welcome to my tumblr blog! this is my first time using tumblr to share my writing so let’s get into some helpful links so you can find your way around my random posting!
so... i've been gone a while. when i picked back up writing for spence-tober, i picked back up writing in general and focused some of my time onto writing other things for a different platform.
i had the time and the ideas and the willpower, however, i have recently gone back to school so i have since lost the time and some of the willpower.
this means that i might be posting more here. think some random one shots; one episodes from seasons one and two or some blurbs from my spencetober series or even a tester series of some ideas that I've had floating around.
for one shot; one episode, it is just so hard to work in episode order so i think i might jump around a bit between seasons one and two so i can stay motivated to write.
welcome to a small behind the scenes post about my experience doing a october writing challenge/spencetober! i feel like most people reading this do know me from spence-tober in which i wrote a blurb every single day with a fem!reader and an alternate universe version of spencer reid.
in this behind the scenes post, i’ll be covering my process, hurdles in writing, and some ideas that got scrapped last minute. and at the end, i’ll be announcing what my writing will be like moving forward.
no. 1
my process
the first thing i did was create a new folder and google doc and listed out potential ideas before the start of october. i was on a vacation/holiday so i had a lot of time to plan this out and work on it before october even started.
i always feel better when planning something and i knew, knowing me, i would only finish and complete this month long writing and posting challenge if it was thoroughly planned out and i had multiple failsafes in case life got in the way. because lets be honest, life is unpredictable and sometimes i have slumps of ‘laziness’ or other obligations to get to.
no. 2
hurdles in writing
i am not sure when i exactly started writing for spencetober, the original planning document was created on the 18th of september and by the end of october, i had written around 9 or 10 drabbles and had them ready to schedule in my queue. i left my vacation around the 9th of october and didn’t get back to my home base until the 11th.
prior to traveling back to my home base, i had a queue ready for the next 7-8 days of posting which made me feel very prepared and not guilty at all about not writing while traveling. i think i did squeeze in like one blurb while traveling though.
i continued to write once returning while also taking care of my other obligations and then hit a snag when i agreed to do some short term dog sitting that was literally only for two nights but i got very lazy after this and just let my queue run out until i had nothing left to post.
i honestly didn’t mind the ‘stress’ from having nothing ready to post until the next day but this didn’t occur really until the last few days of october. i still always somehow had a buffer of at least one to two in case i hit writers block or a slump or something happened in life that i just couldn’t avoid.
no. 3
recommendations
if you want to attempt a month long writing challenge in which you post and write every single day without fail, here are my recommendations and tips: (this is also for me if i attempt something similar next year)
- plan ahead of time
my version of planning was a google doc with 31 numbered ideas and i would italize them as i finished creating the header and cross it out/strike it out as i finished the blurb and it was ready for posting and in the queue scheduled. if i had a particular idea for the blurb, i would leave a ‘comment’ or ‘suggestion’ as a reminder and note to come back to later!
- get into a routine (writing, prepping headers a bunch at a time, etc)
- have a buffer
- don’t stress too much! if you don’t make it, its not the end of the world and you don’t owe it to anyone to commit so much of your time. do it for fun!
no. 4
bts fun facts
some au’s of spencer that got scrapped included:
poet!spencer
dentist!spencer
daycare worker!spencer
photographer!spencer
train conductor!spencer
cowboy!spencer
mariner!spencer
and the last casualty who got cut last minute,
zookeeper!spencer
(i even had a header ready for this one!)
i couldn’t muster up the inspiration to write this one with the prompt i already had noted (which was a chaperone trip meet cute with giraffes) and since it was one of the last five to be written, i couldn’t dawdle on the idea and moved on (which was actor spencer and baseball spencer).
most of these just got left in the dust for too long like poet and dentist and i couldn’t think of a good enough idea for the blurb. some of these were too similar to others, like daycare worker (the teacher ones) and photographer (painter and wildlife photographer). mariner got replaced with fisherman. some of the ideas that came to me and weren’t part of the original idea brainstorm session include model, indie director, wildlife photographer, gymnast, and baseball (among many others).
no. 5
new plans!
i have a few small series that i want to test out. i’ve done some long form writing content before (on wattpad with many chapters and books) but i noticed that tumblr promotes a lot of small chapter batch series and i really want to try it out with ideas that i’ve had for the criminal minds guys (hotch, alvez, reid, and morgan (sorry rossi)) that i don’t want to end up turning into a full blown long fic.
i have a good idea for a tester fic series for hotch that i might get started on soon, but until then, i have every intent to continue doing one shot;one episode.
also, these au’s of spencer still have me in a chokehold and i would love to write more small blurbs, drabbles, and headcannons of my favorites and your favorites!
and that's all! thanks for reading some little snippets that i wanted to share about doing a month long writing challenge like this because i always see people committing to these, but i really wanted to try my best to finish it to the best of my ability and i did!
summary: in which you bring your newborn son to your husband's bookshop as a midday surprise
word count: 1292
warnings: fluff, talks of children, pregnancy, mentions of labor, bedrest, formula, pump for breastfeeding
spence-tober masterlist
The familiar ding alert of the bell above the door as you opened it was like music to your ears. It had been far too long since you had stepped foot into the homey feeling bookshop and you didn’t realise how much you missed it until you took in the sight you’d seen so many times before.
The lines and aisles of bookshelves to the right and left of you are abundant, but not overcrowding the space in the small storefront. There’s a small lending library in the front window next to the children’s reading space and a counter in the middle with curtains hanging on the wall, leading to the back where you know categorizing and inventory goes on.
“Welco-” The voice belonging to your husband starts to say, his voice ringing out in the room for everyone to hear.
Spencer had his nose in a book, sitting behind the counter on a comfortable stool waiting for customers or anyone else who needed assistance in the store. When he looked up to greet the patron of the store, his eyes instead met yours. His darling wife of six years.
However, his eyes didn’t stay on your form for very long, straying to the bundle all swaddled up in a travel car seat that hung from your arms.
Your’s and Spencer’s newborn son, Gideon Reid, sleeping away in a swaddle unknown to his new surroundings. The tiny small baby with a little hat around tucked at his ears to keep him warm and a cute outfit that you had dressed him in just before leaving the house.
“Oh!” Spencer says in an adoring tone. Quickly he puts down his book and moves around the counter to come towards the two of you.
“What are you doing here?” He whispers as he reaches you at the front of the store. Spencer pulls you in for a sweet kiss and then moves his attention to the car seat, taking it gently in his arms and gazing down at his son. He’s switched to a lower volume to not disturb the sleeping newborn.
In the last stage of your pregnancy, it was getting harder and harder for you to travel to the bookstore which you hated. But when your doctor prescribed bedrest for the last month of your pregnancy, Spencer had put his foot down and practically bound you to the bed, getting everything you need so you wouldn’t wear yourself out or go into early labor.
You smile at your husband who’s looked back to you, a large teethy grin, “I wanted to surprise you.”
Spencer presses another sweet kiss to your lips before reaching behind you to flip the sign hanging at the front of the door to ‘closed’ before taking your hand and Gideon in his car seat and leading the both of you to the back of the store.
The bedrest had worked. You had a relatively fine labor, for how fine labor could be. Your recovery was okay and Spencer had been a big help with taking care of you and Gideon when you first came home from the hospital. Even though Gideon is your first baby, Spencer’s dad instincts kicked in and he instantly was so good with baby Gideon.
“Thank you for the surprise.” Spencer says genuinely before scooping his large hands into the car seat and gently hoisting the still sleeping Gideon to his chest, coddling him close.
You take your phone out of the large diaper bag you carry with you and snap a quick photo of your husband and your son together. Then, you take in the rest of the familiar sight that is Diana’s Library, the bookshop your husband had bought had renovated over the past four years. His former mentor and your son’s namesake, Jason Gideon, had retired and given his best employee, your husband, first right to buy what was the previous space known as Jason’s Library. Since then, Spencer had dedicated it to his mother and worked to make the bookshop of his dreams.
You had contributed as well, putting together bookshelves and cabinets on your free weekends and scouring old second hand books online to add to the library. And when you and Spencer discovered you were pregnant, you also did most of the revamping of the old reading nook to a child friendly reading space. All of this is why you were so pouty when you were placed on bedrest and you couldn’t return to the warm and cozy environment you had grown to love so much.
“I thought it would be nice to visit.” You comment as Spencer rocks back and forth with your sleeping son on his chest. You reach your hand and fix your husband’s glasses that have slid down on his nose.
Spencer smiles back at you, his eyes gleaming with delight, “And you’re feeling okay?” he checks in.
You nod, “Yeah, I am. Took a shower, did some chores around the house.” You list.
“Don’t strain yourself.” Spencer warns, concern in his voice.
“I won’t.” You promise to him, “Besides, I just wanted to get out of the house.”
“You mean that you missed your chair here.” Spencer corrects, a joking tone in his voice and a matching visage in his eyes.
You scoff at his remark, though not denying it, “I don’t know why you couldn’t have asked Derek for his truck so we could bring it to the house.”
“Because you ordered one for the house! We’d have to move it back here!” He laughs. The laughter has jostled Gideon and he slowly wakens from his peaceful slumber despite the small pats Spencer gives on his back.
You purse your lips, “But it’s on backorder and won’t be in for another five months.” You complain and pout.
Spencer laughs at your not-so-serious expression. You take your hand and reach out again, this time adjusting the knit cap on your son’s head to not cover over his eyes. It let’s your son, for the very first time, take in the surroundings that you know he’ll get to know very well in his childhood to come.
Gideon, now awake and alert, moves his head around and by the look on his face, isn’t very happy. Both Spencer and you clock this.
“I just changed his diaper before leaving the house, so he should be good.” You inform your husband.
“Is he maybe hungry?” Spencer says, rocking him back and forth more quickly now. He looks at his son inquisitively, trying to figure out the solution to his grump face that you both know will turn into a shrill cry very quickly unless handled. The rocking holds his cry at bay for now, but its only a temporary solution.
“Hm, maybe.” You say uncertain.
Spencer’s ready though, he takes the diaper bag from your hand and puts in on a clean countertop behind him. Then he opens the cabinets above and you smile to yourself at the sight you see.
“You have a spare pump and formula here?” You say, your heart warming at the sweet sight in front of you. This just confirms to you that you have the best partner ever.
“Of course!” Your husband responds, bringing both down from the cabinet to the counter for you, “This is like our second home. I have a travel crib too if he gets sleepy.”
You pull him in again for a kiss, a longer one this time, and you make sure that you put all the love and emotion you hold for him. As you pull back, you instantly get a gratifying feeling. Being with your husband and your son in your favorite place in the world.
“You are simply the best, Spencer Reid.”
a/n: and this concludes the end of spence-tober 2023! thanks for coming along for the ride, whether this is the first one you've read (check back at the masterlist for more), if you've joined midway, or if you've been here since the beginning!
i'll admit, writing and posting every single day has been a little stressful and finishing writing challenges like these can be hard and taxing, especially with how unexpected life can get. i'll be posting some behind the scenes sometime later this week or next and then i might announce some new things coming soon too!
summary: in which he's surprisingly good at tennis and you're surprisingly terrible
word count: 1724
warnings: tennis, fluff, flirting
spence-tober masterlist
“Ugh!” You groan as you once again have to exit the closed in tennis court to retrieve another yellow tennis ball that you’ve managed to hit outside of the barriers surrounding the court.
With how much fetching you’ve been doing, you’re starting to feel like a golden retriever.
It was, however, entirely your fault as you are the one who keeps hitting the damn yellow bouncy tennis balls way out from their intended target within the kitchen of the tennis court and instead sailing high and wide and far over near the grassy area outside of the closed in tennis court.
Between your continued failings at hitting the ball correctly and the hot sun in which you are practicing in, you are completely regretting your previous decision to agree to the charity tournament proposed to you earlier in the month.
It was supposed to be a lighthearted tournament with the intention to raise money for charity through concessions, tickets, and the sponsoring on the players for the tournament.
However, you doubt that anyone will want to sponsor you when you can’t even hit the ball inside of the court.
Wii Tennis was not this hard, that’s all you have to say.
“Are you okay?” A voice is heard from behind you, where you’re crouching on the ground searching for the bright neon yellow tennis ball. With it’s vivid color, it really shouldn’t be this hard to find.
You stop your search and turn your head to see the person behind the voice.
Like you, he’s also dressed for what you assume to be a round or game of tennis. Sporting white shoes that are glazed in light green from grass over time and a matching white polo set with a tennis visor on his head, the man is dressed for the game.
His chocolate brown hair sizzles under the heat of the sun and squinting from your own visor covered eyes, he has the matching brown eyes that gleam even though they aren’t exposed to the sun.
“Uh, yeah,” You answer, slightly caught off guard. This is the man the tournament organizers should have contacted to play. Even if he wasn’t very good at tennis, he certainly looked the part. And handsome too.
If you weren’t already slightly flushed from your time outside in the sun, you suspect a slight flush would brighten your cheeks just from the handsome individual.
“Just, um, struggling.” You say, finally spotting the yellow tennis ball just behind your own foot that dons similar white tennis sneakers. Only yours aren’t marked with the time and experience of green from the turf the same way his are.
You hold the tennis ball up to show him, for some reason, “I keep hitting it out of the court.” A sheepish smile makes its way onto your face as you explain shortly.
“Hitting a home run, you could say.” The man replies back, a friendly smile on his lips. “I’m Spencer.”
You return the smile and give him your name, “Not exactly the sport I was going for, but thank you.” If your hair wasn’t tucked out of the way of your face, you knew you would have touched it in some manner. Your friends always say it’s your flirt tell, playing or touching your hair.
“I could help you if you’d like.” Spencer offers kindly, “I was just about to hit the court myself.” His hand stretches outwards towards his back and pulls across his chest a strap revealing a tennis racket bag.
“Sure!” You accept happily, getting yourself out of the grass and properly standing up now. You dust off the itchy grass from your bottoms. “That’d be really helpful.” You say honestly as the two of you walk back to the tennis court and you gather your own racket in hand.
Otherwise, you’d usually be more cautious about accepting help from strangers, but you suppose Spencer couldn’t be worse at tennis than you and you really should receive any help you can get. You don’t want to necessarily embarrass yourself in front of the community during the tournament.
Comparing your racket and Spencer’s, the most obvious difference is the size difference. His hand is much larger than your’s and so the handle and overall racket is larger in size. There’s also the minute differences. The bandages around his handle is much more worn and even indented in time with a handprint. Your’s is brand new and without flaw. The only thing that could make it more glaringly obvious that your’s was newer is if the tag was still on it.
Thank god you remembered to cut it off before heading out the door this morning.
“Alright, so what seems to be the problem you’re having? Other than hitting it out.” Spencer says, standing a few paces away from you to watch your stance and motions.
You don’t say anything in response and instead just show him. You throw the ball up in the air and hit unreasonably hard, making it soar through the air. This time it didn’t go over the gate of the court and instead just hit the top of the fence before bouncing back down.
“You didn’t hit it out! Good job!” Spencer cheers genuinely with a large grin on his face from where he stands. You almost snort at the sight.
“I’m terrible.” You proclaim, chuckling at Spencer’s sugar coating of the situation.
He laughs with you and saunters over, putting his racket down and drawing out a tennis ball of his own, handing it to you.
“No, you’re not. I’ve seen worse.” Spencer claims. You don’t believe him.
“Here, start by just bouncing it onto the ground and hit it that way.” He instructs you, “I think you’re not thinking about how hard you’re hitting the ball because you think you’re gonna miss it mid-air. You just need to get used to how much power you really need to hit it with and the rest will come to you.”
You nod, comprehending his words and doing what he says. When you hit it this time, you don’t have to worry about missing the ball and gently hit it. It still goes flying and doesn’t land within the kitchen where you need it to be, but it’s only a foot or so past the lines so you count it as a win.
“You did it!” Spencer cheers again.
“I did it!” You cheer along with him, both of you laughing in what is for you, surprise, and for him, genuine happiness.
You practice this motion more times under Spencer’s watchful eye and get better, just like he said you would. Eventually, you’re able to hit it within the kitchen and even once or twice hit it in air from a toss into the lines. Spencer also shows you a proper backhand and forehand.
Before you know it, you and Spencer have practiced together for close to an hour before you decide to call for a break to get some water. The sun has moved from it’s position high in the sky and has disappeared behind some clouds, much to your pleasure.
“Thank you for taking the time to help me. Really, it means a lot to me.” You say to him. The both of your backs are leaning against the fence of the tennis court, sipping on water from your brought bottles.
“I’m playing in a charity tournament.” You inform him for the first time. You hadn’t had much time for small talk when actively playing on the court. “You’ve just improved my odds of not embarrassing myself in front of everybody.” You laugh at the end of your sentence.
Instead of laughing with you, he looks at you with an amused expression with a hint of wonder.
“The charity tournament? The one being hosted in two weeks at the community center?” Spencer asks.
You nod and wonder as his eyes search your face if they catch your sweat licked face or your overly flushed colored cheeks. “One and a half weeks, actually.”
“I’m a judge in the tournament.”
Your eyes go wide and you search his face now for any sign of him lying. His eyes and expressions on his face say he’s telling the truth. It’s also hilariously funny that Spencer doesn’t have any impression that he was sweating.
“Not a judge exactly.” Spencer corrects, “More like a ref and face for the event?” He offers up instead.
“What do you mean face for the event?” You say, even more confused now.
A smile creeps up on his face and he ruffles around in his tennis gym bag before bringing out his phone. After a moment, he turns it around to you to see.
“Now, don’t think I’m narcissistic for googling my own name. I swear I’m only doing it to show you.” He says playfully.
Your eyes clock onto the screen and your gaze is fixated as you see what he shows you. It’s a standard google search with the bar displayed ‘spencer reid’. What you don’t expect is the literal Wikipedia page on him and the hundreds of thousands of search results that come up.
“You’re a professional tennis player?” You blurt out, scanning the screen shown to you.
“Sort of professional.” Spencer corrects humbly. “I’ve never won the Grand Slam or the US Open or anything like that.”
You look at him deadpan, “This one article literally says you’re one of the top up and coming tennis stars.”
“Well,” Spencer starts to respond, but fails to come up with something this time, “I wouldn’t exactly use the term ‘star’.”
The both of you laugh together for a moment or two.
“I suppose you’re not allowed to coach players in the tournament, are you?” You ask him, an amused smile on your face which matches your joking tone.
He shrugs and doesn’t look the least bit worried, “I think it’d only be a problem if I were to try and, like, date you or something.”
You choke on the sip of water you were taking at his words and he gently pats your back as you cough through the mouthful of water that came back up. Only to not so gracefully snort some water out of your nose at his next words.
“Guess I’ll have to wait until after the tournament.”
a/n: once again, i am writing this the night before i need to post but i wouldn't have it any other way. i like feeling accomplished before i go to bed i guess? lol
i might post a behind the scenes of this past month to explain my process, announce upcoming plans of my writing, and some bonus au's that just didn't work out.
pairing: actor!spencer reid x fem!makeup artist!reader
summary: in which your boyfriend celebrates your anniversary on set with a little surprise
word count: 1848
warnings: leading up to a proposal, light kissing, sweetness, fluff
spence-tober masterlist
“Why are you so fidgety today?” You ask your boyfriend as he squirms in the tall makeup seat. Your eyes have been watching his movements and even though he’s naturally squirmy, he’s been worming around much more than usual.
His eyes dart to yours, “Nothing.” Spencer dismisses. “Just got a script change this morning. Hoping I can remember the lines. That’s all.” He assures you.
You shrug it off and twist your torso around to grab the blush, it’s next to apply to Spencer’s face. To be honest, Spencer had never needed much makeup to stand out on camera. That’s why you knew he liked you when you first started working together.
It was highly unusual for Spencer to be hanging around the makeup trailer and even more so when he would nervously try to engage in small talk. For as good as an actor as Spencer is, doing so around you is seemingly an impossible task.
“You’ll be great. You always are.” You respond with a fond smile on your face, “Plus, I highly doubt you’d be the only one affected by the script change.” You remind.
He nods and his head starts to move down so you gently take your hand and put it under his chin, pulling his face back up. In doing so, you gaze into the other’s eyes.
“I’m glad we get to work together again.” Spencer muses out loud, still staring into your eyes. You smile in response.
After the two of you had started dating way back during your first project together, you had refused his offer of being his own personal make up artist. You never wanted to work for anyone you dated and enjoyed working on different sets with different people. Being booked together on projects were few and far between in both of your industries, even if you both were the best in your field.
In both of your careers, you could count the number of times you were hired for the same project on one hand.
You dab the brush in your hand in the pinkish palette, then bringing it to Spencer’s chiseled face. “I’m glad too. It’s been a while.” You comment.
Spencer barely nods, keeping his head and face still for you as you apply a thin layer of blush on his cheeks. You add a little at a time and then turn your head to judge your work in the mirror.
Thankfully, your current project and workload doesn’t have anything to do with prosthetic pieces or any fake bruising or gore, so you didn’t need to spend much time doing the makeup for the actors and actresses. Mostly just working with foundation, mascara, blush, and contour. A more natural, no makeup look if you will.
His hand comes up to meet yours that is holding the brush. “Not too much.”
Against your better judgement, you draw your hand away.
“Spencer, you barely have any on.” You point out. The rosy pink blush could barely be seen in a thin line under all the bright white lights of the makeup trailer, let alone on the set of a scene set in dimmer lighting.
He still shakes his head, “It’s fine.” Spencer insists lightly.
You sigh, but relent. Putting the brush and palette down. “Alright.” You concede.
Your hand reaches for the chapstick next. It’s labeled with a piece of masking tape around the tube with Spencer’s name so you don’t get them mixed up between the actors. Hygiene and all that.
Again, his hand comes to stop you, but for a different reason. One that you know.
“Kiss first.” Spencer says this time, a light and playful demand on his lips. There’s a bit liveliness in his eyes, gleaming under the lights of the room.
Ever since you started dating and working together, you had wanted to keep it separate. Business and personal lives, but Spencer was a weak man. A weak man who couldn’t not be in your presence and not receive at least one kiss so you made a deal with him.
One kiss, away from prying eyes in the privacy of your makeup trailer to get him through the day. After all, you didn’t want to be shoving PDA down your coworker’s throats and this way you didn’t ruin his makeup either.
You shake your head, but a knowing smile remains on your lips. With a roll of your eyes, you bend your head down and meet Spencer’s lips with your own.
Usually, Spencer is the one to be bending down to you, but with him sitting in the makeup chair adjusted to where you can easily reach his face, his tall frame doesn’t do him any good and instead, you slightly tower over him.
The kiss is sweet but not without passion. Much longer than any normal kiss of yours is too. But you know the reason for that too.
It’s your anniversary.
With unpredictable schedules and contracts that are more on a basis than anything, it is hard to spend birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries with each other. Which is why when you got the offer to work as a makeup artist on the very film Spencer had already booked, you leapt at it.
Working on your anniversary isn’t ideal, but at least you got to spend it together. Spencer didn’t have many scenes today either, so you had went ahead and booked a nice dinner at a local restaurant in town. Nothing fancy, but you didn’t need fancy when you had Spencer.
Finally pulling away from the kiss, you’re tempted to lean back in for another one when you hear a knock at the trailer door. It’s the AD telling you that Spencer’s needed on set in a moment.
Leaning your forehead against your boyfriend’s, you regrettably pull away for a moment and detach your hands from his. He let’s out a sigh as he slinks out of the chair and you grab your to-go touch up kit before following Spencer out of the door and off to set.
Thankfully it isn’t a long walk before the two of you have arrived to the set where the scene is going to be shot. You place yourself in position with your coworker, the hairstylist hired for production, and wait quietly as Spencer gets himself into place.
You don’t always fully pay attention during these scenes or even come to watch them. Most of the time preferring to stay off to the side or wait in the trailer to be called for touch ups, but there’s something magnetic about watching Spencer act.
The way he commands a scene with a lovable face you know so well, but can instantly with the simple singular word of ‘action’ to be transformed into another universe as another person is captivating. You always find yourself drawn to him in this way.
You’ve told him this before, only for him to turn it back to you. Saying with as many words about watching you work at your craft, with your detailed gaze and calculated placement.
“Wait!” The director yells out into the room, holding her hand up to stop the person who’s ready to slate the scene. The camera operator leans back in their perch and everyone in the room waits on directions.
She leans forward with a squinting gaze and settles on your boyfriend, who’s standing at his start for the scene ready to go.
“Can I get a bit more color on Reid’s face?” She asks, turning her head over to where she knows you to be.
You quickly nod and march your way over to Spencer for touch ups. You bite your lip to refrain from mumbling an ‘I told you so’. The sheepishly guilty wisp of a smile on his lips is enough for you to know that he should have just let you do your job.
Bringing the blush container out of your makeup kit around your waist, you also grab a free and clean brush from the fanny pack pouch. Unlike the palette you used in the trailer, this blush is in a compact box.
You don’t worry about using the same exact products when it comes to touch ups.
However, you are confused when the box where your blush is held is considerably heavier than usual. Not that it weighs a ton now, but your blush definitely doesn’t weigh enough for the small heft that you feel in the palm of your hand now.
“I’ll take that.” Spencer says in front of you, his body is now much closer than you remember it being to yours.
With furrowed brows, you’re about to scold him from taking your stuff before you’re knocked back in shock when he lowers one knee to the ground and faces the box around towards you.
“Spencer…” is all you can manage to whisper softly as you look onto your boyfriend who’s looking up at you like you hold the sky, moon, and stars in your eyes.
“I’ll, uh,” He starts to say, his tone starting to slip from that initial confidence to one of love and adoration and nervousness.
He clears his throat, “I’ll save my sappy speech when it’s just the two of us, but you always say I’d never be able to surprise you. But I’d consider you pretty surprised right now.”
You both chuckle and laugh. Your hands have now come to cup up around your mouth like so many other proposals you’ve seen before. You nod, but you’re not sure at what. His claim on you being surprised or the question you soon know is coming.
Spencer’s other hand comes to open the lid of the box and like you had guessed by now, instead of powdered blush sits a diamond ring seated in a bed of velvet to hold it in place.
“The point is. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I so desperately crave to be called your husband. Will you marry me?”
He barely finishes his short speech without having the tears that have pooled in his eyes to start running down his face in joyfulness.
You hadn’t stopped nodding from before and only become more insistent in your movements, also confirming verbally, “Yes! Yes!” You exclaim.
Spencer lets out a sigh of relief and with a wide grin, stands back up and takes the ring out of the box, sliding it onto your finger. You jump at him as he raises up for a rare public kiss in front of all your coworkers, who are now all clapping and cheering for the two of you.
Spencer’s arms wrap around your waist and slightly raise you off the ground, embracing you tightly as you pull away from your loving kiss.
With all the cheering and the director’s call for champagne to celebrate, your mumbling in Spencer’s ear goes unheard beyond the two of you.
“Did you carve out my blush powder?”
And with a slightly tighter, more worried grip of his hands around your hips, Spencer knows he has some questions to answer.
a/n: did i procrastinate heavily on having a backlog of fics ready to go and now am typing this at midnight because i realized i have somewhere to be and would not be able to write this before it needed posting tomorrow? yes.
pairing: baseball player!spencer reid x fem!singer!reader
summary: in which your pro baseball boyfriend and you, an international sensation, navigate your newly public relationship
word count: 1207
warnings: yes this is travis kelce and taylor swift coded
spence-tober masterlist
You find Spencer on his phone when you join him for a quick break. He’s been sitting in this back room, your dressing room, since you left him there. You told him he could go out and explore, but he seemed eager to instead wait for you in your own space. You can’t blame him either.
Even in the inner walls of the stadium arena, you can still hear faint cheers and girlish giggles from your fans outside waiting in the parking lots for a singular glimpse of you. Or better yet, you and Spencer together.
Since the news had broke that you two are dating, fans and paparazzi alike have been staking out where you’ve been last seen for some juicy photos of the two of you holding hands or getting into a car together. Anything to confirm the news of your new relationship.
“Hi, babe!” You say, greeting Spencer and getting his attention as you walk into the room. Your hand holds a towel and you wipe the sweat off your brow.
Instead of any of your elaborate gowns or costumes for the show, you simply wear a basic graphic tee and some comfortable biker shorts.
Spencer smiles at your entrance into the room, “Hi, sweety.” He greets you as well.
As you walk towards him, he takes you into his long and muscular arms, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you into his lap. His phone long forgotten.
“Tech issued a break to get everything organized. Do you wanna go for lunch?” You ask as you bury your head into his embrace. He does the same.
There’s a bit of hesitation and you know the cause of it. “What if we ordered in?” Spencer inquires instead.
You nod, “That could work too.”
It’s the constant presence of all your fans outside that deter the two of you from going out for lunch somewhere in the city. Not only are a bunch of your fans in the city because of your six nights straight of shows, but it would take a lot to coordinate a simple lunch.
There would be transportation, clearing out of a restaurant, being able to have security be around you all, and that still didn’t guarantee a peaceful dinner. You both knew by the time you made it back there would already be pictures being posted by Twitter and it would be making it’s way onto every gossip site.
“Do you still have practice tonight?” You ask Spencer.
He nods, “Yeah, late night practice. Sorry I can’t make it to the show.” He apologizes.
His arms rub your back soothingly. The muscles along his arm are pronounced and chiseled from the years of baseball practice and playing.
Moments like these are scarce. Spencer playing during the long baseball season in the MLB and you touring around the country and eventually the world, singing to millions of adoring fans.
Six months of game playing and then more of conditioning and practices make it hard for Spencer to be able to fly out and visit you wherever you currently are. It’s just beginning his season, which means it will be a while until he can fly out and join you for the rest of your tour.
You shake your head, “It’s okay. Hopefully you can make it to one of them while I’m here.” You say.
Spencer nods, but he can’t make any promises. Baseball does have a schedule, but it can take one injured player or a bad loss game for the coach and team to devise more practices.
Contrary to the publics belief, you and Spencer had been dating for much longer than they thought. They only now just caught on when the two of you decided before his upcoming season to softlaunch your relationship by you watching his game, sitting up in the VIP box with Diana and a few of Spencer’s friends.
In reality, during the off season Spencer had connected with you and the two of you started to tentatively date. You had been in the midst of planning your tour and Spencer’s spare time wasn’t spent conditioning or honing his skills. It was the perfect amount of time for the two of you to start building your relationship, getting to know each other, and start dating.
Now, with your tour about to set off and his long season about to start, you and Spencer felt like the two of you were about to enter trials testing your relationship. The time change, the distance, it would all culminate and strain the bond you’ve formed.
“How long do you have for your break?” Spencer asks as he rests his forehead against yours, intimately.
“An hour, maybe two.” You answer him, whispering with how close you are. “Why?”
You pull away from him to get your phone out of your pocket in your shorts and issue a short text order for lunch for you and Spencer.
“I just wanna hold you.” Spencer says simply.
You understand what he means. When both of you weren’t performing or playing and in your off seasons, you had all the time in the world together. It’s already been hard on the two of you, being touch starved and on a time crunch.
“Well, I ordered some lunch and then after, you can hold me as long as you can. Until they come to pull me out of your arms. Promise.” You assure Spencer, while still sitting in his lap.
“That sounds good.” Spencer mumbles, wrapping his arms around you even tighter.
“Are we doomed?” You think outloud. There’s no doubt about what you might be speaking about.
Spencer sighs. The thought had been clearly on his mind as well.
“Well, the season’s gonna be long. But after, I can come join you. We can call every day and if we’re in the same city we can see each other.” Spencer plans outloud.
You nod, “We can. I just-”
He knows. “I’m scared too.” He finishes your thought. His hands grip around your waist and his fingers rub your hips in comfort. “But what would we be if we didn’t try, right?”
“Right,” You confirm, a wisp of a smile on your lips.
Spencer always knew exactly what to say. You hadn’t followed baseball before you met Spencer, but when you were getting to know each other you were searching up every interview, every game, everything that had him in it. Later he would admit to doing the same.
But he was the one who convinced you to give dating a try. Even though you’re a popstar who performs for a living, you are incredibly shy and wasn’t sure if getting into a relationship with someone who was as busy as you are was a good thing or not.
“You know, there’s supposed to be some rain tomorrow.” You comment offhandedly. Spencer gives you a look, unsure of where you are going with this.
“My team told me we might have to delay the show tomorrow night. You think you might get rained out?” You ask tentatively. “We might get some more time together.”
Spencer smiles and lays his head back on the couch.
“I’ve never wished for rain so much in my life.”
a/n: this one if you couldn't guess is heavily inspired by travis kelce and taylor swift. the news broke about their relationship when i was originally planning out all of these drabbles for october.
summary: in which you and your son (along with someone else special) support the opening of your husband's brewery
word count: 1530
warnings: alcohol, children, announcement of pregnancy, one mention of reader being on birth control, the reader was seemingly very easily able to get pregnant
spence-tober masterlist
Standing outside in the cool, brisque air of the evening isn’t too uncomfortable. It would be without the wool shawl on your shoulders and you make sure to wrap it around yourself a little tighter to keep in your natural body warmth.
You also bend down to your six-year old son, Arthur, and zip his parka up to his chin, making sure he can stay warm as well. He’s tired and you can tell within the next hour and a half, he’ll start getting a little petulant so you keep a close eye on him. There’s some wooden adirondack chairs not too far from you, circled around a controlled fire pit if needed.
Artie could always curl up into a chair if he really got tired quickly. It had been, after all, a long day for him.
He was still getting used to attending school and then after school until you or Spencer could come pick him up. Since the sale of the small warehouse that Spencer was renovating into his very own brewery, Artie was also often carted to and from the warehouse as it was being built, renovated, and decorated. He even helped choose some design elements.
For years, Spencer had only done brewing as a hobby. That was when you first even met him. You always encouraged his hobby and with time, he became very good at it. So good that he stopped working as a bartender and got a few various jobs working for different corporate breweries. It had always been his dream to save up enough money to buy a small place and open his own bar and brewery.
Now, the time had finally come.
The small abandoned warehouse went up for sale and you knew it to be the one. Encouraging Spencer to buy it was a whole ordeal, but when he finally did. When his signature hit the paper and he held the deed in his hand, you knew it was excited to get started. That was a little over a year ago and since then, your husband has poured his heart and soul into the place.
He was currently standing off to the side, eagerly talking to some friends who had come out for the grand opening. It had been successful so far.
The grand opening was set for three o’clock and when Spencer set forth his little speech that he had prepared, there was already a crowd of people. Now, the sun was setting in the horizon, hours later. It cast a nice glow over the renovated warehouse and the backyard patio where everyone now gathered.
People had come and gone and the brewery wasn’t going to be open for much later into the day. At least for it’s first official day being open. Spencer mostly wanted the day to be for friends and family to celebrate, not worrying about the number of patrons or bottles of beer sold.
The large, animated smile told you everything you needed to know. Spencer was happy, very happy.
A yawn breaks you from your thoughts and steals your attention away from your husband and back down to your son. His hold on your hand has gotten a little looser.
“Are you tired, baby?” You ask him, watching him rub his eyes with his free hand.
He hesitates, but Artie nods and with that, you guide him over to an empty large adirondack chair for him to sit in.
“You can just sit here for a bit, then we’ll go, okie dokie?” You confirm with him, bending down in front of him.
He nods and you ruffle his hair. His chocolate brown, messy locks that are so much like his father’s. Artie looked a lot like Spencer. He’s still young, but the way he carries himself, his hair, his eyes. They all match the look of Spencer.
If you asked Spencer, however, he would always point out the little similarities that Artie held to you.
“Hey, Artie. You doing okay, buddy?” A voice says behind you. A very familiar voice. It’s Spencer.
Artie blinks his eyes open a little, willing the sleep away and nods, excited to see his dad.
You turn around and stand up from your position in front of the chair and see your husband. The same chaotic hair and glittering brown eyes. Spencer, however, has started to grow a small beard and has some rough, brown stubble to show for it. He’s wearing an outfit you picked out from him. Spencer has no eye for clothes.
“He’s just a little tired. Had a big day at school with the play and all.” You inform your husband, a smile on your face.
Spencer nods, “Okay, let me just say goodbye to a few people and we can go.” He says.
You shake your head and place your hand on his arm, “No, stay. It’s your grand opening.” You try to convince him.
“Artie’s not long for this world.” Spencer retorts, pointing to Arthur who is, indeed, nodding off into dreamland.
You feel guilty. You feel guilty and you know why. You’ve been together with Spencer for ten years and it had been eight years since his dream originated of owning his own brewery. From taking his small creations that he fixed only for friends and family and opening it to the public. To sharing that experience with everyone. Spencer had been in the midst of saving money, you contributing even to his chagrin, and had budgeted according to when he wanted to propose to you and get married in a modest wedding.
What you hadn’t exactly budgeted for was the arrival of Artie. Even though you had been married for over a year and on birth control, somehow you had fallen pregnant with Arthur. Both of you wanted children, but you always convinced Spencer to save up for his brewery first. Neither of you ended up regretting the unplanned Artie, but you had always felt a bit guilty when some of Spencer’s savings drained for baby Arthur.
“But Spencer, you won’t get another grand opening. You should stay and enjoy it, I’ll take Artie home.” You offer.
He shakes his head, “No.” Then he takes your hands in his, rubbing his finger comfortingly on the back of your hand, “The brewery doesn’t come before you or Artie. We always tuck him in together.”
“But this is your dream.” You say in a last ditch effort.
Spencer shook his head again, “You’re my dream. You and Artie and any other children we might have in the future. Nothing comes above my family, that’s my dream. I just happen to be living it everyday.”
You concede and nod, letting Spencer run off to an employee to get them to close up for the night. You say your rounds of goodbye to your friends who have come out for the night of celebration, always keeping a watchful eye on your son.
Collecting your son in his strong arms, Spencer scoops him up and has no problem walking with him through the backyard where you are led back into the main part of the brewery.
A long bar stretches across the metal room with lines and lines of drafts for the bar with a few added concoctions of Spencers. Tables and other fun decorations fill the rest of the space with a few added streamers and banners just for the grand opening.
“Did you see my surprise for you?” Spencer asks you as you walk through the room.
Artie is out completely now, so there is no need for whispering between the two of you. You carry your own things, plus Spencer’s and Artie’s.
You shake your head, “No, what was it?” You show a confused expression on your face.
He’s as confused as you are, “The drink menu. Your favorite is officially named after you. I thought it was a sweet gesture.”
“Oh, I didn’t get a drink tonight.” You explain to him. You get the front glass entrance door for all three of you.
“You didn’t?” Spencer asks, even more confused now.
A smile curls up on your lips. You reach your shared vehicle and grab something out of the floorboards near Artie’s seat. Somewhere Spencer wouldn’t have seen it since you had left the grand opening early to pick Artie up from after school, then heading back to the brewery.
Spencer transfers Artie into his car seat in the back, putting the seatbelt on for him as he’s still asleep and takes the bag you hold out to him. He’s still quite confused and can’t see into the bag as you’ve filled it with tissue paper.
“Artie will be quite put out that he wasn’t able to give this to you, but we can just pretend in the morning.” You say, vague about the actual contents of the bag.
Spencer gently sifts through the bag and then takes out a singular card. Before he can even read the words, his eyes lock onto the ultrasound that hangs on the cardstock paper.
“What?” He says softly. It’s a rhetorical question and you know he’s saying it out of shock and surprise.
“We’re pregnant again.”
a/n: i always try to make the names true to character for Spencer. Luma with his philosophy lightbulb joke he made that one time and the fact Diana can mean luminescence. Then Diana, of course, his mother in the show. And now Artie, or Arthur, after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, also known as his favorite author in the series. just little Easter eggs.
pairing: house flipper/fixer upper!spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: in which your boyfriend needs your expertise, for once
word count: 1333
warnings: lots of talk of plumbing, house flipping, everything in that realm. relationship struggles and communication hurdles, but they work on it... is that a warning?
spence-tober masterlist
“Hello?” You greeted as you walked through the unlocked door to a small fixer upper house. You had knocked beforehand, but you figured through the sounds of clangs and loud equipment that no one was able to hear you anyway.
The house was obviously under construction and you knew that too. The walls were not painted and you could see the spackle covering some holes. Some clear tarps were laid down over some sections of the floor and there were half taken down cabinets in the kitchen.
“Hey, pretty girl. Thanks for coming.”
You turn around and see Derek Morgan, the person who texted you to come over as soon as you got off work and then sent you the location. Not that you needed it.
Spencer had always put the address of the house he’s currently working at on a little post it note just in case you ever needed to find or reach him.
You smile at the tall, muscular man in front of you, “No problem, at all. Where’s the problem?” You ask him while holding your basic tool box that you keep in your car.
When Derek had texted you about a little problem that Spencer and him had been having at their latest fixer upper house with the plumbing in the main bathroom, you had already been out the door at work and figured that the problem wouldn’t be too bad of a fix that you needed a bunch of professional equipment.
“Over here.” Derek gestures and then leads you through a long hallway down to the primary bedroom of the house, being careful to step over the broken pieces of old tile before swinging an arm over to the entrance of the bathroom.
“Morgan, I really think I can just-” Your boyfriend says, not realizing your presence since his head and upper body are contorted under the sink.
“Don’t touch that.” You intercept his sentence, quickly realizing what Spencer was about to touch.
Unfortunately, your sudden interception caused Spencer to bump his head as he heard your voice and a groan sounded out in the bathroom.
You wince for him and help him out of the tiny sink space, rubbing his head where you know a bruise would soon form.
“Who-” Spencer starts questioning, surprised to see you. “Why-” He stutters, “How-”
You shake your head and smile at your boyfriend who’s quite confused. “Derek called me. Said that you have a sink problem.”
Spencer whips his head towards Derek and gives him an accusing and incredulous glare, “I told you we didn’t need to call her.”
It doesn’t surprise you that Spencer didn’t want your help. It wasn’t like he thought he had the skills to fix the problem especially since it isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse. You knew it was because he didn’t want you to think he was dating you or using you for your skill set.
You never thought that he would, but Spencer had met you at a mutual friend’s open house where you had been the main plumbing contractor on the job. Once you had started dating, someone made an off handed comment that it was perfect that you both got together. A plumber and a house flipper!
Since then, Spencer had been adamant that he was dating you for you and went as far as dealing with your coworkers and colleagues than yourself even if it cost him more money.
“Well judging by the way you were about to flood the entire bathroom, I think you need a little bit of help.” You comment, looking about where Spencer was about to implement his ‘fix’.
Spencer’s face flushes and Derek sends a joking glare at your boyfriend.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it from here.” You assure, holding up your portable tool kit with everything you’ll need for the job.
Spencer steps aside at your insistence and you are able to grab the small flashlight from your kit, luminating the dark cabinet of the vanity sink.
“So, what seems to be the problem?” You ask the two men as they step aside in the bathroom to give you room.
“The water.” Derek says pointing at the faucet, “Won’t turn on at all. The tub and shower works. So does the toilet and the rest of the house, but the sink just doesn’t get water coming through it.”
You hum and then retract yourself from the sink and step out to test the faucet for yourself. Confirming that it indeed doesn’t work, you turn your attention back to the sink and set out your tool box.
“Alright,” Derek says, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. “Ima set off for today. Got a dinner date with Savannah.”
Both you and Spencer wave him off and with a final instruction for Spencer to lock up, you are left alone.
At first, the gentle twists of metal against metal and your elbows scraping against the wooden cabinets are all that can be heard in the bathroom. You know Spencer is still with you, you can sense his presence.
“You know,” You start to say, maybe for the thousandth time at this point. “You can just call me if you need help with the plumbing. I’m happy to help.” You offer once again.
This has gone on for two years since you have been dating and multiple houses in which you find out afterward that a plumbing incident had occurred and one of your fellow plumbing coworkers had been called to deal with it.
“I know.” Spencer says, almost disappointed with himself.
As much as you both have communicated your separate struggles, it’s still hard for Spencer to send that perfectly crafted text to you asking for help or to have his finger press that call button connecting him to you.
You work in silence, the problem not having been a large or complicated one so it’s quickly resolved. Perhaps maybe thirty minutes go by. Spencer doesn’t leave but also doesn’t try to make conversation, knowing that you prefer to work in silence.
“Alright,” You say, groaning as you shimmy out from under the sink. No matter how long you’ve been doing this job or how many sinks you’ve slinked under, your bones still creak and crack in protest to small spaces.
Spencer offers you a hand and you shoot him a grateful smile. It was not uncommon for Spencer to give you a back rub at your shared apartment after a long week at work. You did the same for him after a particularly busy demo week.
“That should do it.” You say, confirming your work done by pulling the faucet handle towards you, a smile grows on both of your faces as the water runs smoothly through the tap.
“Thank you, really. Thank you.” Spencer says giving you a hug from behind. His long arms wrapping around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder.
Spencer wasn’t a very big fan of PDA, but in private, he was a touched starved clingy man who would wrap his entire body around yours if he could. Always a hand somewhere on your body and you were no stranger to any type of kiss.
A peck. A butterfly kiss. An eskimo kiss. Any of them Spencer could get behind.
“It’s no problem.” You respond, “Just, call me next time? Promise.” You ask of him.
You feel him nod against your skin and you smile in response. “Okay, let’s go home then. I have the day off tomorrow.”
Spencer hesitates and doesn’t unwrap from your frame, “What if-“ He starts on.
“What if you come back with me tomorrow? You could help and give us the okay to keep working on this bathroom?”
His voice is full of uncertainty and hesitation and you’re sure there is nervousness blooming in his chest. You comfortingly caress and rub your hand on his and turn your head to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’d love that, Spence.”
a/n: i am so close to the finish line now. just gotta close out the rest of the one shots and then ill be done! i could procrastinate the rest until they need to come out (i'm constantly a week ahead and then schedule) but i have some other things popping up with a deadline so ima try to knock these out!
summary: in which you meet a dashing stranger who knows a lot about chess on a plane
word count: 1604
warnings: airplanes? flight anxiety mentions and descriptions. not very romantic i guess
spence-tober masterlist
Flying was a result of your job and you think you’ve gotten fairly good at the process. Get to the airport early because of traffic. Make it through security fairly easily due to having TSA pre-check. And then chill out at your boarding gate perhaps getting a coffee or something to eat until you can finally get on the plane.
That’s why you were slightly ticked now, sitting on the plane fully ready to take off into the sky, however, still grounded.
Apparently someone had not taken the same precautions you had and the plane was still waiting for them. Thankfully, your business meetings weren’t until the next day so you could spare the wait time.
How did you know there was still someone not on the plane?
It was the empty seat next to you, with no one in it in an otherwise crowded and fully booked plane. That and the announcements the pilots and flight attendants were making every so often, updating all the passengers on the situation.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” You hear down the aisle ahead of you. You can only assume it is the missing passenger who finally made it onto the plane and you put away your phone in preparation for take off finally.
You hear people grumble around you about how it sucks that their flight is being delayed because of a singular person and you can’t help but agree in your mind, but you also don’t fully fault the late man either.
Besides, from his panicked voice and shaken look, you already know the man feels guilty enough about the situation. Although it does wonder and make you think why the flight was held for this singular man.
His appearance, although rattled, doesn’t say much about his occupation or level of importance. He’s wearing a brown sweater vest with a simple white button up underneath. His brown slacks aren’t anything too special and you don’t recognize the brand of watch he’s wearing on his wrist either. The satchelbag hanging from his tall, thin, form looks well worn and his hair isn’t gelled back or slick with hairspray either. Just messy like a hand has run through it many times.
“Sorry, excuse me,” The man continues to say as he makes his way down the aisle. He stops at your seat and the empty one beside you, like you knew he would.
He gives you a bashful and flushed smile and then scoots into the seat beside you, “Sorry.” He apologizes again, a genuine lilt in his tone.
The way the plane is arranged has three areas for seats. The two sides and the middle, each section having two seats. You sat in the window seat, leaving the aisle for the mystery man.
“You don’t have to apologize.” You tell him, returning the sweet smile, “It’s okay.” You assure him.
A grateful look is sent your way from his eyes, but you can still tell he’s feeling the guiltiness and the annoyed gazes from passengers around him.
The glares start dissipating as the flight attendants and pilots start the take off procedures and soon, you turn your attention to your window, looking out on the runway.
“I, uh, didn’t mean to hold everyone up.” The man admits softly beside you. You turn your head to look at him, blinking at him. “I got an extra check heading through security.”
“It’s okay.” You say to him. “It was the pilots decision to stay and wait.”
He seems to take the assurance well and before he can reply, the plane starts slowly making its move along the runway and he instead puts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes.
Flight anxiety, you think as you watch his eyebrows furrow and his large bony hands grip the armrests a little bit more.
You don’t talk to him again until he’s relaxed and you’re well up in the air, now coasting along the clouds.
It’s when the man besides you starts to come out of his shell and ruffles around in his satchel bag and pulls out a portable chess board is when you’re intrigued enough to talk to him again. However, he beats you to the punch.
“You play?” He asks you as he pulls down the folding table from the chair in front of him and unfolds his chess board.
You shake your head, “No, I’ve never learned.”
“Would you like to?” He questions as he places the pieces on their respective sides to gear up a new game.
You shrug and put your phone away in your pocket, “Sure.” It wasn’t like you had anything else better to do other than a few downloaded podcasts.
“I’m Spencer, by the way.” The man, Spencer, tells you as he swings the white side of the board toward you and contorts his body to face you, even in the small airplane seat.
With a smile on your face, you give him your name and also shove your body uncomfortably against the armrest to face Spencer.
“Alright, now what do all the pieces do?” You say, lightly clapping your hands together and then looking to Spencer for instruction.
The flight isn’t too long, but it isn’t short either. Short enough to not get a meal with flight service, but the flight attendants do eventually do rounds to ask if anyone wants a small snack or a drink.
You share a laugh with Spencer when the flight attendant scares him from behind and grab his arm to keep him from flailing about, saving the flight attendant from spilled champagne.
“Sorry!” You both say in tandem as the flight attendant walks off to serve the next person. She waves you off kindly and hands you two water bottles.
As Spencer looks back at you, you both share a incredulous look mixed with a bit of awe and silliness.
You move a pawn one square forward, “So, you just normally play chess on a plane?” You inquire.
He nods, not taking much thought while moving a bishop to take your pawn. “Yeah, I guess I do.” Spencer answers you.
You slightly pout and push out your lip as he takes your piece and scour the board for your next move, doing your best to remember the rules Spencer had told you.
“I am traveling to a chess competition after all. Getting practice in makes sense, don’t you think.”
Taking your eyes off the board, you look at Spencer shocked with the news just revealed to you. “You’re traveling to a chess competition?” You exclaim, surprised.
Spencer smiles and simply nods his head.
“So you must be, like, really good.” You simply state, still not taking your attention off the man in front of you. There’s a wisp of something behind his smile and his eyes, like he was excited to see your reaction. A bit of mischief, you think.
“I like to think I am.” Spencer says, keeping his answer, the one you’re trying to get out of him, vague.
“What’s your rank?” You say, skeptical of how vague he was being. Spencer wasn’t one to brag about himself and in talking with him while playing chess, he didn’t reveal too much about his current life.
Just talked about some old friends he has, his mom, and things from his childhood.
He smirks, “So you do know about chess?”
You scoff, smiling at his attempt to stall, “I watched the Queens Gambit. That’s about it.”
Finally moving a piece, a knight that you were sure you were going to lose in the next two turns, Spencer mumbles his rank almost too low for you to hear. Key word, almost.
“Grandmaster!” You repeat after him, entirely shocked now.
By the way he played so calmly, humbly and how he patiently taught you, you knew he had to have been pretty good at chess. But you never thought he participated in actual competitions nor was a grandmaster at the game.
You laugh and then look at the board and for the first time, Spencer’s calculating gaze as you are sure his mind is going through all the possible permutations,
“So there’s, like, no way I’m gonna win this.” You state, still laughing.
Spencer joins in with a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His neck and ears are slightly flushed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He confirms.
He moves his Queen forward and takes your knight. “But we still have some time to play some more games before we land.”
“That we do.” You confirm, your hand coming up to cover over your mouth as you try to think what your next move should be. “How about we make a bet?” You say, taking your attention off the board.
It intrigues Spencer, you know it does by the look on his face. This must be the competitive nature that’s led him to his success in his field.
He waits for you to go on.
“If you beat me at all of the games we play, I’ll give you my number.”
Your heart beats a little faster, trying to gauge his response to see if you are to be rejected or if your forwardness will pay off. Your feelings settle as you see a smile start growing on the corners of his mouth and an amused glint in his eye glimmers. His back straightens and his posture becomes more pronounced and he cracks the knuckles in his hands. You quickly realize you’ve just woken the sleeping dragon.
Or rather, motivated a man who’s very good, and now, very determined to win.
a/n: i am currently writing this very early in the morning/late at night because i need to sort out my priorities and actually sit down at my computer during the day...
summary: in which you come home to your husband and daughter
word count: 1186
warnings: you have a daughter, lots of kid stuff, mention of pregnancy and marriage and also you have a cat
spence-tober masterlist
Coming home from work used to be a dreaded part of the day for you, back when you were living alone in an empty apartment that didn’t feel like home. No roommate, no pet, no one to greet you or be happy when you walk through that door.
Coming home didn’t feel like that anymore. Not since you had started dating the love of your life.
It had forever changed. You worked longer days than your tattoo artist boyfriend, Spencer Reid, and so more often than not, Spencer was there to greet you when you walked in after a long day. Whether that was him fixing dinner in the kitchen or sitting in his beloved armchair doodling more tattoo ideas, you weren’t coming home to a lonely apartment.
Then one day, you didn’t just come home to Spencer, but to him holding a small gray and white emaciated kitten in his tatted up arms. He had found the kitten on his walk to work and had kept it near a heater in the shop all day long, finally bringing it back to your shared apartment when no one claimed it. Now, you came home to a little kitten pawing at your pant’s leg.
The kitten, named Walter after Spencer’s middle name, grew up, you and Spencer grew closer and soon got engaged and married. Now he was your tattoo artist husband and it wasn’t long after you got married that you both had decided to expand your family even more. It started with all three of you moving into a larger apartment and then trying to get pregnant. After a full year of trying, you fell pregnant and subsequently gave birth to your daughter, Luma.
Suddenly, you didn’t just come home to a cat meowing at you as you walked in the door or to your husband showing you a tattoo design, but a small child who would laugh joyfully as you ran to hoist her up into your arms.
However, today when you walked through the front door of your brownstone home, the only thing to greet you is Walter. You close the door behind you and hang your keys and coat up. Then you give a small cat treat to Walter to stop his incessant whines for attention.
A giggle echoes out from the hallway leading out of the combined kitchen and living room. You follow the sound, your work shoes clicking on the wooden floors, and are led to your daughter’s room.
“Hello?” You call out, being sure to knock on the door before entering.
You and Spencer were trying to teach your now five year old daughter privacy and were trying to instill knocking before entering.
“Mommy!” You hear a small, light voice call out. You open the door fully now and a smile grows on your face at the sight.
Luma has a matching bright smile on her face as she slips off her pretty purple canopy bed and rushes with her little legs towards you, hugging your legs once she gets to you.
“Hi, baby!” You greet her, removing her hands from your legs and bending down to properly hug your daughter.
She’s been sick for the better part of the week and was finally on the mend. Per the school instructions, you still needed to keep her at home for today and you and Spencer had been taking turns calling off from work to stay with her.
Today, Spencer stayed home with your daughter and you certainly could tell she was in better spirits than the days prior.
Judging by your husband who was in your daughter’s bed, which is much too small for his thin, tall frame, Spencer had been through a lot today. Not that he ever minded.
His hair was put up in small ponytails with thin plastic elastic bands and there were discarded towels on the floor which meant that they had a spa day. Spencer also had his arm propped palm side up on a pillow with his sleeve up as far as it could go.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” You ask your daughter.
The both of you have learned to never assume the intentions behind your child’s actions.
“We’re playing!” She simply says, still snuggled into your arms. When she got sick, which wasn’t often, she got clingy. Much like your husband when he fell ill.
You look to Spencer for a more clear answer, “Tattoo shop.” He clarifies.
“Ah,” You say, still holding onto your daughter. When she was a baby, you would often take her to Spencer’s shop as a surprise and then as a toddler and now, it was one of her favorite places in the world.
A closer glance at the bed would allow you to see some doodled hearts and circles on your husband’s arm and some washable tattoo markers lying on her duvet.
You should have known, Luma’s favorite game was Tattoo Shop where she would doodle on your arms or legs. At first, you let her do it with crayola marker, but after that one time she found a sharpie, Spencer had gotten her some washable kid tattoo gel pens to use.
“Look at Daddy’s arms!” Luma said, taking her small hand in yours and tugging you closer to her bed. On your way, you shuck off your shoes clumsily.
“I see, baby, you did such a good job!” You praise her, smiling as you look up and down your husband’s decorated arms.
At first, Luma would just draw random doodles usually over Spencer’s already existing tattoos. But now, she would incorporate them and work around to make it look ‘cohesive’, a fairly new word she learned after watching Project Runway with the two of you at night.
You lean over your husband’s arm and give him a sweet kiss in greeting and then thumb over the skin on his wrist that holds your matching tattoos. Ones you got in honor of the birth of Luma. A small little lightbulb that sat on the inside of your wrist.
“How’s your day been?” Spencer asks you, propping himself up a little bit more on the bed.
Before you can answer, Luma joins you in her bed and gently pushes down at her dad.
“Be careful! Don’t move.” She tells him. Spencer nods and settles back into the bed as you hold back a chuckle.
“It was good,” You answer, “Glad to come home to you two!” You tickle Luma a little bit and laugh with her giggles.
“I hadn’t gotten the chance to start dinner yet.” Spencer informs you, he nods to his arm which he is not allowed to move.
“That’s okay,” You say, then turning to your daughter, “How about we order pizza?” You ask her.
She cheers and all of you laugh in the room. “I’ll place the order in a little bit.” You say, settling yourself back into the bed a bit more.
You take your hand and pull up the sleeve of your long sleeve shirt and show the clean slate to Luma.
“Now, do you have time for another appointment?”
a/n: this was super fun and quick to write! i've been writing half of it during the day and then half at night, but i finished this super quick since i already knew the ending and so i don't have to stay up late tonight! woohoo!
summary: in which your friend's bachelorette weekend ends with the handsome sommelier's number in your phone
word count: 1896
warnings: alcohol, drinking, a woman (not reader) coming onto spencer
spence-tober masterlist
Unlike some of the other fellow women in the bachelorette party, you were grateful that your best friend, the bride, decided for a more classy approach for her bachelorette weekend.
Although, really anything would be more classy than renting male strippers in Las Vegas and wearing pink feather boas and fake plastic tiaras and getting hammered.
You had also agreed to take any blame for the complains of the other bridesmaids in the party for planning a chill weekend at a nice wine vineyard so your friend could get off scot free.
Perhaps it was the bad memories of vodka and tequila in your 20s that turned the both of you off a bachelorette in Vegas, but you were glad to indulge her wishes for a ‘classier’ bachelorette weekend.
It was just this morning that the whole party had taken a small shuttle bus to the vineyard about two hours away and you were glad to see the tension of your friend’s shoulders lessen as she stepped off the bus. The wedding planning had been hectic for her and you were just happy to relieve some of the burden by taking care of most of the bridesmaids dibacles. After all, you were her maid of honor.
Today on the agenda you had planned, you’d all tour around the beautiful vineyard that stretched on for acres and acres and then have a private wine tasting before retiring for the night to your own devices.
The tour had been absolutely stunning. Seeing the grapes on the vines, just rows and rows of crops for the eyes to see. Then you had seen the large wine cellars where it ages and some of the rooms with large machinery where it was processed and actually turned into wine.
You had picked this specific vineyard because it was on the smaller scale and would be a more intimate experience for your small group. The owners, Jennifer Jareau and Will LaMontagne, greeted you as you arrived off your shuttle. They’re not too much older than you despite owning and operating a small scale wine vineyard.
Your face burned with embarrassment when one of your fellow bridesmaids tried to flirt with Will and was glad when Jennifer didn’t seem too offended by her actions. She was soon warded off with the glimmering of the couple’s matching wedding rings and their adorable 5-year old son who wanted to help show you all to your lodgings.
Your tour guide, however, was not so lucky to escape the flirtations and comments from the rogue bridesmaid. Poor Spencer Reid, you thought quite often as he guided your group around the vineyard. The one bridesmaid was spurned on with confidence when some of the other girls giggled at her comments which were down right dirty.
How Spencer didn’t turn as red as a tomato when she commented about the sizes of the grapes on the vine and then grabbed them in a very very weird way is beyond you. Because you certainly lit up like a Christmas tree.
After finishing the tour, you were beginning to dread the wine tasting and how adding alcohol to the risque girl would be a good idea.
Luckily it so far seemed like she was a quiet drunk and instead left to flock to the rest of the bridesmaids’ sides for the majority of the wine tasting.
As your friends chatted over tasting a few glasses of red wine, you veer off over to the bar where Spencer, your tour guide and sommelier, was polishing wine glasses.
You understand why the bridesmaid was trying to get attention. The man was downright beautiful with his chocolate brown eyes and chiseled jawline. His scruff and wild hair only added to the handsomeness of the tall, slender, man.
“Hi,” You say, getting the man’s attention. You can feel your cheeks warming up with second hand embarrassment, “I just wanted to apologize for my friend over there.”
You point behind yourself to the table where she sits, quietly (thankfully) nursing a glass of red wine. “What she said is completely inappropriate and I understand if you don’t feel comfortable taking care of our group for the rest of our weekend here.”
He smiles at you, gratefully, “It’s okay.” Spencer says shaking his head.
“No,” You reiterate, “It’s really not. I’ll try to keep her away from you and manage her better. That’s really just how she is, but that doesn’t excuse her behavior.” You promise.
He doesn’t comment on your response but instead gives you a smile and puts down the cloth and glass in hand. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, gesturing his hand to the wall of wine bottles.
You shake your head, “No, that’s okay. I’m good for now.”
“You’re not a wine drinker?” He inquires curiously.
Shaking your head again, you answer, “I’d just rather stay sober. Make sure everything goes okay tonight and all.” You send him a nervous smile.
This was your first time being the maid of honor for anybody and you just wanted to make sure your friend didn’t have to stress about anything and that she would have a perfect time leading up to her wedding.
“Designated driver?” He guesses.
“More like maid of honor.” You correct lightly.
“Ah,” Spencer says, hands dipping underneath the bar, “So you planned this weekend, then?”
You nod, “Yep! I just wanted to make sure everyone had a fun time.”
Turning your head to glance back to your friend group, your cheeks burn a little in embarrassment when your friend and bride to be wiggles her eyebrows at you and throws you a thumbs up in encouragement.
Thankfully, Spencer was busy mixing up a drink in a smaller tumbler style glass for you and you hope he didn’t see the way your friend was making eyes at the two of you.
“Here, try this,” Spencer says, offering you the drink in his hand.
The drink is a bit bubbly and has a red tint, but is transparent in color and topped with a small sprig of what you identify to be rosemary.
You take it in your hand, but shoot him an inquistive look.
“It’s just club soda, cranberry juice, and a splash of lemon juice.” Spencer informs you, keeping his eyes on you as you take a light sip of the drink.
“Hm!” You noise in delight, looking down at the drink. “That’s pretty good. Refreshing.” You describe, “Why do you have so many mixers in a wine bar?” You question, non-accusingly.
Spencer shrugs and goes back to polishing some wine glasses, putting them back on a holding rack when done. “I used to be a bartender before JJ and Will opened the vineyard to tourists. When they book events, I can still work the bar.”
“So you’re friends with the owners?”
He smiles, like he’s thinking back at precious memories, “Yeah, JJ and I used to work at the same bar. Then they got married and saved enough money to buy a small vineyard. I didn’t want to bartend forever, people get rowdy and wasted every night. So they offered me a job and I took it.”
“That sounds nice.” You comment, then looking back at your friend group again. “But I’m sure you’re still around rowdy drunks every now and then.”
Spencer chuckles at your observation. “Not nearly as often anymore.”
You both laugh a little.
“You know, you didn’t have to apologize for your friend back there.” Spencer tells you, although a grateful expression remains on his face.
You shake your head in disagreement, “No, I did. I booked this weekend and I’m responsible for my group. If I thought I could get her to apologize, I would, but she would likely just flirt with you again. You shouldn’t be subjected to that when you’re just doing your job.”
“Well, thank you.” Spencer says genuinely, “It’s happened more times than you think.”
“Rich wine snobs?” You guess with a knowing smile.
He nods and a grin appears on his face, “Right on the nose. How’d you know?”
“I work in event planning.” You reveal, you take your finger and roam it about the rim of the glass as you talk to Spencer.
He’s propped up against the bar now done with polishing glasses. He’s leaned up against the tall wooden counter and you also realize you’re leaning forward as well. Spencer’s very tall, as he’s standing against the bar top he still towers over you as you sit on a bar stool talking to him.
As you are reminded of the reason you are at the vineyard, you glance once again back to the table of bridesmaids and see them having fun amongst themselves, mixing different glasses of red wine together.
You feel comfortable enough to leave them to their own devices while you talk to Spencer and feel yourself relax a bit not having to worry about the party of women.
“Oh, did you plan your friend’s wedding as well?” Spencer inquires.
You shake your head back and forth, “No, I usually stick to smaller events. Weddings are way too stressful. I’d rather deal with a rich wine snob over a bride or groomzilla any day.”
“Really?” He asks surprised.
You nod and confirm, “Yep, you would not believe some of the horror stories I’ve heard.”
The both of you share a laugh and Spencer leans in a little closer, but hesitates at first, unsure of himself. “Do you live in the area?” He asks cautiously.
You look at him with a slightly confused expression on your face, “Sort of. Why?” You answer vaguely.
He bashfully continues on, “If you’re looking for more work, JJ and Will have been looking for someone to handle the event side of the vineyard. They wanna focus on the wine production part.”
“Oh.” You can only find yourself saying.
“We’re a really small team and don’t have a lot of people full time here, but it’s good work and you’d really only have to come in half the time.” Spencer explains a bit more. Then he leans away from you, searching around the bar for a small cocktail napkin.
He pats his pockets until he draws out a pen and scribbles on the small piece of paper napkin, then handing it to you.
“Go ahead and enjoy the rest of your weekend, but, um, if you’re interested you can contact JJ or Will or, uh, me.”
You accept the napkin from him and look at it, intrigued by the offer. Limiting yourself to smaller scale events led to you usually being busy closer to holidays so it was a good offer. You couldn’t promise him anything yet, especially without talking to the owners, but you’d think about it.
“Thanks.” You say simply.
“And,” Spencer adds on, “just so you know, I wouldn’t be averse to getting to know you outside of work and all either.”
His cheeks and the tips of his ears redden as he looks down at the bar top. You steal a glance at his flushed face and then also steel your gaze downwards when he catches you staring.
Your rowdy friends eagerly and loudly beckon you back to the table and you leave Spencer behind the bar, but not before thumbing delicately at the corner of the napkin with his number on it.
a/n: this was hard to think of an ending but i hope this classifies as a meet cute? i originally ended this with him asking her out but thought that would be a tad inappropriate when he's supposed to be working so i changed it to be a bit more ambiguous. i have another blurb or hc in mind with this pairing so you might see it again...
summary: in which your injured boyfriend issues you a small challenge
word count: 1427
warnings: none? slight mentions to injury of the wrist (brace) and uses lots of gymnastics terminology that i am definitely using wrong. it is also alluded that both spencer and reader are in very good shape
spence-tober masterlist
As you’re walking out of your small office, passing by the ice baths, PT tables, and small medical focused corner into the main space of the locker room, you feel as though you can hear something.
You stop for a moment in your step and preen out your ear, waiting.
Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear a faint grunt. But you aren’t hearing something, you’re hearing someone.
As you veer out the door into the main gymnasium, you strain your eyes to see through the darkness. You are often the last person left at the gym most days, taking care of emails and papers and making sure everything is set on your end since you don’t come to work until about 10:00 a.m.
The gym still has a few lights very dimly lit at your instruction so you would be able to see your way to the exit. Although it is nothing like how it usually is, with the bright white lights covering every inch of the place during the day or practice hours.
There’s a hooded shadowy figure over near the vaulting equipment and you squint for a better look.
“Spence?” You call out into the large room. Your voice almost echoes against the walls.
The hooded figure turns to face you and pulls his hands up to his face to unmask his head.
Your slight heart palpitations stop as you recognize the face of your boyfriend in his gym practice clothes. He’s wearing his practice tank tucked into his tighter fitting sweatpants with his team jacket covering his arms and back.
“Yeah?” He answers back to you, stopping his previous motions.
You sigh, “You better not have been practicing.” You warn him, walking over to where he stands. “What are you still doing here?” You ask.
He takes a few steps away from the equipment and reaches his arms out for a hug. You would indulge him on any other day, but you keep him at arm’s length, your eyes poised on the brace he has on his left hand and wrist.
“I was waiting for you.” Spencer responds, slightly pouting at your rejection of a hug.
Instead, you gently take his braced wrist in your own hands, inspecting it. “It’s not giving you too hard of a time, is it?” You ask him, carefully turning it around and pressing on the skin in certain places.
You glance up at him and watch as he shakes his head, “Nope, feel’s good as new.”
His face has a dopey, goofy expression. Its an expression you know well and see often, communicated mostly on his face though it isn’t uncommon during practices for him to goof off either. Unfortunately, this personna has led Spencer to sprain his wrist and has prevented him from joining in on practices for the most part.
“Nice try,” You say with an amused smile on your face, “You’ll need to rest it for at least another week.”
“Another week? Really?” He protests and whines.
You nod your head, “Hey, don’t bark at me. Doctor’s orders.”
Spencer gets an adoring look on his face mixed with mischief and a hint of those wide doe eyes that he knows you can’t say no to.
“But what about my gorgeous physical therapist girlfriend’s orders? Whom do I love so much?” He tries to convince.
You shake your head and go to walk past him, “No way, Spencer.”
He chuckles behind you and before you can walk off too far, his good hand catches your arm and pulls you back toward him, into his arms.
“Come on.” You tell your boyfriend, “You still have early morning conditioning tomorrow.” You remind.
Spencer groans at your reminder, “You’re telling me I can’t join practice, but I still have to do conditioning?”
You laugh at his antics and nod, “Yep. Hotch would not be happy if you skipped.”
“Hotch is never happy.” He retorts.
“Don’t say that,” You jest with him, pushing at his chest a little, “Aaron is your coach and my boss. Now, are you coming or not?” You ask, nodding your head towards the door.
There’s a glint of something in his eye. Something wild and playful and it reminds you of when you first met him.
You and Spencer had first met when you joined the team and the gym as the on hand physical therapist. The team didn’t quite have the budget for a team doctor, but you could work your magic and manage injuries after a doctor had seen them. You hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but Spencer always managed to catch your eye.
Maybe it was his tall, lithe, stature or perhaps his thin, but muscular arms. Perhaps even chalk it up to his goofy nature, but at practices, your attention would eventually waffle over to watching Spencer.
It wasn’t until Hotch and Rossi confronted you and told you that you needed to stay in your office during practice that you found out Spencer was trying to impress you when you watched. After that embarrassing meeting with your bosses, you found Spencer after practice one day and asked him out. Since then, you have been dating.
Although you still remain in your office when Spencer is practicing because his will to impress you has never waivered and it has more often than not landed him back into your office with some minor injury. Much to Hotch and Rossi’s pleasure.
“How about a little competition?” He suggests with a grin on his face.
You bite your lip. He knows your weak spots and being highly competitive is one of them. You look at him, skeptical of the offer, “What are you planning?”
Spencer puts up his hands in mock innocence, “Nothing! Just a bit of friendly competition.”
You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, “Alright, what is it?”
He continues to grin at you and takes your arms, uncrossing them and takes your hands in his, leading you over to the rings hanging from the ceiling with some extra mats underneath.
“I challenge you to hold an L-sit for three seconds.” Spencer says, he drags a smaller vault over underneath the rings with his free hand.
Before you were a physical therapist, you had done gymnastics for quite some time. You chose not to go pro and instead quit gymnastics after you had left college after being a part of the sport since you were in elementary school.
You look up at the rings for a moment and then back at Spencer, a dubious look on your face, “Really?”
Spencer nods. You stretch out your arms for a moment, testing the flexibility and then approach the vault. Luckily you were wearing a halter style top which left your arms out in the open and some comfortable, but professional, yoga pants which allowed much more flexibility than jeans or something other.
After chalking up your hands, you move onto the vault carefully, you expertly bounce up to the rings hanging from the ceiling. From there, you maneuver back and forth to get a better grip on the rings, then pushing up your arms so they are pushing directly down on the rings and pulling your legs up horizontally to your body.
Holding it for much longer than just three seconds, you can see Spencer’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye and hold in a laugh, settling for a smirk instead.
You carefully dismount, letting your legs down, then arms, then jump down from the rings being sure to bend your knees to lessen the impact across your legs.
“That’s it?” You say dusting off the leftover chalk on your hands.
Spencer doesn’t say anything and you just walk past him towards the exit of the gymnasium. You don’t turn your head back as you hear the heavy footsteps behind you of your boyfriend and just laugh to yourself when he falls in stride with you.
There’s a look of awe on his face, “How did you do that?” He asks.
For him, an L-sit hold for three seconds is a minor feat. But you haven’t actively practicing gymnastics beyond messing around every now and then. Coupled with rings not being a part of women’s gymnastics, Spencer had assumed that he had given you an impossible task that would end with the both of you laughing and him helping you attempt the move.
You shrug as you turn off the dimmed lights and take the key to lock up after the two of you.
“Cross fit.”
a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this one and to be honest, this piqued in my head watching random youtube shorts of male gymnasts.
pairing: woodworker!spencer reid x fem!pregnant!reader
summary: in which your husband has worked on your nursery tirelessly, so you give him a surprise of your own
word count: 1736
warnings: lots of mentions of pregnancy, the body detailing pregnancy, lots and lots of descriptors.
spence-tober masterlist
You had wanted to host a small get together with your friends and work together on decorating and putting some finishing touches on the nursery, but that hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
When you first announced that you and Spencer were pregnant, people offered their congratulations and a few even warned you of a few things you should be prepared for as your trimesters went on. One of those things was nesting, or getting your home ready in preparation for the new baby.
No one, however, warned you that your husband would be the one that was nesting. As soon as your belly ballooned and the nursery plans started, Spencer insisted on doing almost everything for you.
Mug on a top shelf? Spencer would grab it for you.
Cooked pasta needs draining? Spencer would do it for you.
You left your computer charger in the other room? Spencer would get it for you.
At first, it was endearing. You thought it was his way of caring for you since you were carrying the baby for nine months. Then, it started getting slightly annoying. You started pointing it out every now and then, but Spencer’s mother-hen mode wouldn’t turn off and you gave up on it.
Having a woodworking husband with a baby on the way is a nice thought. During your first trimester, you always found your husband hand-carving some wooden toy for your unborn child.
Then, when the nursery plans were underway, Spencer started designing furniture and figuring out what he could contribute with his skills.
Shelves, crib, table, dresser, chairs, nightstands, changing table, you name it. Spencer was working on it in his garage workshop.
That is why, while Emily, JJ, and Penelope are sitting awkwardly with nothing to do, you don’t blink an eye at Spencer darting around the nursery with his tool kit. He’s currently working on hanging up his handbuilt wooden shelves that you had planned to do with your friends today.
JJ was sitting on the couch with Penelope, awkwardly watching Spencer with nothing left to do. She looks to you, unfazed in the handbuilt rocking chair Spencer had also made, “Can I get you some more tea?” She asks you, seeing as your mug is empty and abandoned on the small wooden table (also made by your husband).
Spencer whips his head towards your direction. his eyes locking onto your empty mug, “I got it!” He claims, stepping down from the small stepstool and putting down the hammer.
“Okay…” JJ says as she sits back down on the couch. Funnily enough, the couch was one of the few things not made by Spencer in the nursery. Even the sage green panel wall details were all Spencer.
You fear Spencer would have attempted the couch if you hadn’t caught him looking up springs on the Home Depot website.
Emily leapt up from her place on the floor, going over the instructions for the temporary pack and travel crib you had bought for the baby, much to Spencer’s chagrin.
“I can finish up the shelf.” She offers, already heading over to the array of tools Spencer has laid out on the floor.
Spencer hesitates for a moment, caught between a shelf and a tea mug. You see him pause, his brain strained to make a decision on what to do.
“I can go get some more tea, don’t worry.” You say to him. You could get yourself more tea, but Spencer hated when seeing you struggle or take a while to do something he could do himself much quicker. He simply didn’t understand why he would sit back and watch you strain or tire yourself when he could just help you. You were carrying his child, afterall.
“No,” Spencer shakes his head, already taking the mug from the table next to you, “I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” He says, quickly leaving the room. Not before pressing a kiss on the top of your head and a caress of your baby bump, that is.
As he leaves the room, Penelope sighs adoringly, “He’s so sweet!”
Emily scoffs but has a smile on his face, “Sweet? If he did that to me, I’d go crazy.”
JJ nods her head, “He is being more attentive than usual.” She comments, “How do you deal with all the attention? Aren’t you going stir crazy?”
“Of course I am. I’m eight months pregnant and can’t see my feet to put on shoes anymore.” You answer honestly, “But it makes Spence feel better about the pregnancy and the baby coming. I think he’s nesting.” You muse outloud.
You brace yourself and rock forward in the chair to get yourself back up on your feet. Penelope and JJ watch to make sure you make it while Emily is working on getting the shelf to be level and straight against the wall before nailing it.
“Alright, let’s get the paint out!” You cheer as you waddle over to the wooden cabinet that Spencer also built for the nursery.
After Spencer had built it and attached it to the wall, there was no reason for him to open it again until you actually had something to put in there. You told him you wanted to leave it empty for storage, but you actually had taken a trip to Lowes to grab some fun wall paint colors for a small mural.
You did this while Spencer was at his workshop helping a few of his clients load some furniture away. Ever since you had hit your second trimester, Spencer had been taking more and more time away from actively going to work so this was really the only time you could sneak away to buy paint for this planned surprise. Lowes was your pick because the Home Depot employees knew your husband very very well.
Penelope leapt up to help you, “Yes! I am so excited! I want to paint the stars!”
You had gotten some paint for a small cartoony mural of a cresent moon and stars.
“Pen, you can’t just call dibs on all the stars.” JJ objects while still on the couch, nursing a glass of white wine.
“Watch me.” She retorts. You all laugh. Penelope hoists the paint cans on top of the tarp you unrolled to lay on the floor. JJ soon joins the two of you to open cans and brushes.
“Why moon and stars?” Emily asks as she grabs a hammer and nails, preparing to attach the shelf finally.
You smile at the memory of why you chose it, “Spencer mentioned to me when we first found out that we were pregnant that Diana had painted a cresent moon and stars on his wall when he was a baby.” You inform the girls, “I wanted to do the same for our baby. I just thought it would be a nice surprise, especially after he’s done so much for me. I wanna do something special for him too.”
Someone sniffles and you look up from swirling a stirrer in the small colorful paint samples.
“Penelope, are you crying?” You ask with a chuckle.
She sniffs again, “It’s just so romantic and sweet!” She fans her hand at her eyes to wave off tears, “You two are going to be the greatest parents in the world!”
“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” You tell her. It isn’t a lie either, this final trimester has made you super in tune to all emotions.
JJ gets the paint ready in small cups with brushes, “And we can’t make the pregnant lady cry. Now, let’s start painting before Spence comes back.” She says.
You all do as she says and choose the wall opposite from the window so the natural light can come and illuminate the mural after its been painted. Emily finishes up hanging up the shelf and you don’t tell her that as soon as all the girls leave, Spencer would double check her work. It was inevitable.
Penelope is already finished with three stars and JJ is nearly done with the outline of the crescent moon when Spencer joins you four once again, now with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.
His eyes are trained on the cup in his hand and with his free hand, he’s waving the steam away to cool down the hot liquid tea. “Okay, it’s really hot so you might wanna let it cool off for a bit.”
When he gets no response, his eyes flicker up to the four of you working on a pretty night sky on the wall.
There’s no reaction at first and you get a little worried, so you waddle over to Spencer who’s still hovering at the door. “Spence?” You ask your husband, waiting on any kind of response.
It’s only when you go to take the mug out of his hand that he reacts.
“Be careful.” He instinctively says, slowly moving the mug away from your hands and carefully putting it down on a coaster on the small table next to the rocking chair.
When he turns back to you, his eyes still stare at the half painted wall mural. Penelope is still working on stars, JJ has moved onto coloring in the moon, and Emily finishes up a cartoony cloud you were working on.
“Y-you did this for me? The moon and the stars?” Spencer asks you softly, adoration twinkling in his eye just like the stars being painted on the wall.
You nod and can’t help as the tears well up in your eyes at his reaction. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” You say.
Spencer comes up behind you with an embrace and rests his hands on your stomach, something he’s gotten into a habit of doing since you started showing.
“Are you surprised?” You ask him. When you turn your head to look up to your husband, his eyes still are on the wall.
He nods and presses a gentle and sweet kiss to the top of your head. “I am.” He answers, “I could cry.”
You smile up at him and when you hear a sniffle, you half expect it to be your husband with tears coming down his cheekbones. But when he meets you with the same confused expression, searching your own face and coming up with an absence of tears, you know who it belongs to.
“Penelope, are you crying again?”
a/n: i enjoyed writing this one and i see you all are enjoying pregnancy and dad blurbs so i decided to give you all a few more! honestly though, i had no idea how to end this.
summary: in which you sit for a handsome hermit artist
word count: 1410
warnings: none? mentions of buying someone's time at an auction (for charity!!!), disagreements of buying someone's time, i do not condone this 'traditional' event
spence-tober masterlist
To be completely honest, you thought this whole situation would be a whole lot more uncomfortable. Although your neck was getting pretty stiff. You have to resist the urge to crack it or change the position of your head.
“You can take a break if you need.” A voice rings out in the studio you’re sitting in.
You can’t see the man with the studio light right behind him, dim enough to not blind you but bright enough to block out your vision of the rest of the dimly lit studio.
“Thanks,” You still say to him, a grateful smile on your face.
When your best friend, one of the local organizers of a charity in the area, had approached you about ‘auctioning’ off a date with you, you had no idea this is what the date would come to.
At the auction, you had originally been nervous worrying who would bid the highest amount for a ‘date’ with you. There was an especially eager older man who you knew to have had four divorces all to much younger women. Many joked that he was the Leonardo DiCaprio of your town. He had been the front runner, out-bidding everyone until a younger, tall man in the back bid an absurdly high number and finally ended your anxiety about spending a date with the older man.
And when you had caught up with him to give the man your information for your ‘date’, he had simply smiled, introduced himself as ‘Spencer’ and then explained that he’d like for you to sit for him to paint as your date.
You were surprised at the request of the date, but were glad to indulge if it meant not having to actually go on a date in which he bought you for. The whole being auctioned off thing was quite outdated in your opinion, but the charity event catered towards an older crowd and it was one of the biggest fundraising events every year.
“So, are you new to the area?” You ask Spencer who’s behind the easel, still working on the portrait.
When you arrived to his studio, he hadn’t said too much and you were dying to learn more about the man who rather than go on a date with you, wanted to be able to paint your resembalance.
Throughout the session so far, you had tried not to move or talk to help the painting go along smoothly, but with the silence came the growth of curiosity.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Spencer replied, eyes still focused on the canvas.
Through the bright lights, you could make out his figure. His perfectly messy yet well groomed hair swept against his forehead while his glasses were starting on a descent down his nose. There was a whisper of facial hair that you gathered was probably just past due for a shave and his torso was still in perfect posture. His large hands held the palette and brush while his legs straddled a metal stool.
Your eyes flicker with curiosity and question, “What do you mean by that?” You can’t help but ask.
Spencer chuckles, “I’ve lived here for a little under a year. I just-,” He stops for a moment, trying to find the right word, “don’t get out much, I guess.”
You hum, “Is that why I haven’t seen you in town?”
The town you reside in is small. It’s not small enough that everybody knows everybody, but a newcomer would have definitely picqued some interest in the gossip circles at the local cafes or in the book clubs or knitting groups.
“I guess so.” He replies, “I would have remembered if I’d seen you or not.” He comments.
“How come?” You’re just full of questions after sitting still and quiet for so long.
“I have an eidetic memory.” Spencer answers. “That means-”
“-you can recall an image in sharp detail after it’s left your vision.” You finish for him, “Right?”
He peeks his head out from the side of the easel, “How do you know that?” He says non-accusingly. His tone reads more of curiosity, like yours.
“I studied neurology and psychology for a bit, before switching to a more pharmaceutical specific study.” You explain.
“You’re a pharmacist then.” Spencer clarifies, attaching his focus back to the painting in front of him.
“Close.” You say, “I’m getting my Pharm. D right now. Still technically a student.”
“Does having an eidetic memory help with painting a subject?” You ask next, happily sitting in the chair now. The atmosphere doesn’t feel as uncomfortable and you find yourself quite enjoying getting to know the man behind the easel.
Your friend likes to joke that artists are mysterious and while you don’t always agree with her, you do see that Spencer is more quiet than most and perhaps a bit of a hermit. A handsome hermit, but still a hermit.
“I can, but I prefer to paint a subject that’s in front of me.” He answers you, “With an eidetic memory, it’s helpful when I’m finishing up the details and for the little things. But when someone’s sitting for me, the subject is ever changing. When you breathe, the picture shifts. When the light reflects in your eyes as you look around, the picture shifts. A mental picture can never do that for me. You can.”
With the end of his sentence, he looks back around the canvas and into your eyes and you feel yourself warm up. Who said only writers had beautiful words?
“So am I your muse, then?” You tease, hoping to not show how much his words affected you just then.
You see his lip curl up into a playful smirk, “Maybe.” He answers, leaving it at that.
For a handsome hermit, Spencer certainly could turn a pretty phrase when he wanted to but at the same time, his bashfulness made you also feel a flutter in your stomach.
“I’m assuming that you won’t be finished just after one day.” You say, trying to invoke a little more conversation out of the man. You think he owed you at least that, after sitting silent for him after some time.
Spencer shakes his head, “No, I’d like to spend quite a bit of time capturing your likeness.”
There it was again, you think to yourself. Just one sentence and you feel your skin warm up again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Even though he had insisted that he wasn’t buying a date from you, but rather your time, you find yourself wishing this was a date.
“Would you have me sit for you again?” You find yourself asking him. For some reason, you can’t bear not ever seeing Spencer again. There’s a curiosity in you about him. Something drawing you in.
“I-I-I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” Spencer insists, his hand holding the paintbrush shakes a little with hesitation. It shows in his tone as well, “You’ve already done me a favor sitting for me today for so long.”
“I don’t mind.” You say confidently, wanting to get your point across. “Really, I don’t.” You insist it, in fact.
“Are you sure?” He asks, shyly this time.
You nod your head to confirm, “Honestly, this has been the best date I’ve been on in a long time.”
Spencer shakes his head, “This isn’t a date.”
“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. You hope he can’t tell the slight disappointment in your voice.
“We’ve barely even talked.” He explains further, putting his palette and brush down on the cart next to him.
You smile and nod. It’s true, after all, you barely know basic information about him. Sliding off the stool when you see him start packing up his supplies, you stand, “Well, just remember next time you don’t need a date for me to sit for you. I’m flattered that you even want to paint me.” You say honestly.
“You’re beautiful.” Spencer blurts out. “How could I not want to paint you?” He asks rhetorical.
You blush and bite your lip, keeping in your own comment about how he’s quite handsome himself. As you grab your purse, he speaks again.
“And if I wanted to ask you out on a real date? Without the painting and the sitting.” Spencer inquires, “Wo-ould you be interested?” He clears his throat as he stutters a little bit.
A grin grows on your lips.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
a/n: i struggled to find inspiration for this one when i took inspo from my wildlife photographer!spencer and thought of the mention of an auction date. i don't agree with auctioning off a date with someone, whether they be of any gender, but i thought this was a sweet idea where you more so bought her time and gave her a choice as well.
summary: in which you enjoy your honeymoon with a little bit of added competition
word count: 1257
warnings: fluff
spence-tober masterlist
If there’s one thing people could agree on about you and your husband, it’s about your shared competitive nature.
That’s why, even now on your honeymoon, you and your husband have this unspoken bet. Who will give in first?
Who will pick up their board first and succumb to the beautiful waves of the Mamanuca Islands?
So far, you both had resisted the urge and have enjoyed spending time together in other ways. Scuba diving and snorkeling have fulfilled the water need and there are also many other activities that are available on the islands, not just surfing.
“The waves look nice today,” Spencer comments while standing in the small kitchen space of your rental, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
You roll your eyes as you sit in the chair to the vanity, messing with your hair to get ready for the day. These types of comments have come from the both of you ever since this unofficial, unspoken, bet aroused.
It had first started when you had landed in Fiji for your honeymoon. Everyone beforehand, like your family and friends, had told you that a honeymoon was time to spend together as newlyweeds after a hectic few months of wedding planning. You two took it as a competition on who would bail to go surfing first.
“They do look nice. Heard this morning there’s gonna be ten foot waves.” You reply back to Spencer, a smirk on your face.
“Ten feet?” Spencer questions, his hand motions stopping. You can see the cogs working in his brain, just thinking about the waves out there.
“Yep,” You answer, “But the tide’s gonna go down soon, so don’t know how much longer the waves are gonna last.” You watch Spencer carefully now, hoping that these few comments could break his resilience and he’d finally crack.
He knew you weren’t lying either. The small old fashioned radio on the coffee table had in fact commented about the high waves today. Spencer, in all his tall glory, didn’t often get to surf out tall waves, or at least tall for him.
You both traveled regularly for competitions, in fact, you had met at a competition five years ago. After stumbling into each other a few more times, you realized you were going to travel on the same circuit and decided to give dating a try. As two professional surfers, always traveling, it was hard to maintain a long-term relationship, but you and Spencer made it work.
It was fun to surf and train together. It was great to be able to show off new tricks. To have someone to cheer you on at competitions and to have someone who’s waiting for you back on the beach.
“Fine.” Spencer says, giving in with a smile on his face, “I’m going surfing today.”
You pump your fist in victory, “Yes! Alright, let’s go before the tide goes down.” You reply to him, quickly finishing at the vanity and running over to the tall wardrobe in your shared bedroom where you had hung up your wetsuits when you first arrived at your honeymoon rental.
Another plus of being professional surfers is times like these when you travel. You don’t have to worry about going back to work or PTO or anything. Both of you didn’t have competitions coming up any time soon and had postponed any sponsored content until a month after your wedding. That’s why you had rented the small bungalow for a few weeks rather than sticking to a hotel.
Spencer laughs, but you can hear him following right behind you. His arms wrap around your middle as you grab the wetsuits, “I love you.” He says, burying his head into your shoulder.
You turn your head and kiss his temple, his face is hidden into your skin, “I love you too, Spencer.”
You could feel a smirk form on his lips, “Since you touched the wetsuits first, you lost.”
“Uh, uh!” You exclaim in disagreement, whipping your head around to look at your husband. “You gave in!”
“But you touched the wetsuits…” Spencer playfully bantered back.
You shake your head at him and take your wetsuit out of the wardrobe, “Fine, then. Don’t even try to come to me when you need your wetsuit zipped up.” You walk off into the adjacent bathroom.
Spencer had always needed your help or someone else’s getting his wetsuit zipped all the way up. He was tall, which didn’t help, but his arms didn’t have the flexibility to reach for an attached string like you did with yours. You could easily zip your own wetsuit up with the help of an attached string that you could reach behind your back to get.
As you get ready in the bathroom, you can hear Spencer outside the door.
“Now wait a minute!” He says before going quiet for a moment. He doesn’t say anything else until you come out of the bathroom with your wetsuit on, ready to surf. He also has put on his wetsuit, but you can tell by the puckering at the neck of the wetsuit that he was not able to zip it up by himself.
He’s waiting, sitting on the bed and looks up to you with a pondering look, “Alright, you won.”
You laugh and walk over to him to straddle his hips. Both pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and bringing your hands around to his back to zip up the back for him.
“For now.” Spencer adds on once you two pull apart from your kiss.
You laugh and take his hand in yours, pulling him to the door and out to the outside of your rental.
In all fairness, you wouldn’t have been too far behind in giving in and losing the bet. Of course you loved spending time with Spencer and enjoyed all the other activities you shared, inside and outside of the rental. But there was always something special about sharing a surf with your beloved boyfriend, now husband.
In fact, this would be your first surf together since getting married. You both had another week in Fiji and the rest of your lives together so you didn’t doubt at all that this would be the last.
Hand in hand, you only let go for a moment to get your boards situated in your free arms before lacing your fingers together again. This is how you walked down to the beach not too far from your rental.
As you approached the beach together, the warm glow of the sun and the heat radiated over the two of you, leaving a glowy haze of sunshine on both of your skins.
In these moments together, there is nothing that needs to be said. The rustling of the local flora and the crashing sounds of the waves against the rocks and sand fill the comfortable silence as the two of you walk towards the large waves forming on the horizon.
Having lived a bit of a nomadic life before, traveling from competition to competition and from beach to beach, you had never imagined being so enamored with having a companion along for the ride let alone married. But you know you made the right choice when Spencer glances over to you, a wide smile on his lips and a fantastic glimmer in his eye.
You’re about to ask him what is on his mind when he speaks.
“Winner catches first wave?”
You laugh and throw your head back, planting your feet deep into the sand.
“You’re on!”
a/n: i'm not entirely happy with this one, but i like the ending. to be honest, i've been traveling back home for the past few days and 'lost' my groove in the one day i missed prepping one of these blurbs but im hoping to jump back onto the grind of things.
pairing: archaeologist!spencer reid x fem!actress!reader
summary: in which you open up during an interview to promote your movie about your boyfriend, whom you met on set.
word count: 1950
warnings: fluff, not much if any dialogue between you and spencer, mostly story telling through descriptive narratives
spence-tober masterlist
From where you’re sitting on the famous Graham Norton’s couch, you can’t really see the stage audience, not with all the bright studio lights surrounding you on the set. But you don’t mind, it wasn’t like it was your first rodeo being on a talk show.
After all, you were a highly decorated actress having made your start when you were just a teen in indie films and then graduating to a TV show that ran for several seasons and then starring in blockbuster after blockbuster.
You’ve loved acting ever since your first theater class in high school and decided to try your shot right after you graduated. Since then, you’ve starred and dabbled in a lot of shows, movies, and other. It was only a few years ago when you had decided to accept a lot less roles than you usually would and be more picky, wanting to get an online degree and enjoy your young adult life.
Since your small break from acting, you’ve completed an online degree, learned some new hobbies, and did some small renovations on your house. You were already well off from box office backpoints, residuals, and contractual salaries and under your belt already you had a Tony, an Oscar, and two Emmy’s. You cooled down your ambition and worked on yourself.
Until that is, you got an interesting email in your inbox one day coming from one of the first directors that gave you a chance in the industry. In the indie film you had worked on together, both the director and you had risen to a small level of stardom and had been able to take on a lot more work after the film had released. You had bumped into each other a few times in the rest of your careers, but this time, they was reaching out for a role they thought you were perfect for and might be interested in.
It was a role to play an archaeologist in a historical film loosely based on a true story. You accepted the role and officially ended your small break in your acting career. Although you had taken on a few more roles here and there since finishing the shooting for the film, this was your first time back on a talk show to promote something you worked on.
“How is everyone feeling tonight?” Graham said, greeting all of you on the couch.
It was the director, yourself, and a few of your castmates. In your small break from acting, you found yourself valuing comfort over fashion more and more and so you sit dressed in a comfortable lose fit dress. It’s still designer and very expensive, but you’ve paired it with a sensible pair of black wedge heels and simple jewelry from your own personal collection.
The rest of the couch gives their answers first before Graham looks to you, “I’m really good, thanks.” You say.
To you, it seems like a generic answer and in fact, if it was anyone other than you, Graham would move on, but he gets a sly playful smile on his face and you just know what he’s going to do.
“Really good?” Graham repeats, “That wouldn’t have to do with who’s here tonight with you, would it?”
You blush under the teasing gazes of your castmates and Graham.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You say unconvincingly.
He grins and then gestures his hand to behind him, pointing at a random wall of the set, “Are you sure? Because I could have sworn there was someone waiting for you back in the green room.”
You smile and shake your head, you just knew Graham was going to pull something like this. How could he not? It was the leading story of gossip sites, twitter, and tumblr for days on end when the news broke.
“Oh, do you mean my boyfriend?” A cheshire-like grin grows on your face and your face burns even more when the studio audience cheers at your last word.
Graham nods, loving the applause and cheers, “Didn’t you meet him on set?”
Before you can answer, your director/friend decides to pipe in, “I hired him to work on set and then I come to find out he’s actually slacking off with her!” He jokes, pointing your way.
You scoff with a smile on your face, “Oh please, you played matchmaker all the time!” Your castmates nod in agreement.
What Graham has decided to bring up is your newly public relationship which bloomed when you were filming on set for the movie. Because of the large historical and archaeological background of many of the characters and how it caters to the main plot of the movie, several consultants were hired to bring some validity and realism.
One of those was Dr. Spencer Reid, a professor on a short sabbatical from teaching archaeology. His job was to consult on the actions of the characters and help teach some of the actors and actresses who’s characters have a background in archaeology some tips and how to be more natural in the motions.
Your character has a large archaeological background and had the most scenes where you were seemingly handling fossils or excavating them.
That’s how you met Spencer and after spending months together, working together, seeing each other every single day on location, crushes on both sides formed.
“Guilty!” Your director exclaimed, holding his hands up as if he was caught.
The room laughs again. “But you admit you were distracting him from his job?” Graham prods, playfully.
You shrug, a smirk on your face, “You could say he was distracting me from mine.” You counter.
“Okay, okay.” Graham says, jokingly backing down.
He moves onto your other classmates with fun anecdotes about them for most of the rest of the interview. But then, as the interview goes to close out and nothing too eventful has happened, you knew he was saving that Graham Norton mischief just for you.
“Circling back,” Graham says, making direct eye contact with you.
You groan in fake annoyance, a knowing smile on your lips.
“Oh come on,” Graham replies with a chuckle, “You didn’t think I was going to let you off that easily, did you?”
Shaking your head, you wait for Graham to go on.
“Well, I thought that we shouldn’t waste this opportunity, so I asked your dear boyfriend to join us during the break.”
He turns to the camera, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s make some room on the couch for Spencer Reid!”
You can’t help but correct him, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”
“Dr. Spencer Reid!” He remedies.
With this cue, your cute professor boyfriend walks out on the stage. He’s squinting because of the bright lights and even brings up a hand to block some of the blinding studio spotlights.
He isn’t wearing anything too fancy, though he would argue that he was wearing his good slacks and a new button up. To be honest, any clothes that didn’t have any dirt or various sediment on it was good enough for you.
Spencer’s eyes, framed by his glasses, quickly find you on the couch and you’ve already scooted down to make some room for him. His hands hang awkwardly by his side and you know he’s fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty, anxious palms on his pants.
When he reaches you on the couch, you guide him down with your hands taking his. You also give his hands a small squeeze of assurance and comfort.
Frankly, you’re not sure why he’s agreed to such a situation in the first place.
Spencer didn’t naturally get nervous by famous people like you thought he did when you first met him. In that particular situation, Spencer was really just nervous because his massive crush on you was growing each and every day. If only he knew it was the same for you.
Spencer, however, did get nervous in situations with lots of people or when the attention would primarily be on him. This made being a professor as a first career quite confusing for you to wrap your head around, but Spencer relaxed a lot when he was talking about something he’s passionate about.
“So, Dr. Reid-”
Spencer interrupts Graham, “Please, just call me Spencer.”
Graham smiles at him, “Alright,” He continues on, “So, Spencer, have the two of you realized how viral you’ve gone?” He asks first.
You and Spencer exchange a look.
How could you have not realized? When you had accidentally leaked your relationship on an actress-friend’s podcast, you first panicked. But was assured by your friend that it could be edited out if wanted. After a long discussion between you and Spencer, you decided it was time to soft-launch your relationship and was prepared for the news to break.
What you didn’t expect was how the world freaked out. You knew a few sites would report on the announcement, after all, you were a well known actress who’s fans were often loyal and you hadn’t been in a serious or noteworthy relationship in a while.
A few days after you went public, edits were being made of your boyfriend’s interviews, people not even in the major were signing up for his upcoming classes, and the world fell in love with him as did you. You two were proclaimed the new ‘it’ couple and the flame was fanned with pictures you two shared to your social medias.
You had once asked Spencer if it was bothering him that he was getting so much attention, but he answered with a peck on your temple, then nose, then lips and a sweet phrase on how the only attention that mattered to him was yours.
He remedied with a followup to say he also hopes his students pay attention to him. At which you laughed and kissed him back.
“No, at least, not at first,” Spencer answers honestly, “It has calmed down from that initial wave and we’ve learned to deal with it for the most part.”
You look at him by his profile and smile, proud of him. He has done interviews, but none with the main focus being your relationship.
“And how would you say did your relationship progress off set and when filming wrapped?”
“Well, it was a lot less sand.” Spencer jokes, making the crowd laugh. “That and we grew to know each other beyond our jobs. There’s more to both of us than our occupations and that was an important step in dating for us.”
“No sand certainly is a bonus.” Graham confirms, gaining a laugh as well.
“Now, Spencer, you’re a professor in archaeology?”
With the short remainder of the interview, Spencer’s anxiousness and tense body language melts as he gets to talk about what he knows best. The audience, and Graham, love him and eat up his responses. You already know your castmates love him as well judging by the way when they extend an invite out to you, they ask you to bring Spencer if he’s available.
Although you’re rather proud of your boyfriend being so comfortable in the spotlight, you do ask out of curiosity how he was able to overcome his anxiousness later that night after you had gone back to your shared hotel room to unwind for the night.
With you leaning against his frame, both propped up in a sitting position in the bed, he would simply smile down on you and ask if you didn’t remember.
He’s able to relax when he talks about something he’s passionate about.
When you ask him what he means, Spencer simply presses a quick kiss to the top of your head and answer.
“You, of course.”
a/n: i didn't mean for this one to be so long but i got carried away... i can definitely see myself writing more about this pairing because i think so much can be expanded upon it. i also really like the style i did this one as writing domestic fluff or meet cutes over and over can be a little draining, especially doing it everyday
