell your intense boredom. He doesn't want to admit that you look like an addict going through withdrawal (trust him, he knows).
You sigh for the thousandth times, head on the table.
A loud ring from Spencer's phone cut through the room. Your restlessness is affecting him, and the phone calls don't help his concentration. Cursing, he slams the phone on the table.
“I'll make you an offer,” you start, eyes not moving from the strokes of color.
“What offer?”
“You let me use your phone and I'll let you use the brick Emily gave me.”
Spencer snorts. “Why would I agree to that?”
“Come on, Doctor Reid,” you say, lifting your legs so they're dangling off of the chair's armrests. “You get to use this Medieval phone for the rest of this case. My number isn’t known to anyone outside of the team, so no more emails, messages—just calls and texts from your band of bandits.”
Spencer leans on the table, arms crossed. “And you get the internet.”
“And I get internet.”
Emily is only a little bit surprised when Spencer requests to be paired off with you for the rest of the case, taking the load of babysitting off of the other team members. But even JJ is relieved to not have to hear you talk (or yap, as you say) about some obscure cultural take on some obscure tv show.
Emily is extremely surprised, though, when Spencer comes into the conference room of the LAPD office with a skip on his step, making a beeline for you who's focused on your laptop.
He slides the open manila folder over to you, grinning.
“I was right,” you say, with pride in your tone.
“You were right,” he says, equally as prideful.
“What just happened?” Tara asks, eyes bulging, between terrified and amused. “Did you both just agree on something?”
JJ points to the window, “Quick, check outside and see if the sun is still shining!”
You roll your eyes. “We found the cause of death for all four victims, if you guys even care.”
Spencer nods. “Yeah, suck it!”
“Well, you want to share with the class?” Luke prompts.
“Natural toxins,” you say. “All except for the first victim, which is a bat smashing his head. The lab found traces of urushiol on the blisters on his mouth and GI tract. They found batrachotoxin in the second victim's kidneys, amatoxin for the third victim, and maitotoxin on the fourth victim.”
Spencer continues. “They're called natural toxins because they are naturally occuring on living organisms. Urushiol can be found in plants, like cashews, batrachotoxin is found in South American Poison Dart Frog, amatoxins are found in death cap mushrooms, and maitotoxins are found in Gambierdiscus toxicus, a unicellular eukaryote found in brown algae.”
“Based on your profiling handbook, Dr. Reid suggested the unsub might be a woman, but I think based on the geo profile, blunt force trauma, and dumping methods of the victims, it's a guy with a lot of patience and knowledge in biochemistry,” you finish.
Tara's eyebrows furrowed, Emily's mouth opens just a little, and JJ and Luke are looking at you like you've won the Nobel Peace Prize.
“What? I cooked so hard and you guys acted like I killed your dog,” You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the attention. “I watch documentaries too!”
Spencer turns to his team, taking the attention away from you. “There's a professor at CalTech I'd like to consult about this.”
“I'm assuming you'll be taking Little Einstein with you?” Emily raises an eyebrow. When Spencer nods, she waves her hand. “Just come back as soon as you can. Sending two nerds to Nerdville? Dangerous stuff.”
Dangerous stuff, it is.
Spencer and you wait in the hallways, where benches are set up for students to wait during office hours. There are a couple of students waiting for the lecturer across where you're sitting.
You let out a giggle—or, more of a breath you let out when you see something funny. Spencer raises an eyebrow, attention off his book.
“It's a new Live for Moo Deng,” you explain, tilting your (his) screen so he can see.
“A baby pygmy hippo?”
“Yep, from Thailand.”
“You’re watching a livestream of a baby hippo from Thailand?”
“Shut up and watch.”
“I don't think—”
“—why do you keep getting calls from TMZ and Buzzfeed asking for comments on Lila Archer's wedding announcement?”
“—I’ll watch the damn hippo.”
Spencer is giggling and snorting during the five minutes you both managed to watch the livestream. He sometimes points at the screen, then laughs as you mimic some of Moo Deng's antics.
You can't believe it, you're actually having fun with the guy. If he doesn’t have your future in his hands or you don’t need to seek his approval, you find that he’s actually pretty chill. Aside from, you know, the brooding sometimes.
That is, until a familiar voice calls your name, and your body goes rigid.
“What are you doing here?” The voice asks, leaning against the wall above you, all smug.
“Watching Moo Deng, what does it look like?”
“At CalTech?” Alex grins. “I thought biochemistry is above you pre-med people—or, is it criminology now? How the great have fallen.”
You roll your eyes. “Don't you have eighteen years olds to harass or something?”
Spencer, taken aback with the comment, clears his throat. You turn your attention to him, meeting his curious look.
Sighing, you say, “Doctor Reid, this is Alex, world class douchebag. We went to high school together. Alex, this is Doctor—”
“Spencer Reid,” Alex straightens, eyes wide. “Dr. Fillmore never shuts up about you. He said you were his best student.”
Spencer grimaces. “We're waiting for him, actually.”
“Right, of course,” Alex takes a deep breath. “Can I ask what for? I'm—I’m his TA.”
You snicker. “Of course, you are. Working on that master's, right?”
“We have some questions regarding natural toxins,” Spencer nudges your elbow to keep you on track.
Alex's eyes widened. “Uh—natural—uh–toxins? Right. Um, aren't you working for the FBI now?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. “I am.”
“Right, uh, I’ll just—” Alex visibly gulps, eyes darting from side to side, before turning around and taking off.
You watch him slip on the floor. “It's him right?”
“Yep,” Spencer takes out your flip phone, handing it to you. “Can you let the team know?”
You take the phone from him, following as he stands up and walks towards where Alex is still trying to run through the long hallway. Alex slips and crashes onto some other student. You turn the flip phone in your hand, contemplate for a second, and aim it at Alex's back.
The open phone hit Alex square between his shoulder blade, sending him toppling down with a yelp.
“Impressive aim,” Spencer turns back to you. “But I thought you're against police brutality?”
“I am,” you say, shrugging, staying close to him as Spencer pulls Alex up by the collar of his shirt. “But I'm not a cop. I'm just defending myself from someone who harassed me.”
Spencer shakes his head. “Thin ice on that technicality, Buttercup.”
You bend down and pick up the flip phone—intact and still working, unfortunately.
“Spencer Reid!” A voice calls from the other side of the hallway. Dr. Fillmore walks slowly, mostly due to his age, and approaches the three of you. He sighs when he sees Alex being handcuffed. “What's he up to now?”
“Serial killing,” you answer, deadpan.
Dr. Fillmore's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “So that's where the lab's poison dart frogs went!”
You shrug, then turn to Spencer as he has Alex by the handcuffs. “How many views do you think we'll get if I put that little clip of you manhandling him in?”
He takes note of the other students in the hallway, phones out and recording. “Don't even think about it.”
Spencer agrees not to tell Emily about you throwing an FBI property at an unsub, but videos of a ‘hot professor taking down a serial killer’ are all over the internet. Some people, of course, have called for your public stoning for excessive use of force while he gets to be sexually objectified.
You’re telling Penelope about your high school experience with Alex, who’s just as much of a douchebag as he is now, especially with a high powered father. His motive for killing? Jealousy. Guy who got accepted to CalTech’s grad program before he did, guy who dated the girl he liked, guy who got his dad fired and turned his life upside down—stupid excuse of a human being, really.
“At least it’s over,” Penelope says over a video call from one of the laptop. “Both Alex’s extracurricular activities and your punishment.”
“I mean,” Emily shrugs from beside you. “It’s only been four days.”
“That’s cruel,” you say. “I helped a lot, didn’t I? Didn’t I, Doctor Reid?”
“Your contributions are invaluable to the case,” Spencer says diplomatically.
“See?”
“But I also know you didn’t fully unplug,” Emily pulls out her phone, showing the team’s group chat where you (or, Spencer) sent a handcuff emoji as a way to let them know you caught the unsub. “Reid would never use an emoji. He doesn’t know what they mean.”
