Hi, you can call me Pau. Iâm in my 20s and a self proclaimed spencer reid writer and a closeted aaron hotchner girl. My askbox is always open for questions and yapping.
Disclaimer: All one shots and requests are written in fem!reader but my two series are fem!oc
You can check out my reading library for book recommendations!
Most recent fic: Hold Onto You
âł Spencer ruminates about his relationshipâtheir past, present, and hopefully future
Angst m.
Fluff m.
Comfort m.
Requests m.
Series
Entangled Strings of Fate - Fem!OC x Spencer [ongoing]
Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates itself. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings.
Trope - Friends to Lovers; Eventual Romance
Last update - Sept 26 [chapter 8] ; Next update - tba
Yours Truly, Romeo - Fem!OC x Spencer [finished]
Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencerâs paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Oliviaâs life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.
Trope - Strangers to Lovers, Mystery, Romance
Part 1 || Part 2
Summary: Through a series of unsent emails, Spencer laments through the loss of his life.
Trope: Angst with an open ending
w.c: 2.11k
a/n: this marks the last of my âthreeâs a sideshowâ series. I wasnât planning on making it a mini series I promise but ideas came and i am nothing but a slave to my creativity and readers. Special thanks to @lavenderspence & @thegloryofliterature for reading my unfinished drafts and giving me their opinions. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ
masterlist
Your favorite song played on the dinerâs radio today. You remember which one, donât you? The one we softly played through your phoneâs speaker as we tried to bake your momâs apple pie from memory during that late night when nightmares plagued my mind. I vividly remember the burnt taste of itsâ crust as we were too busy dancing in each otherâs arms, under the dim light of our kitchen and the night light, to mind the timer going off.
Sitting on the table, feeding each other what we deemed left edible, and laughing at how faulty your memory could be. It didnât taste like what you imagined it to be, nostalgia and love, but for me, it was the sweetest treat there was. Being there with you, sheltered inside our apartment, accompanied by your smiles and giggles.
In hindsight, how ironic was it that was our running joke, when my memory is anything but fallible.
I once thought I knew all there was about love. The science behind itâhow love actually happens less in the heart and more in the brain where key neurotransmitters such as dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin are released. All these chemical trigger physical responses and in turn feel addictive. As time goes on, connection, commitment and comfortability of the known take over. Iâve known everything about it, read everything about it, and experienced some to an extentâfamilial and friendship but then, you came along, beautiful, light, and happy, unaware that youâve dismantled all my beliefs and concepts, making me question the validity of science and making me realize Iâve never truly loved beforeâthe encompassing type of love they describe in books and show in movies. Nothing existed before you and nothing exists after, I know that now.Â
Happy Valentineâs Day, love. Iâve spent my day working myself to the bone, doing anything to push the thought away of you and the lack of us. Now, as I hunch over in this wobbling desk in my undisclosed assignment, I can think of nothing but you, the space between us, and the love youâve defined in the very atom of my being.Â
Communicating through flowers is a forgotten language in the modern times. Iâve read and seen too much classics, minus the existential musings of Dostoyevsky, to have a small knowledge of what each flower meant. Interestingly enough, they each would have a variety of symbolisms and depending on the color, it also changes.Â
During our first picnic date, you mentioned the bushes of Hydrangeas your mother would religiously tend over in your backyard. How a subtle change in environment causes them to wilt and how the color of their flowers change, as if they were magic or a game of chance. You liked the concept, admitting right then that they were your favorites due to fond memories. I passed by the library, once I walked you home, and checked out a book for itâplants and its up-keeping never one I gravitated to. I did kill the tiny cactus Garcia gifted me in my early start in the FBI, sadly.
Itsâ change in colors are attributed to pH changes in the soil, blue is for acidic and pink is for alkaline. Your mother must have made sure to always keep it pink, a manifestation of her love for you. They do, after all, mean many things like love, gratitude, hope, apologies, and regrets in some Asian cultures.
I left you a bouquet of blues on your doorstep, love, before I had to leave for an assignment Iâm still on today. Iâve always gifted you pinks, in every month, and in every anniversary. Did you ask yourself why the change in color? I hoped you did.
The blues bear my sincerity and gratitude in having the chance in loving you. As a kid who grew up with certain circumstances, a father gone, bullies in school, and a mother in need of my care, I never once thought I would have had the chance in love or with someone like you, for that matter. Iâm not as smooth or extroverted as Morgan, I could never figure out how he picked up women everywhere we went. Iâm not as reliable or authoritative as Hotch, someone who could silence a room filled with testosterone with just his presence. Iâm neither of those things but you approached me anyways.Â
I keep a single pressed flower from that bouquet in my handkerchief now. The very same one you clumsily embroidered my name on. It has become a talisman of sorts, a connection to you and our past. Iâm sorry for breaking your heart and in the process, shattering mine.
Good night and please visit me in my dreams, even just once.
Thereâs a phenomenon that happens in our brain that leads to a perception of increased frequency called the recency bias. Giving greater importance to the most recent or the most known, like how a jury remembers a lawyerâs closing argument rather than the whole hearing. Or like how my brain tunes in when it hears the sound of your name, nickname or not.Â
I found myself craning my neck to face some stranger shouting your name, even though the statistic of it being you, where I am now, is a definite zero.
Garcia mentioned she saw you at the local grocery a few nights ago. She brought it up in passing, meaning no harm but possibly also looking for an answer as to why you seemed intent on escaping her presence. Itâs been another mistake of mine, I know that now, not divulging the truth as to what had caused our break up.
In all my emails to you, Iâve never did tackle the reasonâfearing that I havenât explained myself well enough and end up pressing send by mistake. By then, there would be no going back.
I had met JJ when I was young, naive, and still green from the academy. She, along with Elle and Garcia, were the first female interactions I had that werenât hostile or coated with this leer or distrust from me being too different from the rest. They saw me as Spencer, the protege of Gideon, the resident boy geniusâan important part of the team. Something I have never experienced, I was, after all, always the last kid chosen during group projects and gym class.
Looking back at it now, I had latched on to that warm feeling of belonging and naively interpreted it as a crush on her. Why not on Elle or Garcia, then? Elle was never on my leagueâshe was too strong-headed, sharp on the edges, something she developed during her time in the Sex Crime division. Garcia was too similarâsmart and liked all the same things I did, something I had hoped a sibling would be if my mother had opted for another. That left JJ, who treated me kindly, further warping my notion on romance and emotion.
Then I met you and through a series of unforgettable dates, I knew then that what I had for her wasnât love. What I had with you was.Â
I regret not making it clear for you that you were my first love. You had become an absolute point in my cycle of life. Days and months have gone by and I donât know what to do with the love left in my heart, still. Briefly I wondered if it would evaporate over time, like water left boiling until there is nothing left, or will it all fade with time, burying itself in my all important beating organ?
The scent of your laundry detergent had long faded from my clothes, no matter how I try to lessen itsâ wash, trying to cling to it still. Now all thatâs left are my memories and the stale smell of cleanliness.
I miss you, my love.Â
I miss knowing you were mine, just like I am still yours.
The empty space on the crook on my neck misses the feel of your skin burrowing in into mine. Itâs a new year and Iâm all alone, surrounded by strangers who do not know who I really amâas a person or as an FBI agent.Â
As fireworks go off in the night sky and couples and families greet each other a happy new year, my minds wanders to you and how we could be looking at the same sky.
Nostalgia seems to be a bitter trick of the mind, one i could feel myself wanting to sink into its depthâtrying to live in the past. Emily sagely advises me to let it go, to move on as you no doubt had, after all, it had been a year now, but I find myself rooted in place as if the earthâs gravity didnât allow me to.
Time had passed and the atomic beings in me had aged, I question if this is the definite end. Were you the closest I had ever come to a cliche happy ending? If I had noticed the signs in time, maybe we would have still be one.
I never did tell you where we were that nightâthe real reason why I had been late. In my defense, I didnât want it to seem to be an excuse, a way to curry your anger. She went with me to pick up your ring that night. Sadly, work got in the way and I had to beg the jewelry store owner, with the help of Garcia tracking him down, to open shop just for me to pick it up. I had it adjusted you seeâto fit down your finger.
There are many cultures that have the tradition of making a wish on New Yearâs, you were my every wish.
-Spencer
**
His finger hesitated on the right click of his mouse. It had been numerous months of being away from Virginia and everything seemed to have changed without him. Stores that he once frequented were now closed and replaced with something new. Broken down stop lights he vividly remembers were replaced. And the team, once happy and unstained with the darkness of their cases, had aged and become jaded.
Spencer wondered if reaching out was the right thing to do. If reopening old wounds that never healed right would bring some sort of closure. The first night back home, he had caught a glimpse of her, far away and oblivious to his presence. It had brought to mind the urban theory of meeting people twiceâhow someone whoâve finished their story in his life were bound to never appear again. Heâd never put much fate into those beliefs with no scientific backings but as he spied her crossing the street, Spencer found himself believing it, imploring it to be real.Â
He sighed under his breath, eyes tracking the simple note he had written down.Â
Hi. I hope this finds you well. Will you be open to talk? Just talk.
Thereâs no need to reply right now or even at all, for that matter.
If yes, I will be waiting at our coffee shop, the one you shared just with me, by the window this coming Saturday afternoon.
But if the burden is too much or you simply never want to see me again, I would understand.
Perhaps, now is my turn to wait for you restlessly. A penance two years too late.
-Spencer
He steeled his nerves before pressing âsendâ. The beating of the organ in his chest threatens to swallow him whole. Who he was could change within a couple of daysâthere now would be a definite ending to their story.Â
Her Polaroid picture was still tacked on his work station, faded but her smile was still the sameâwarm and inviting. She lingers all around, ring still in his drawer, as if she might return. As if these memories and mementos can summon her back in his arms.
âReid,â Emily called out. âWeâve got a case.â
He nodded, quickly leaving his desk to head straight to the conference room, unaware of the single unread message left in his inbox.
Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
Request taglist for this series: @mega-kittyglitter-1 @ozwriterchick @flyingwithsilly @timewontgivemetime @vani3 @babyspiderling @alexa554 @ivet4 @starbright1002 @lunaryoongie @casey1-2007 @cherryblossomfairyy @iovediary
Summary: Spencer lies by omission or in which Spencer acts like he doesnât know how to tie a tie just to get you to do it for him
Trope: Yearning/Angst; think season 1 Spencer Reid
w.c: 1.3k
a/n: when i thought of this idea, i was thinking it would be some cute light hearted fluff but when i started writing it, it became angst, filled with pining and tension so I dunno what happened but i finished writing it and thought it would be a waste not to post my rambly written fic. I might write a part 2 for this just to close it out to a happy ending. Let me know if that would interest you. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! đ
Two halves of a whole, the perfect pairing and yin & yang. Those were just some monikers that Spencer Reid had heard describing his partnership with you that started during the academy. He, being a genius in all things academic and psychological but severely lacking in the physical and combat department. You, on the other hand, filled those gapsâacing all physicals and being well known for being a shy but killer shot. Not to say you were lacking in the other categories, no, you came only second during written exams.Â
So it came as a no surprise when graduation came and you both were cherry picked to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer being chosen by SSA Jason Gideon and you being selected by Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.Â
The two geniuses of the BAU and the apprentices were added to the roster of nicknames.
Ever since then, he had traded in his standard issued trainee uniform to a button down and a matching tieâa tie that he badly struggles with or so Spencer made you believe. He didnât mean to lie at firstâdidnât mean it to go this far but by the time he felt the need to tell the truth, it had been too late. Each moment youâve spent close to his space, invading it really, had become the highlight of his days and fuel for his nights.Â
He often wondered if you catalogued his reaction just like how he did yours. Did you notice his staccato breathing just like how he noticed your subtle inhalation of his perfume? What about the reddening of his cheeks and neck in contrast to your trembling fingers? Or how about his eyes that convey his utter devotion as yours focus on any exposed skin in between his tie and collar?Â
It seemed like a dance between him and you, to see how the other reacts and to figure out who would cave under the mounting attraction that had been building since the first âhello.âÂ
With his choice of tie for the day hanging loosely on his neck, you would shyly smile and as if spellbound, he would shuffle to your orbit in silent plea for help that he needed.
Each glide of your finger made his encompassing thoughts about the mundane stutter into a halt. How his mind would then bombard itself with questions as to how the universe created such perfection. Each loop of your hand became vivid imagery of his own nimble fingers caressing your palm and all its engraved lines as if they contain the maps to all hidden mysteries of the world. And each tug to secure the knot transformed into a loud beating of his chest, encased within itâs cavity, with chants of waxing prose on how your very being, mind, body, and soul, call to his in a way that even his expansive vernacular could never explain.Â
But no matter how much he wished for time to slow down for these intimate moments to last, it never did comply. So here he stayed, lying by omissionâyearning for you to notice him, memorize him, and end his pining for the woman who seemed too unattainable for his clumsy, stuttering self.
âââ
 You accepted the lie well. Maybe too well.
The first time a blue striped flimsy piece of accessory hung around his neck, a sudden burst of courage took over, bringing you to a stop in front of his lithe, towering body and hands reaching up to whisper caresses on the silk to mold it into a secure neck tie that centered itself on his reddening neckâthe color matching the one that bloomed on your cheeks as you realized what youâve done.Â
Your mind had rationalized someone as smart as he knew how to fix a tie but your body had moved on itâs own, having have spotted a once in a lifetime chance to invade his well protected spaceâthe same way he had invaded your mind in every waking and sleeping moment.
That same chance turned into a routine. A blessing that you had come to look forward to, your steps having a bounce in them as you enter the bull pen and spotting a different pattern tie hanging undone on his neck every work day.
You knew, with no backing evidence that Spencer has to be doing it on purpose but didnât want to spiral much into thought as to why he would leave that intimate action up to you.
Did he take note of every reaction you had to his presence the same way you did? The slight rocking on your heels as he inhaled your carefully chosen perfume? The biting of your lip as you felt his honey dripping eyes on your face? If he felt the same, you wondered why nothing has been done and if you had another burst of courage, would you have acted upon the tension?Â
Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe that was why you settled for accepting his poorly crafted lie of not knowing how to tie a necktie.Â
It wasnât really a lie if the other party knew the truth, right? Or was it a double lie now that silence has stacked between you and him?Â
If you were being slightly honest with yourself, Spencer Reid had always fascinated you. Among the sea of gym built muscles during the academy, his gazelle stature has stuck out like a sore thumb and that intrigued you. How was it that a male, younger than any of his peers, that looked like he could grace a runway was in an institution that reeked sweat and masculinity? That very same question answered when you found yourself seated beside him in a profiler career talk. His intellect, that was why and although it seemed to alienate the others, not once did you feel inferior beside him. Rather, it pulled you in more. His quiet, unsure demeanor was the next to capture your attention. It was an invisible coat that he wore everywhere he went, sewn from years of bullying and ostracizingâsimilar to your experiences of having skipped a grade. Here was a comrade you thought and so, you silently orbited around his gravitational pull until he took notice and uttered the words âhello, Iâm Dr. Spencer Reidâ in a low, trembling voice.Â
You didnât know when that same fascination turned into adoration. There was never a specific moment in time that you could pinpoint when it all changed. It just happened, one day you woke up and the past truth had transformed into a half truthâand the whole truth now being, you falling and yearning for a man who had a bright future in reading peopleâs actions but seemed too oblivious to the call of your aching heart.Â
âââ
Morgan and Elle shared an exasperated look as they noted the two youngest members of the team silently flirting in the middle of the bullpen, yet again. They didnât get how obtuse the two smartest people in the room were with their feelings for one another.Â
âYou think we should give them a push?â He whispered to his female partner.
Elle scrunched her face. âAt this point, we might just have to confess for the other.â
And in that moment, another moniker was added to the roster. The dense lovers of the BAU, a nickname that the remaining members use only behind both the duoâs back as they become bystanders to what could be a match made in heaven. If only one would admit to the other.Â
Hi!! I saw your requests are open for fluff and I love your writing and have an idea currently plaguing my mind if you are interested (but no worries if not!) đŠľ
Thereâs this girl on tiktok who does rejection therapy where she makes little requests to strangers with the expectation of being denied, but sometimes the outcome is super sweet. I think it would be cute for a kinda shy reader to be doing rejection therapy and ask Spencer (or any of the BAU) to like play rock paper scissors or hold their badge or something with the expectation of being rejected, only to be pleasantly surprised when she isnât rejected
Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
Trope: Fluff! Just fluff
w.c: 1.33k
A/N: Slowly defrosting my request box purely for fluff. I do feel a bit rusty in writing again, it's a muscle I've forgotten to exercise on the daily. I am no chess player so I honestly don't know how to write a game. Anon, I hope this still lives up to your imagination!
Main masterlist
Intermezzo. // Spencer Reid
Hushed adult chatter and boisterous childrenâs laughter filled the greening park, once cold and barren from the winter past. The sun, as if still shy to take center stage, peeked behind a cloud of white curtains. Vibrant hues of picnic blankets scattered all over the green grass, books and wicker baskets keeping them from going with the windy breeze.Â
Over the past few weeks, youâve gotten comfortable in the new city you now call home. Bringing the tumbler of coffee against your moistened lips, the corners of your mouth lifted to form a soft smile, marveling from how far youâve come. This city now contained your coffee shop down the block, your bookstore tucked between alleyways, and your park nestled in the middle of the bustling city.Â
Your therapist was excited for this new chapter of your life, coaxing you to take baby steps away from your cocoon and enjoy what it had to offer. Filled with slight trepidation a few weeks ago, you sat on the exact same bench, back rod straight and hands wringing from the unknown when a group of men, ages of all varying degrees, had caught your eye. They were gathered under the shade from two great trees, seated and hunched over, playing various states of chess.
Fascinating.
They kept to themselves, something you could relate to. As Saturdays and Sundays passed on, you found yourself wondering why there seemed to be no women or any newcomers, to be exact, that join in the fray. Do people not feel the draw? Is it only you who found them intriguing?
Movement caught the corner of your eye.
A new face walking towards the gaggle of menâor to be exact, hobbling towards with crutches under his armpits, to an unoccupied chess table. His eyes scanning along the throng of players before briefly looking down and tapping his uninjured foot to an inconspicuous beat.
You observed him with fascination and anticipation, wanting to see if any of the usual faces would join in on his table, allowing him to be absorbed into the otherwise impenetrable group.
Five minutes.
Then ten, the seat in front of him remained empty.Â
You briefly wondered if you could do itâyou werenât after all bad at chess, being a past player in high school. Not that you won more than three competitions, joining the team was purely an excuse for extra credits and to get out of physical education.Â
Could you do it?
Could you walk up to a complete male stranger and ask for a game?
Could you take the rejection that may come with it?
Gnawing on your lip, you found yourself moving closer and closer, steps quiet and hesitant but each shuffle ringing in your ear. His eyes, feeling the change in the wind and your upcoming presence, met yoursâboth wide-eyed and unsure.
He seemed to be just like you, a doe-eyed deer stepping out of their hiding for predators lying in the wait. A gust of breath escaped your lips, a measly amount of strength returning to your tightly strung body.
âH-hi,â you whispered.Â
He blinked before clearing his throat. âHi, how can Iââ his gaze tracking the path of your gaze, the opposite black pieces on the chess board. âDo you, do you want to play?â
You timidly smiled. âIf youâd have me, yes.âÂ
âYes,â a smile forming on his face, hands fighting to push the wayward curls behind his pinking ears. âOf course, please.âÂ
Gingerly seating on the marbled seat, you muttered a âthank youâ under your breath, one you were sure he didnât hear.
No words were exchanged further as he moved his white pieces with grace. It was a complete contrast to yours, rusty and unsure even to that moment as to what you were actually doing seating in front of a chess genius. That was who he was, you realized, as he ate another of your pawn. Perhaps this was why no one dared to occupy the seat. He was no outsider or meek prey, he was the king (or prince) and the predators of all chess enthusiasts in the group.
You could feel the heat from the gazes of the spectators, other tables long abandoned to view and scrutinize the eventual downfall of the challenger. Whispers of strategies under their breaths and shakes of their head as they predict the next thirty-seventh move.Â
Briefly you wondered if you should just call it quits, wanting to hide from the pressure. But isnât this a prime opportunity to take further steps away from your comfort zone? Isnât that was your therapist would have wanted? Perhaps, you were expecting rejection in the beginning and now that you were in the thick of it, you wished that it had come instead. The sweet ânoâ from his handsome strangerâs lips rather than feeling your nerves fray from the trap laid in front of youâa pawn in perfect position to take his queen on c1.Â
âWould you like to take a break?â he asked, expecting his voice to be filled with mockery and superiority, but rather was coated with the sweet, worrying tone youâd expect from a doting grandmother.Â
Shaking your head no, moving your king away from endangermentâg8 to h7.Â
Your opponent smiled before quickly taking his turn with a pawn.Â
The game continued on in such manner, give and take, between two strangers turned opponents. You could feel the end coming as his moves further stalled, now requiring the handsome stranger to assess the remaining pieces on the board to his gain. In turn, you studied him.Â
The ends of his hair brushing against the middle of his long neck. Itsâ roots sticking to his forehead, shiny from perspiration. Sleeves of his button down haphazardly folded to expose his forearm and one subtle vein that disappears and appears as he moves. You doubted he was any older but the underlying confidence brimming underneath his humility made you think heâd been exposed to the underbelly of the world, long before you did.Â
Seven moves later, he flashed you another smileâbigger and more joyous than youâve seen. âDraw.â
The spectators stilled into silence. A rarity, one of the older gentlemen whispered under their breath before everyone brought into an applause.Â
It happened in a flash causing breath to be caught in your throat. Youâve done it. The game was over. Youâve gone above and beyond from what your therapist had asked you to doâher ârejection therapyâ leading you to an unknown you couldnât wait to explain.
âGood game,â he breathed out.
You nodded, watching as his right hand reached out in between, casting a shadow on his knocked over king. âOhââ lifting your hands in front of you to act as a barrier. âIâm not much of aâthe number of pathogens passed during a handshakeââ
âIs staggering. Itâs actually safer to kiss,â he continued on before chuckling to himself, hand still extended out regardless of the trivia being shared between you two. âNot that Iâm saying we should but yeah, Iâm not much of a âhandshake-râ myself.âÂ
Giggling, you slowly reached for his awaiting hand, giving him a way out before both palms met and fingers locked around it.Â
It was warm, like the sun that was no longer hiding behind the curtain of clouds, like a tumbler of freshly brewed coffee made by your favorite barista.Â
âIâm Spencer. Spencer Reid.â
Your cheeks heated. âNice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Iâm Y/N.â
Hands still firmly connected across the chess game long forgotten, both of you seemingly unwilling to let go of the physical connection.
He cleared his throat. âWould you like to play again sometime?â
âIf youâd have me again, yes.â Briefly biting your lip before taking another brave step, creating another ârejection therapyâ moment. âOr we could have coffee or tea sometime?â
You waited with bated breath.Â
The corners of his eyes crinkled and another breathtaking smile painted his face.
Youâre the Risk, Iâll Take it: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't.
Language of Devotion: You caught Spencer learning a new skillâyour native language
One Single Thread of Gold: The 3 times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the 1 time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes.
Camaraderie: Spencer and some unwanted guests catch you singing at a bad time
Wanted: A Gentleman: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match
If You Love Me Right: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer
Whispered Truths: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night
Lips of a Gentleman: A spontaneous museum date alters your relationship with Spencer for the better
The Language of Flowers: Spencer prepares a personalized gift for his first date with you
Level-One Intruder: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser
Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours
Intruderâs Heist: The inner musings of the amazing Mr Chewie, the good and the bad
Hold Onto You: Spencer ruminates about his relationshipâtheir past, present, and hopefully future
Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours
Trope:Itâs fluff in a meet cute type of way
w.c: 5.6k+
a/n: this is connected to âOne Single Thread of Goldâ! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldnât come out as great as the first and Iâve been in a writing funk latelyânot quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldnât care that much anymore? Thatâs a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ
masterlist
The first encounterâa knight in a vintage blue vehicle
The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.
It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washingtonâup until he came along.
According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.
The work day was nothing specialâjumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazineâs sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next monthâs print.
Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.
As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.
âOh,â you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memoriesâwarm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear.Â
It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.
Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.
Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasnât a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafersâthe epicenter for politics and everything serious.Â
The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.
She understood your truthâthe need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered youâd only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.
As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.
A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.
âShit,â you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.
Definitely ruined.
The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?
As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked itâs horn.
âUmâdo you need help? A ride, maybe?â a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.
A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.
âDepends on whoâs asking,â your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. âAre you a serial killer by any chance?âÂ
He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. âWhat? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.â
You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. âFair enough.â
The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. âSorry, itâs justâdid you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?â
Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seatâmindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. âYes, actually I did but itâs great to see someone else know about it too.â
He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat.Â
Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.
His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut shortâpossibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length youâd surmiseâa little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.
Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a manâs hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.
The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. âDidnât your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?â
You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road.Â
Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-oâclock shadow.
He was handsome.
Pretty even.
The type youâd see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.
Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. Itâs arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.
Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazineâs editorial pages.
âWell, you donât look like a serial killer and I think Iâd take my chances with you than out thereââ a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. ââyeah, I stand with my choice.â
His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. âAnd how does a serial killer look like?â
âSinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,â you shrugged.
âActually, thereâs a minor percentage of killers that donât fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.â
You hummed in agreement. âYouâre right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt youâre one. Letâs call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?â
âAre you saying I lookââ he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. ââhandsome?â
âWell, at the risk of sounding like Iâm flirting with youâwhich Iâm not, well, maybe. But yes, I think youâre good looking. Handsome.âÂ
The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.
He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.
âI take it youâre not used to compliments.â
The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.
It sent butterflies free in your stomach.
âYeah, but thank you. And Iâm really not a serial killerâI wouldnât be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, itâs making it worseââ he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. âWhat I meant was, I-I think youâre good looking too, beautiful.â
You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.
The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldnât name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.
It was igniting.
Possibly the start of something.
In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.
The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and gigglingâto what, you didnât know but you felt it wasnât important to dissect. No more important than the stranger whoâs scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.
âThank you for the ride,â quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your headâhow trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.
The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. âYouâre welcome and youâre wrong, by the way.â
âWrong about what?â You twisted to look back.
The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.
âAbout me working in finance or human resources.â
Huh.Â
Your steps faltered to a stop.
That was a firstâpeople around you always did say you read people best.
He was an exception it seemed.
An anomaly.
A mystery you wouldnât mind taking a second try in solving.
âBetter luck next time then. I hope to see you around,â you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.
His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.
As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.
His name.
You forgot to ask for his name.
Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentlemanâs memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night.Â
Damn.
**
The secondâa shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers
The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer.Â
Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. Youâve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldnât quite describe.
A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips.Â
The moment was captivating.
He was beguiling.
But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.
Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.
This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, youâve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary âwork roomâ. It added extra expense, youâd agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity youâd never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.
You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.
The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line.Â
He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment.Â
Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.
Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.
âHey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.â
Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. âOne long black and a flat white coming right up.â
âHey stranger, fancy seeing you here,â you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.
The same blush that haunted you graced his face. âHeyâhi, itâs you! Itâs nice to see you again,â his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. âYou didnât have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.â
âItâs no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.â
He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. âWell, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. Itâs good to think well of people in general but it doesnât hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of youâa young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.â
âI did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say Iâve learned my lessonââ you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. âBut between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didnât do.â
He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back.Â
âAnd what was it?â
âNot getting your name.â
His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.
âI, yeahâSpencer. Spencer Reid.âÂ
You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.
âWell then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?â your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.
He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. âWhat do you mean?â
âYou not working in finance.â
âWell statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here donât belong in the finance section,â he grinned.Â
With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. â21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.â
âYou sprouting off statistics doesnât really sway me from my guess, you do know that?â You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. âIf not finance then hmmâwhat about teaching?â
Appraising his get up for the dayâa purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on.Â
âYou look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?â
An airy laughter emitted between his lips. âWhy is it always returning back to math?â
âI truly donât knowââ you shrugged. âYou look smart and academic so thatâs my best guess.â
âThereâs actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I donât know if youâd like to hear it.â
You leaned forward. âI actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.â
A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before itsâ third ring.Â
âYeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.âÂ
Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavyâdefinitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.
âI have to goââ Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. âIt was really nice seeing you again.âÂ
You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.
âYou were right about one thing.â
Brows furrowing together, you shout back. âWhich one?â
Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.
**
The thirdâa run- in during an otherwise idle day
The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.
Your companion in handâa book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronteâs Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.
The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.
Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didnât know the meaning of the word ânoâ which inevitably would ruin your day.Â
As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.
âHeyâhi,â he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night.Â
You blinked away the surpriseâthe bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Whereâs Waldoâa past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online.Â
You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.
âHi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,â your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him.Â
His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. âYeah, I couldnât believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you againâor anyone Iâd know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.â
âIsnât it fascinating?â your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. âHow we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.â
âI mean, you could say thatânot that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.â
Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look.Â
His hair looked unrulyâwith one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterdayâs, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressedâcame from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.
âI donât think so,â you pondered on. âAre you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?â
âHowâd you know that?â His voice cracking at the end.
You shrugged. âI pick up on things, small details and all that.â
âThatâs really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.â
Now it was your turn to be surprised. âHowâd you know that? Howâdâwhat gave it away?â
âIt was an educated guess whichââ he flashed you a grin. ââyou just confirmed now.â
âTouche. Although that does seem unfair,â you pouted. âYou know my occupation but I canât even get yours right.â
He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. âYouâre welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wantedââ he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. ââalright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.â
âYou look young so Iâm guessing a genius?â
âWell, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.â
The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about itâprobably in high school, youâd surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesnât fit the rigid status quo theyâve collectively agreed upon.
âThatâs amazing!â You gushed. âAnd it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, Iâm sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?â
âYeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And youâre right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance themâto make sure they donât turn into anti-statists or anarchists.â
You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. âOkay so, I was first going to say NASA becauseââ you shrugged. ââitâs space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, youâve thrown off just about any deductions Iâve made during our first two meetingsââ
Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through.Â
ââI was also going to guess administrative work but itâs a weekend and youâre just on your way home so thatâs a noââ
A small spread on his face.
A good sign that you were in the right direction.
ââit canât be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around themââ
He chuckled.
ââso Iâm guessing law enforcement? Canât be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?â
Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines.Â
âThatâs right! Wowâyouâre really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!â He teased.
You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. âSadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, Iâd probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.â
The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencerâs eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.
âI guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?â
He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. âWould you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you moreâover dinner? Coffee? Any would be greatâyou donât have to say yes of course but yeah.â
âCan I say yes to all of the above?â You teased. âI would love to.â
Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.
Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. âWaitâhow do we contact each other?â
âItâs tucked in your book. My number, I mean,â he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. âSee you!â
Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the stationâs nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.
His calling card.
Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit
SSA Dr. Spencer Reid
1-761-xxx-xxxx
Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.
Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance?Â
**
The fourth or better yet, the planned firstâtwo strings interwoven by fate
Spencer hadnât been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonightâwalking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side.Â
The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didnât want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night.Â
He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didnât matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to youâgiven with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk.Â
Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.
Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.
Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.
This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each otherâs worlds was baffling to say the least.Â
Was this the really the works of fate?
Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?
He concluded it probably didnât matter.
All that mattered was where he was nowâwith you.
âSo you really took all those degrees all together?â you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. âThe amount of studying and writing youâve done must have been massive.â
âWell, it did help that I could read fastâ20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.â
âOf course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be niceânever forgetting any novel youâve read.â
He shrugged. âIt does have itâs perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.â
You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him.Â
Spencer found it cuteâhow even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being.Â
âOh yeah, like what?â
He pondered. âWell, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victimâs laptop password was âCullenâ and I didnât get the referenceâthought it was âcolonâ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didnât like it.â
âYou actually read âTwilightâ?â You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.
âI was curious!â His voice went up an octave. âIs that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading âLord of the Fliesâ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?âÂ
âThe one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesnât really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.â
He chuckled. âAnd a 104 year old vampire does?â
âItâs about the idea,â you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between youâall he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? âHow Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. Itâs about the premiseâI mean which teenage girl didnât dream of something like that?â
âDoes that include you too?â
You laughed. âI meanâEdward isnât really my type but sure, I guess.â
Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.
There, a small touch you could say no to.
He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink.Â
Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt heâd get a pat at the back and a whispered âyouâve got serious game, kid.â
âItâs a good thing he isnât my type at all, donât you think so?â You whispered. âI mean, you donât sparkle in the sun, do you?â
His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets.Â
âOh godâthat was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.â
âNo, no,â he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. âI donât think I do, actually. We could checkââ clearing his throat ââonce the weather gives way to the sun.â
It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. âThat long, huh? Iâll hold you to that promise.â
âPlease do.â
Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.
Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didnât want the night to end. There was still so much to talk aboutâanything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when youâre having fun?Â
âWell,â you squeezed his hand twice. âThis is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.â
He squeezed back in return. âI did too. Can Iâcall you again?â
You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.
Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. âGet home safe.â
âI doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?â
He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.
As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.
âHey, Spencer. Thereâs one thing I think you forgot to take with you.âÂ
He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.
A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks.Â
âGoodnight, Spencer.â
His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew.Â
Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possibleâa hue that symbolized new beginnings.
Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.
Towards you.
Closing in.Â
Cupping your cheeks.
And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.
In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of youâlike freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of youâcherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of youâwarm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.
These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesnât want to forget.
Spencer ruminates about his relationshipâtheir past, present, and hopefully future
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Tags: Fluff
w.c: 1.49k
a/n: Feeling highly rusty but the only way out of a writerâs block is through. A huge thank you to emme (@thegloryofliterature) for being my draft reader and for being one of the few moots i run to when a fic idea comes. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ
masterlist
The grandfather clock tucked in the little corner of the newly renovated living space struck 1 am. Candles littered in various table tops, itsâ wick flickering close to exhaustion, wax melted all around.
Itsâ occupants, the owners and their guests, were murmuring their goodbyes, some slurring their words compared to the others. Penelope Garcia, a fine example, was flushed from the copious red wine and with her kitten heels dangling from her fingertips, leaned against the protective arms of one sober Derek Morgan.Â
âWe had a great time,â JJ smiled at the couple, her cheeks a shade of strawberry pink from the alcohol consumed.Â
âThe new place also looks great,â Emily nodded before one corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. âWhich we all know is mainly due to your taste rather than Spencerâs.âÂ
You giggled as Spencer let his indignation known.Â
âYouâre all welcome back anytime, truly,â your left bare hand finding solace on your boyfriendâs chest.
Morgan chuckled. âWe might just take you upââ
Penelope squirmed in his arms, her manicured hands reaching across the threshold to squeeze yours once more.
âYouâre so soââ she lengthened the vowel, hiccuping in between. ââsweet. I could just eat you upââ
âGarcia!â Spencer groaned.Â
ââbut I wonât cause boy genius wonât allow me to,â she pouted.
âAnd thatâs our cue. Good night you two and thanks again for tonight,â Morgan tilted his head to address the youngest member of the team in jest. âReid, donât do anything I wonât do, alright?â
They all laughed at his reddening cheeks.
Saying their farewells, the couple watched as the four step onto the awaiting elevator. Once the lift started their descend down, they shut their own door and settled into the abrupt silence of the apartment.Â
Spencer watched as his girlfriend of four years burst into giggles, shoulders shaking from the act.
With shiny eyes meeting his, âI had fun tonight, really.â
Any remnants of trepidation from tonight flushed clean from his system, as if the elation shone on your face was all he need to feel all was right in the world.
It was an emotion he wrangled with still, no matter how many years had passed. Spencer knew the statistics of FBI agents in correlation to keeping a relationship alive, the odds were stacked against their favor.Â
He didnât need to look far, his supervisor was an illustrious example of flourishing in his career but floundering in his personal.
So when Spencer started this relationship, his shoulders would tense up from every phone call that took him away from you, as if this case would be the one to break the camelâs back. Or as if this one or the next coming would cause him to turn from being a partner for an incredible woman to being a single entity, alone, missing what he once had.Â
He hadnât told you his worst dreams while away for a case. How heâd hear your melodic laughter in a hazy crowded room, familiar but no longer his, eyes tracking your beauty and smiles in the arms of another man.Â
Spencer would wake up drenched from sweat and heart trying to beat out of his chest to the sweet reality where youâre still his and not once well-known stranger just inches out of his orbit.
He vividly remembers the first time he merged his world with yours at an annual gathering at Rossiâs mansion where he meekly asked, in private of course, if he could bring a plus one.Â
The senior agent squinted his eyes in return, possibly analyzing any signs that could have pointed to this moment, before breaking into a smile, nodding, and patting his back with a warm chuckle.Â
But for tonight, he had felt nervous and if he was being honest with himself, afraid that this moment would finally scare you away from the chaotic fold of his life.Â
A fold he was on the verge of including you in for longerâfor as long as youâd allow him to.Â
âI had fun too,â he breathed out, a soft smile settling on his face. âEven when I had to listen to Morgan detail how much of a klutz I was during the early days.â
You took his hand into yours, rhythmically squeezing as you pulled him to the messy dining table. âWell, I for one thought it was cuteââ the tips of your nose scrunching adorably. ââfalling into a pool and getting kissed by a celebrity, just wow Spence, not everyone has that type of first kiss.â
The tips of his ears turned a brighter shade of red, mind desperately trying to string along words for defense.
Not waiting for his feeble attempt to contradict your teasing, you flitted around the table, gathering a series of plates as you went, skipping and side-stepping as if you were dancing to your own music.
He watched as the hem of your floral skirt softly swayed, entrancing him to blindly follow your lead. A moth to an ever bright burning flame.
He hovered behind you, caging you in, and the little space in between your bodies turning into static.
Spencer placed his warm hands your waist, the soft fabric and the skin underneath giving way to his grip, thumb running circles on the sliver of exposed skin beneath your blouse.
You giggled, sending vibrations to his chest and tingles to his ears, as he placed a constellation of kisses on your cheeks, trailing down to the soft arch on your neck.
âIf I could consider our first kiss as my first, I would,â he whispered against your skin.
âYour eidetic memory begs to differ, love.â
He huffed, lips quirking to a pout. âItâs the thought that counts, wouldnât it?â
You hummed under your breath, agreeing with his sentiment.Â
His fingertips slowly traced its way to your own, caressing a trail that pebbled the skin underneath his feather light touch. Running your intertwined fingers under the streaming water before turning it off, Spencer gently tugged you towards the center of the kitchen.
Unobscured by any furniture, he tucked you safely under his chin, softly humming a song ever so familiar and swayed with you under the dimming orange glow of candlelights.Â
The silence, heady from emotion, cocooned the two lovers in its embrace. Your choice of perfume, reminding him of rain against a night pavement, wafted through his sense, lulling his heartbeat to a baseline.
Spencer had spent numerous nights, watching you in deep sleep beside him, wondering if all the roads he hadnât taken would still lead him to thisâto you.
Were you the absolute destination of his otherwise convoluted life? The crystal clear pond at the end of a sweltering desert or an angel sent down by the heavens to one of its heavily wounded soldier or perhaps the absolute answer to his own mathematical and theoretical question called purpose?
If he had made just one mistake, would he still be here, waltzing with you at early in the morning, surrounded by dirty dishes and empty wine bottles on the counter top and no soul awake to watch their phantoms dance as one?
He squeezed your waist three times reassuringly, reminiscing the highs, middles, and lows you had stuck through beside him.Â
His recovery from a gunshot wound, how you took time away from work just to make sure he got back to his own two feet. Mundane runs to the grocery store with a golden tint in his memory, making him feel like a little kid experiencing a taste of freedom and Emilyâs death on the hands of Doyle, regardless of how untrue it was and the almost relapse from his festering emotions of being called a genius, for being too smart but still being too late to save her.
He wanted everything life would throw at him with your presence right beside him. The warmth of you, your steady hand clutching his, and your eyes sparkling from trust and belief you both would make it through.
Spencer wanted the connection with you to never be severed and for your story to continue on like an epic revisited by generations to come.
When he was young and still naive, heâd wonder if happily ever after truly existed or if was just a jaded authorâs hopeful wish to create one in this bleak struggle of life.Â
But here, with you in his arms, the neurons in his brain all echo an affirmative, that it does exist.
And it exists right here with you.
A definite ending.
A happy ever after.
So when he closes his eyes and places a litany of kisses on you forehead, he imagines your left hand, enclosed in his, wearing two ringsâone of them now still safely hidden in his sock drawer and the other, a simple gold band linking to his own imaginary, and a white picket fence with high pitched squeals and laughter echoing from itsâ ever green backyard.
Iâm going to have to uphaul my masterlist in a few days time since Iâve reached the maximum limit on the old one
buuut in other news, Iâm writing dad!spencer with a teenage daughter and thereâs a part 4 brewing for âthreeâs a sideshowâ (I know i said only 3 parts but I vividly dreamt of another part sue me)
Spencer ruminates about his relationshipâtheir past, present, and hopefully future
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Tags: Fluff
w.c: 1.49k
a/n: Feeling highly rusty but the only way out of a writerâs block is through. A huge thank you to emme (@thegloryofliterature) for being my draft reader and for being one of the few moots i run to when a fic idea comes. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ
masterlist
The grandfather clock tucked in the little corner of the newly renovated living space struck 1 am. Candles littered in various table tops, itsâ wick flickering close to exhaustion, wax melted all around.
Itsâ occupants, the owners and their guests, were murmuring their goodbyes, some slurring their words compared to the others. Penelope Garcia, a fine example, was flushed from the copious red wine and with her kitten heels dangling from her fingertips, leaned against the protective arms of one sober Derek Morgan.Â
âWe had a great time,â JJ smiled at the couple, her cheeks a shade of strawberry pink from the alcohol consumed.Â
âThe new place also looks great,â Emily nodded before one corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. âWhich we all know is mainly due to your taste rather than Spencerâs.âÂ
You giggled as Spencer let his indignation known.Â
âYouâre all welcome back anytime, truly,â your left bare hand finding solace on your boyfriendâs chest.
Morgan chuckled. âWe might just take you upââ
Penelope squirmed in his arms, her manicured hands reaching across the threshold to squeeze yours once more.
âYouâre so soââ she lengthened the vowel, hiccuping in between. ââsweet. I could just eat you upââ
âGarcia!â Spencer groaned.Â
ââbut I wonât cause boy genius wonât allow me to,â she pouted.
âAnd thatâs our cue. Good night you two and thanks again for tonight,â Morgan tilted his head to address the youngest member of the team in jest. âReid, donât do anything I wonât do, alright?â
They all laughed at his reddening cheeks.
Saying their farewells, the couple watched as the four step onto the awaiting elevator. Once the lift started their descend down, they shut their own door and settled into the abrupt silence of the apartment.Â
Spencer watched as his girlfriend of four years burst into giggles, shoulders shaking from the act.
With shiny eyes meeting his, âI had fun tonight, really.â
Any remnants of trepidation from tonight flushed clean from his system, as if the elation shone on your face was all he need to feel all was right in the world.
It was an emotion he wrangled with still, no matter how many years had passed. Spencer knew the statistics of FBI agents in correlation to keeping a relationship alive, the odds were stacked against their favor.Â
He didnât need to look far, his supervisor was an illustrious example of flourishing in his career but floundering in his personal.
So when Spencer started this relationship, his shoulders would tense up from every phone call that took him away from you, as if this case would be the one to break the camelâs back. Or as if this one or the next coming would cause him to turn from being a partner for an incredible woman to being a single entity, alone, missing what he once had.Â
He hadnât told you his worst dreams while away for a case. How heâd hear your melodic laughter in a hazy crowded room, familiar but no longer his, eyes tracking your beauty and smiles in the arms of another man.Â
Spencer would wake up drenched from sweat and heart trying to beat out of his chest to the sweet reality where youâre still his and not once well-known stranger just inches out of his orbit.
He vividly remembers the first time he merged his world with yours at an annual gathering at Rossiâs mansion where he meekly asked, in private of course, if he could bring a plus one.Â
The senior agent squinted his eyes in return, possibly analyzing any signs that could have pointed to this moment, before breaking into a smile, nodding, and patting his back with a warm chuckle.Â
But for tonight, he had felt nervous and if he was being honest with himself, afraid that this moment would finally scare you away from the chaotic fold of his life.Â
A fold he was on the verge of including you in for longerâfor as long as youâd allow him to.Â
âI had fun too,â he breathed out, a soft smile settling on his face. âEven when I had to listen to Morgan detail how much of a klutz I was during the early days.â
You took his hand into yours, rhythmically squeezing as you pulled him to the messy dining table. âWell, I for one thought it was cuteââ the tips of your nose scrunching adorably. ââfalling into a pool and getting kissed by a celebrity, just wow Spence, not everyone has that type of first kiss.â
The tips of his ears turned a brighter shade of red, mind desperately trying to string along words for defense.
Not waiting for his feeble attempt to contradict your teasing, you flitted around the table, gathering a series of plates as you went, skipping and side-stepping as if you were dancing to your own music.
He watched as the hem of your floral skirt softly swayed, entrancing him to blindly follow your lead. A moth to an ever bright burning flame.
He hovered behind you, caging you in, and the little space in between your bodies turning into static.
Spencer placed his warm hands your waist, the soft fabric and the skin underneath giving way to his grip, thumb running circles on the sliver of exposed skin beneath your blouse.
You giggled, sending vibrations to his chest and tingles to his ears, as he placed a constellation of kisses on your cheeks, trailing down to the soft arch on your neck.
âIf I could consider our first kiss as my first, I would,â he whispered against your skin.
âYour eidetic memory begs to differ, love.â
He huffed, lips quirking to a pout. âItâs the thought that counts, wouldnât it?â
You hummed under your breath, agreeing with his sentiment.Â
His fingertips slowly traced its way to your own, caressing a trail that pebbled the skin underneath his feather light touch. Running your intertwined fingers under the streaming water before turning it off, Spencer gently tugged you towards the center of the kitchen.
Unobscured by any furniture, he tucked you safely under his chin, softly humming a song ever so familiar and swayed with you under the dimming orange glow of candlelights.Â
The silence, heady from emotion, cocooned the two lovers in its embrace. Your choice of perfume, reminding him of rain against a night pavement, wafted through his sense, lulling his heartbeat to a baseline.
Spencer had spent numerous nights, watching you in deep sleep beside him, wondering if all the roads he hadnât taken would still lead him to thisâto you.
Were you the absolute destination of his otherwise convoluted life? The crystal clear pond at the end of a sweltering desert or an angel sent down by the heavens to one of its heavily wounded soldier or perhaps the absolute answer to his own mathematical and theoretical question called purpose?
If he had made just one mistake, would he still be here, waltzing with you at early in the morning, surrounded by dirty dishes and empty wine bottles on the counter top and no soul awake to watch their phantoms dance as one?
He squeezed your waist three times reassuringly, reminiscing the highs, middles, and lows you had stuck through beside him.Â
His recovery from a gunshot wound, how you took time away from work just to make sure he got back to his own two feet. Mundane runs to the grocery store with a golden tint in his memory, making him feel like a little kid experiencing a taste of freedom and Emilyâs death on the hands of Doyle, regardless of how untrue it was and the almost relapse from his festering emotions of being called a genius, for being too smart but still being too late to save her.
He wanted everything life would throw at him with your presence right beside him. The warmth of you, your steady hand clutching his, and your eyes sparkling from trust and belief you both would make it through.
Spencer wanted the connection with you to never be severed and for your story to continue on like an epic revisited by generations to come.
When he was young and still naive, heâd wonder if happily ever after truly existed or if was just a jaded authorâs hopeful wish to create one in this bleak struggle of life.Â
But here, with you in his arms, the neurons in his brain all echo an affirmative, that it does exist.
And it exists right here with you.
A definite ending.
A happy ever after.
So when he closes his eyes and places a litany of kisses on you forehead, he imagines your left hand, enclosed in his, wearing two ringsâone of them now still safely hidden in his sock drawer and the other, a simple gold band linking to his own imaginary, and a white picket fence with high pitched squeals and laughter echoing from itsâ ever green backyard.
Spencer ruminates about his relationshipâtheir past, present, and hopefully future
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Tags: Fluff
w.c: 1.49k
a/n: Feeling highly rusty but the only way out of a writerâs block is through. A huge thank you to emme (@thegloryofliterature) for being my draft reader and for being one of the few moots i run to when a fic idea comes. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ
masterlist
The grandfather clock tucked in the little corner of the newly renovated living space struck 1 am. Candles littered in various table tops, itsâ wick flickering close to exhaustion, wax melted all around.
Itsâ occupants, the owners and their guests, were murmuring their goodbyes, some slurring their words compared to the others. Penelope Garcia, a fine example, was flushed from the copious red wine and with her kitten heels dangling from her fingertips, leaned against the protective arms of one sober Derek Morgan.Â
âWe had a great time,â JJ smiled at the couple, her cheeks a shade of strawberry pink from the alcohol consumed.Â
âThe new place also looks great,â Emily nodded before one corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. âWhich we all know is mainly due to your taste rather than Spencerâs.âÂ
You giggled as Spencer let his indignation known.Â
âYouâre all welcome back anytime, truly,â your left bare hand finding solace on your boyfriendâs chest.
Morgan chuckled. âWe might just take you upââ
Penelope squirmed in his arms, her manicured hands reaching across the threshold to squeeze yours once more.
âYouâre so soââ she lengthened the vowel, hiccuping in between. ââsweet. I could just eat you upââ
âGarcia!â Spencer groaned.Â
ââbut I wonât cause boy genius wonât allow me to,â she pouted.
âAnd thatâs our cue. Good night you two and thanks again for tonight,â Morgan tilted his head to address the youngest member of the team in jest. âReid, donât do anything I wonât do, alright?â
They all laughed at his reddening cheeks.
Saying their farewells, the couple watched as the four step onto the awaiting elevator. Once the lift started their descend down, they shut their own door and settled into the abrupt silence of the apartment.Â
Spencer watched as his girlfriend of four years burst into giggles, shoulders shaking from the act.
With shiny eyes meeting his, âI had fun tonight, really.â
Any remnants of trepidation from tonight flushed clean from his system, as if the elation shone on your face was all he need to feel all was right in the world.
It was an emotion he wrangled with still, no matter how many years had passed. Spencer knew the statistics of FBI agents in correlation to keeping a relationship alive, the odds were stacked against their favor.Â
He didnât need to look far, his supervisor was an illustrious example of flourishing in his career but floundering in his personal.
So when Spencer started this relationship, his shoulders would tense up from every phone call that took him away from you, as if this case would be the one to break the camelâs back. Or as if this one or the next coming would cause him to turn from being a partner for an incredible woman to being a single entity, alone, missing what he once had.Â
He hadnât told you his worst dreams while away for a case. How heâd hear your melodic laughter in a hazy crowded room, familiar but no longer his, eyes tracking your beauty and smiles in the arms of another man.Â
Spencer would wake up drenched from sweat and heart trying to beat out of his chest to the sweet reality where youâre still his and not once well-known stranger just inches out of his orbit.
He vividly remembers the first time he merged his world with yours at an annual gathering at Rossiâs mansion where he meekly asked, in private of course, if he could bring a plus one.Â
The senior agent squinted his eyes in return, possibly analyzing any signs that could have pointed to this moment, before breaking into a smile, nodding, and patting his back with a warm chuckle.Â
But for tonight, he had felt nervous and if he was being honest with himself, afraid that this moment would finally scare you away from the chaotic fold of his life.Â
A fold he was on the verge of including you in for longerâfor as long as youâd allow him to.Â
âI had fun too,â he breathed out, a soft smile settling on his face. âEven when I had to listen to Morgan detail how much of a klutz I was during the early days.â
You took his hand into yours, rhythmically squeezing as you pulled him to the messy dining table. âWell, I for one thought it was cuteââ the tips of your nose scrunching adorably. ââfalling into a pool and getting kissed by a celebrity, just wow Spence, not everyone has that type of first kiss.â
The tips of his ears turned a brighter shade of red, mind desperately trying to string along words for defense.
Not waiting for his feeble attempt to contradict your teasing, you flitted around the table, gathering a series of plates as you went, skipping and side-stepping as if you were dancing to your own music.
He watched as the hem of your floral skirt softly swayed, entrancing him to blindly follow your lead. A moth to an ever bright burning flame.
He hovered behind you, caging you in, and the little space in between your bodies turning into static.
Spencer placed his warm hands your waist, the soft fabric and the skin underneath giving way to his grip, thumb running circles on the sliver of exposed skin beneath your blouse.
You giggled, sending vibrations to his chest and tingles to his ears, as he placed a constellation of kisses on your cheeks, trailing down to the soft arch on your neck.
âIf I could consider our first kiss as my first, I would,â he whispered against your skin.
âYour eidetic memory begs to differ, love.â
He huffed, lips quirking to a pout. âItâs the thought that counts, wouldnât it?â
You hummed under your breath, agreeing with his sentiment.Â
His fingertips slowly traced its way to your own, caressing a trail that pebbled the skin underneath his feather light touch. Running your intertwined fingers under the streaming water before turning it off, Spencer gently tugged you towards the center of the kitchen.
Unobscured by any furniture, he tucked you safely under his chin, softly humming a song ever so familiar and swayed with you under the dimming orange glow of candlelights.Â
The silence, heady from emotion, cocooned the two lovers in its embrace. Your choice of perfume, reminding him of rain against a night pavement, wafted through his sense, lulling his heartbeat to a baseline.
Spencer had spent numerous nights, watching you in deep sleep beside him, wondering if all the roads he hadnât taken would still lead him to thisâto you.
Were you the absolute destination of his otherwise convoluted life? The crystal clear pond at the end of a sweltering desert or an angel sent down by the heavens to one of its heavily wounded soldier or perhaps the absolute answer to his own mathematical and theoretical question called purpose?
If he had made just one mistake, would he still be here, waltzing with you at early in the morning, surrounded by dirty dishes and empty wine bottles on the counter top and no soul awake to watch their phantoms dance as one?
He squeezed your waist three times reassuringly, reminiscing the highs, middles, and lows you had stuck through beside him.Â
His recovery from a gunshot wound, how you took time away from work just to make sure he got back to his own two feet. Mundane runs to the grocery store with a golden tint in his memory, making him feel like a little kid experiencing a taste of freedom and Emilyâs death on the hands of Doyle, regardless of how untrue it was and the almost relapse from his festering emotions of being called a genius, for being too smart but still being too late to save her.
He wanted everything life would throw at him with your presence right beside him. The warmth of you, your steady hand clutching his, and your eyes sparkling from trust and belief you both would make it through.
Spencer wanted the connection with you to never be severed and for your story to continue on like an epic revisited by generations to come.
When he was young and still naive, heâd wonder if happily ever after truly existed or if was just a jaded authorâs hopeful wish to create one in this bleak struggle of life.Â
But here, with you in his arms, the neurons in his brain all echo an affirmative, that it does exist.
And it exists right here with you.
A definite ending.
A happy ever after.
So when he closes his eyes and places a litany of kisses on you forehead, he imagines your left hand, enclosed in his, wearing two ringsâone of them now still safely hidden in his sock drawer and the other, a simple gold band linking to his own imaginary, and a white picket fence with high pitched squeals and laughter echoing from itsâ ever green backyard.
