spencer reid x bau!reader
summary: you show up to the bureau wearing his sweater
The first thing Spencer notices that morning isn’t the case file in his hands.
It isn’t Morgan talking, or Garcia rambling through the speaker, or even the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the bullpen.
It’s you. Specifically what you’re wearing. Or what you’re not wearing. Because that is definitely his sweater.
His brain catches it in pieces at first. The oversized sleeves. The slightly worn cuffs. The exact shade of dark gray he remembers because he bought it during a lecture tour in Boston three years ago. The one that’s softer than it should be because he’s washed it too many times.
And it’s on you. Spencer stops walking mid-step.
“Reid?” Morgan nudges him. “You good, man?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Because now you’re turning around, completely unaware, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and the sweater shifts slightly off your shoulder.
His sweater. On your shoulder. Spencer’s brain, usually operating at a terrifying speed, completely stalls.
“…that’s my sweater,” he says under his breath.
Morgan follows his line of sight. Then grins. “Oh,” Morgan mutters. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
You don’t notice Spencer at first. You’re too busy trying not to spill your coffee while flipping through notes, muttering to yourself about timelines and inconsistencies.
It’s only when you feel someone hovering nearby that you look up. And there he is. Standing way too still. Eyes locked on you or, more specifically, on the sweater.
“…hi?” you say, a little confused.
Spencer opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
“That’s—” he gestures vaguely, like words are suddenly optional, “—you’re wearing—”
You glance down. Oh, right. His sweater.
You’d grabbed it last night without thinking. You’d stayed over, fallen asleep halfway through one of his rambles about cognitive bias, and when you left in the morning, it was just there. Comfortable. Familiar.
You didn’t really think about how it would look walking into the BAU.
“…yeah,” you say, suddenly a little self-conscious. “I, um—hope that’s okay? I meant to bring it back but I was running late and—”
“You can keep it.” The words come out too fast. Too immediate. Spencer freezes after saying them, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
Your eyebrows lift. “Keep it?”
“I mean, not keep it permanently, unless you want to, which would be statistically improbable given normal clothing rotation habits, but—” he stops, exhales, visibly trying to reset his brain, “—it looks… good.”
There’s a pause. A very noticeable pause. Because Spencer Reid just said something looks good. And he is not looking at your face. He is very, very focused on the sweater. On how it fits you. On how the sleeves fall past your hands. On how it’s unmistakably his and somehow… better on you.
Your lips twitches, “You’re staring,” you say softly.
“I’m not—” he immediately looks up, which is worse, because now he’s looking directly at you, and his ears are turning pink, “—I just recognized the fabric composition.”
“Oh, of course you did,” you tease.
Morgan snorts loudly from across the room. Spencer glares at him for half a second before looking back at you, clearly trying to recover.
“…you didn’t have to bring it back,” he says, quieter now.
Something about the way he says it, less flustered, more honest, makes your chest tighten just a little.
“I know,” you reply. “But I wanted to.”
His gaze flickers, just briefly, to the neckline of the sweater again.
“…you can still wear it,” he adds.
The rest of the team catches on quickly. Garcia notices first, obviously.
“Oh my God,” her voice crackles through the speakers. “Is that boy genius couture I see?”
You choke on your coffee. Emily leans over her desk, squinting. “Wait… is that actually Reid’s?”
JJ looks between the two of you, already piecing it together, a knowing smile forming.
Spencer, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to combust. “It’s just a sweater,” he insists.
“Your sweater,” Morgan corrects.
Spencer adjusts his satchel strap. “Clothing items are frequently shared among—”
“—people who are dating,” Emily finishes.
Silence. Spencer blinks. You raise an eyebrow. Morgan grins like he’s just won something.
“…we’re not—” Spencer starts, then glances at you, falters, and immediately loses all confidence in the sentence, “—I mean, not officially, not that labels are necessary for—”
You step closer to him. Not enough to make a scene. Just enough that your shoulder brushes his. He freezes instantly.
“…you okay?” you ask, voice soft, teasing but gentle.
He swallows, then nods, “…yes.” But he doesn’t move away. And he doesn’t stop looking at you.
Later, when the bullpen quiets down and everyone’s distracted with their own work, Spencer finds himself standing beside you again.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just… lingers.
You glance up. “You’re hovering again.”
“I’m not hovering,” he says automatically.
“You are,” you smile. “But I don’t mind.”
That seems to short-circuit him a little.
“…it suits you,” he blurts out.
You tilt your head. “The sweater?”
He nods, “I like it better on you,” he admits, quieter now.
That catches you off guard. Because Spencer doesn’t say things like that casually. You study him for a second, really look at him.
At the way he’s trying so hard to stay composed. At the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure if he should. So you make it easier.
You gently tug at the sleeve. “Maybe I’ll keep stealing your clothes, then,” you say.
His eyes widen slightly. “You can,” he says, almost immediately.
Then, softer, “…anytime.”
Your heart does something stupid in your chest. And for once, Spencer Reid doesn’t try to explain it away with science. He just stands there, a little flustered, a little breathless and very, very aware that you’re still wearing his sweater.
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